#sweet Jesus this man is wrong

[lady-phasma]

my gif

Hope no one minds that I'm making all the Feyd gifs I can. It will take some time but I'm trying to get them out here.

[eatember]

-

[frootloopscereal]

who the hell decided it was okay to give the crows those stupid marvel ass one-liners ITS SO UNFAIR

we have suspenseful and desperate Against All Odds fighting from the first & second army, there's nowhere left to run, we're barely holding off the darkling's forces...

then a dinky little bomb is thrown and for some godforsaken reason, this horrible dialogue:

"that's our demolitions expert 🤪"

"expert? 🫣 I mean uh y-yeah expert"

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. THEY WOULDN'T FUCKING SAY THAT.

[joelsgreys]

fall into temptation | three

Post Outbreak Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter

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

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

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

word count: 10k

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

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

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

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

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

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

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

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

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

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

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

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

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

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

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

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

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

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

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

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

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

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

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course not.

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

Still. 

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t believe them.

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

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

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

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

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

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

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

“What?”

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

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

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

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

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

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

Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

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

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimpered. “Yes.”

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

“Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You opened wider. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh God.”

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

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

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

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

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

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

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

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

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

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

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

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

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

Surely, you would be the death of him.

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

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

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

And you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was getting closer and closer.

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

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

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

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

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

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

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

He was begging you.

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

“Joel,” you choked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

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

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

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

“Baby?”

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

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

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

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

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

The nerves began to set in.

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

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

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

You could have laughed. You almost did.

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

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

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

His chest swelled with warmth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[sacharinee]

hi m!!! what do you think about bf!pete getting his wisdom teeth out? and the reader taking care of him?? hed be so funny lmao xxD

-🧸

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader w/c: 750 a/n: hi anon!! thnk u for requesting i had sm fun writing this! :)

you’re sat at the dentist's office, cooped up in those uncomfortable chairs while you anxiously waited for your boyfriend’s surgery to finish.  

when peter ranted and moaned nonstop over his constant toothache, may decided enough was enough, and took it upon herself to set an appointment for her nephew. he wasn’t too keen on the idea. peter wasn’t afraid of anything ninety-nine percent of the time. dentists, however, wasn’t one of them. 

“can’t you stay here with me?” 

“stay? baby, no they’re gonna be drilling in your teeth.”

“but i-”

“and it’s gonna be bloody and nasty and i don’t wanna have to see all that.”

you turn towards him, only to come face to face with the boy’s horrified look, his eyes are wide and skin pale, mouth open in shock. you cringe at your response.

“but,” you stand, “you’re gonna do amazing, you’re gonna sit here and let the dentist do his magic.” you smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“y/n/n, wait but-” you drop his hand on the way out, “bye, love you baby! be good!”

“y/n!”

two hours later swing by when a woman in navy scrubs comes to get you, announcing that peter is out of surgery. 

you knew that he would be high out of his mind on laughing gas, you just didn’t think it would be this bad. 

when you enter, the dentist is off to the side, looking over charts, packing a care bag for his patient.

peter’s head lulls towards your touch on his shoulder and slowly blinks at your presence. 

“hi baby, how you feeling?” you give him a beaming smile.

your boyfriend does his best to muster the same grin, but the amount of gauze in his mouth makes his rosy cheeks puff out, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth.

peter takes a moment to stare at you, “woaahh” he languidly slurs his words, “you’re so pretty.” 

you giggle at the comment when the boy gasps in horror, “wait, wait, i have a girlfriend, and she’s-” he looks up at you worriedly and slaps his forehead, “i’m in trouble.”

you can’t help but let out a laugh, he’s so dopey. 

your fingers touch the bottom of his chin gently and lift his head, “i’m your girlfriend, silly.” 

a loud gasp escapes peter as his face turns ecstatic, “get out!” you giggle at his reaction, the dentist glances over at you two and offers an admiring smile.

“so do we have sex?”

the awkward silence in the room kills you. 

your face blushes, as you shake your head and clear your throat, “peter, no.”

“no?!” he sighs in disappointment, “aw man.” your boyfriend pouts at the floor, “what have i been doing with my life.”

“oh my god, pete,” when the dentist turns away, you whisper and offer him a shrug, “sometimes we do.”

the delight on his face returns and his eyes go wide, “really?!”

the boy seriously has no filter.

as you’re packing his things, peter pauses and pokes his cheeks, “wait y/n,” he pauses, “my face kinda feels weird.”

you look around and hand him a mirror from the counter, “oh my god…” peter gingerly touches his face as you kneel down at him, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“my face… it’s so fat!” he’s got tears in his eyes and whining with a jutted bottom lip, “y/n,” sniffle. “will-” sniffle. “will you still love me if my face is so fat?” 

you roll your eyes and smile at his antics, “of course, i would.”

he seems pleased with your answer because he’s back to smiling. you go back to packing his things. “hey, mr dentist,” he woozily slurs, the gauze is practically spilling out his mouth, “d’you know i’m spider-man?”

you mentally facepalm at his obliviousness and mutter, “jesus christ.”

you turn to the older man who’s chuckling at his mental state and shrug, “he also thinks he’s luke skywalker from star wars.”

“but i am!-” “okay bug boy, lets go.”

“where we going?”

“home, sweetie.”

he gasps eagerly and raises his eyebrows at you, “to have sex?”

“oh my god.”

soon after the dentist explains and hands you everything he needs to recover, you guide peter to the car. 

he’s extremely dramatic. 

he’s got his hands around your shoulders, dragging himself on the floor, acting like he can’t walk - which he definitely can.

“peter, i know you can walk. c’mon help me out,” you beg.

“no, i can’t" he moans, "carry me,” he demands.

“what? no,”

“why not?”

“because you’re too heavy.”

and he’s crying all over again, “i knew it! you hate me 'cause you think my face is too fat!”

[whoopssteddiefeels]

If you think the CC boys aren't looking for Eddie, you're wrong

----

Steve opened his trunk and placed the groceries inside, Eddie’s special requests next to his usual staples and the excessive number of snacks he had grabbed for this week’s check in at Hopper’s cabin. Eddie was probably just being cute, requesting the same thing they had brought him in the boathouse, but Steve figured it would be just as cute to refill the request anyway. Anything to make Eddie smile and call him a sap in that overly sweet way he had.

He closed the trunk, pulling his keys out of his pocket. Already excited to get home to that amused smile and twinkling eyes.

“Where the fuck is Eddie?”

Steve jumped about a foot in the air, spinning on the spot, fumbling his keys in an embarrassing 3-part scramble that still ended with them clanking to the ground. He’s effectively trapped against his car, three boys glaring at him from a few feet away. How the hell did they sneak up on him in tandem like that?

They stood in a V-formation, arms crossed and eyes angry. The one in front, a black boy with braces and close-cropped hair who was doing his best to stare down at Steve despite their roughly even height, spoke again. “We don’t know what is going on, what happened, but you and Henderson are definitely involved.”

“I… I don’t…” Steve looked around quickly, hoping something would appear and save him from this conversation. Nothing did, the parking lot was empty except for them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, man!” the smallest of the three exclaimed, pointing angrily in Steve’s face. “Whatever the fuck happened involved your stupid basketball team and our freshman members and god KNOWS what else but there’s no way Eddie would ever-”

“He didn’t do anything to that girl,” the first boy interrupted, Jeff, Steve’s brain slowly supplied, based on stories he’d heard from both Dustin and Eddie. This must be the rest of Corroded Coffin. Jeff, Gareth, and… shit what was the third kids name? Doesn’t matter, he needed to come up with an exit strategy fast.

Steve raised his hands, painfully aware that his keys were still on the ground. “Look, guys, I don’t- I don’t know what you want from me. Yeah, I don’t believe Eddie did anything to Chrissy. Henderson is at home, I haven’t even seen him in days. I don’t know where Eddie would’ve gone after the earthquake, you’d know better than-”

“You’ve got his battle jacket in your back seat.” Unnamed member cut in, voice hard.

“You just bought honeycombs, yoo-hoos, and camel cigarettes.” Gareth, the little one, chimed in.

Jeff took a step forward, making sure Steve was looking at him before he slowly reached forward and carefully pulled on the chain around Steve’s neck, drawing the guitar pick out from where it had rested under his shirt. The younger boy just raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the implication.

Steve sagged against his car, and Jeff let the necklace slip from his fingers as it was pulled back with his movement. It fell against the outside of his shirt, the red and black guitar pick stark and damning against the light blue of today’s polo.

Steve rubbed at his face, refusing to meet the trio of accusing glares. These were Eddie’s friends. His brothers according to the metalhead in question. There was no reason for Steve to be wearing that necklace other than what it was: a claim. They would know that, better than anyone. There was no getting out of this.

“Jesus H. Christ, okay. Okay. He’s… at my place. Just, follow me, I guess.”

[cozymaples]

total eclipse (steve harrington x reader)

a/n: ohhh man. this is a long one, but do i have a treat for you. with the weather getting colder i just...could not contain myself !!! brain go brrrr. literally! | (tags: @madtheivery) warnings: afab!reader, virgin!reader, friends to lovers, oral!f receiving, fingering word count: 3.4k

Steve doesn’t like you.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. Because if he lies to himself this way, it’s half true. He loves you. He’s not sure which is harder to ignore-the strain of his cock in his jeans whenever he sees you, or the way his heart feels like it’s going to pummel out of his chest when you leave. So now, he’s been at this party for far too long, marinating between a sea of bodies that he can’t seem to push through; only to try and find you. 

You’re making it difficult, though-lodged into the side of your boyfriend. Well, sort-of-boyfriend.

His hand rests firmly on your shoulder, the cheering and hollering of his winning cup in beer pong only tugging you further into him. You smile uncomfortably, jostled around as he earns slaps on the back and high-fives from his teammates. 

Steve can only watch from afar, finally parting through the sea of people. He sighs to himself amongst the ruckus, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples. It’s subtle, but you notice. What’s better-the fact that your boyfriend doesn’t seem to. To ease any suspicions of him checking in on you, he keeps Robin glued to his side at all times. Though, it’s an equal split down the middle of eagerness to accompany the other. The pair hardly went anywhere alone, and you think it’s kind of sweet. Robin clearly needs Steve’s help of being a ‘ladies man’, and Steve clearly needs Robin’s help for the opposite. Which is why she tugs at his sleeve, tsk-ing before sighing loudly. Steve clears his throat, an immediate turn of the heel as he looks at her. He gestures defensively to the scene in front of him, before raking his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t gonna say anything-” He starts. “Yeah, that’s the problem, Harrington!” Robin whines, verbally smacking the back of his head. “Wake up! You seriously think she looks happy to be with that beast?” Steve averts his gaze from Robin once more, glancing over his shoulder to look at you. He thinks Robin’s choice of word beast is harsh, but as he watches you get tugged around through second-party celebration, he can’t help but agree. 

“No!” He whines, finally succumbing to Robin’s antics. “Okay? No! Of course she’s not!” He sighs with defeat, running his fingers through his hair again, brows scrunched with frustration. Robin chuckles, “Jesus, that hair is like a stress ball for you, huh?” He narrows his gaze, paired with an eye roll as he indulges in her amusement. “Yeah, yeah. Alright. What’s your point?” He asks. But he knows what her point is. Her point is-”That you need to tell her! You could be changing lives, Harrington! Think about it,” She starts, and he groans, accepting the speech that’s about to come. “You could love her, I mean, really cherish her,” She says, and she’s not wrong. Her arm snakes over his shoulder, pulling him closer to her. Her spare hand nurses a red solo cup, the drink sloshing against the sides as she uses her hand to gesture. “I mean, he’s gonna make her a trophy wife. And you know what happens to trophies, Steve?” He’s not sure where she’s going with this, but he humors her anyway. It’s as if she can hear his brows raise with curiosity, immediately continuing. “They get left on shelves, Harrington. Filled with lonesome and littered with dust, too damn useless now to remember what they were good for in the first place!” She finishes. His eyes widen. 

Shit. 

He can’t believe that Robin’s analogy has not only made sense, but now kicked his ass into high gear. A trophy? A trophy? Not on his watch. Not to be collected by dust, or gawked at by others. No. Not you. He decides, not realizing he’s made his way across the room, now standing directly in front of you. Your “boyfriend” has now parted from your side, and your brows raise with curiosity, but also surprise. “Hey..” You say, wondering if Steve even knows where he is, considering you haven’t spoken in two months. “Hey,” He retorts nervously, nodding once. “So, uh..where’s your boyfriend?” He asks. You chuckle at the notion, but you can’t really blame him for wondering. “He’s not my boyfriend.” You say, and Steve gets that look in his eye-the one that only surfaces when he’s genuinely surprised. You hold eye contact for a minute, gazes locked on each other as his features soften. “Oh.” He says, and there’s no snark to it. You can tell he wants further clarification, but minds his manners, which you love about him. 

Unbeknownst to him, the ‘love’ thing going on was definitely a two way street. And now, for the first time, you don’t want him to think it’s a dead end for him. Not a second longer. “He hasn’t been..ever.” You say, and as the words tumble out of your mouth, you hear the truth in them for the first time. They hold weight now, standing in front of Steve, whose eyes haven’t left you for a second. Your back is firm against the wall behind you, the bustling of partygoers that had once swarmed you now sounding like white noise. “We were just..” You shrug, sheepish of the words you want to say. “..Fucking.” You say, quickly clarifying as his eyes widen with despondency. “But not actually-I mean, that’s what he tells people.” You’re fully engrossed in it now, the regret and disgust enveloping you in an embrace that you don’t want. “Never exclusive, considering he was fucking half of the cheerleaders,” You say, knowing that you trust Chrissy as your source. “I just..didn’t wanna go all the way. Not with him.” You decide that’s enough rambling, sparing him the details of what you did to compromise in place of sex. Steve extends his hand, an offering he’s hoping, pleading silently that you’ll take. You know if you take it, this is the end of everything you’ve known, and the start of everything you want. “Come with me,” He asks, voice soft, tender. “Please,”

And that’s how you’ve ended up sitting in the backseat of Steve’s BMW, filling him in on the past two months. “I was just..settling. I knew what I wanted, but..I just didn’t think to take it.” You confess, feeling every thump of your heartbeat ripping through your chest. It aches, yearning for the man in front of you. The silence between sentences is heavy, both of you terrified to spill to the other-terrified that if you speak now, it’ll all be for nothing. That it won’t be the same. “What did you want?” Steve asks, clinging to every word you say as though it’s oxygen itself. You feel a lump rise in your throat, threatening to tear out if you don’t speak now. Steve hasn’t touched you, not laid a hand on you this entire conversation. “You.” You exhale,, the years of everything you could ever want to say to him now fastened into a single word. Your heart rate increases rapidly, and you feel like you’re going to pass out if he doesn’t say something. The bellowing of drunken teenagers belting Total Eclipse of the Heart escapes from the four walls of the house, despite the fact that Steve’s got you parked halfway down the street. “Me?” He asks, hoping, praying that you mean it. You swallow harshly, nodding. “You.” You confirm, terrified that years of friendship on the invisible string you’ve tied between the two of you, sealed by fate itself, will snap. Wondering now more than ever if you’ve somehow misinterpreted every interaction between the two of you; every lingering gaze, every comforting shoulder he gave you cry on. Steve rushes his palm to your cheek, cupping your face as he presses his lips to yours. It’s deep, and tender, like you’ve allowed him to finally breathe again, as though he never has before in his entire life. 

“God,” He breathes, murmuring the phrase against your lips. “I love you,” He says, and it punches the air out of your lungs. The teenagers continue their belting. “I love you,” You confess, and it bursts out of you, finally able to say what you’ve been dying to say for years. Your ‘I love you’s’ tumble out of both of you, overlapping between the kisses he’s pressing to you, over and over, and over. The soft giggling that you share between the two of you is innocent, nearly in disbelief that this kind of happiness can possibly be real. Your lips are swollen, cherried red from the amount of kisses he’s graced you with. His hand rakes through your locks, and you lean into the touch, gazing up at him dreamily. 

“Be with me.” He says. You stare back at him. “Be with me,” He repeats, his thumb stroking your cheek. You sit in disbelief. “Yes,” You say, terrified. He can sense your nerves, soothing you with a gentle kiss. “M’not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.” He assures you, gently tilting your head to the side by your jaw. “Now that I’ve got you,” He says, spoken between kisses. They line your jaw, traveling down your neck. “I love you so bad,” He coos, and you sigh with satisfaction. You wish his kisses lingered longer, feeling your stomach flip with lust-but you don’t want to ruin the moment. Don’t want him to think of you the way other guys have. “Always have,” He continues. You try to ignore the warmth in the pit of your stomach, yearning for his touch. It’s as if he reads your mind, continuing to cradle your jaw in his palm as he sucks gentle marks into the flesh of your neck. “Is this okay?” He asks, earning a soft moan from you. “Uh-huh,” You breathe, and he pauses. “Yes,” You assure him, and he continues. 

Steve, too, doesn’t want to treat you like any other man has. He never will. He’ll treat you better. The best. He knows it. Now, all he needs to do is show you. You take his free hand, slowly guiding it to your knee. It’s bare, your skirt hiked up from the way you’re angled in the backseat. He pulls back to look at you, pupils widened, hesitant. “Wanna take it slow,” He says, and you sigh. “Wanna take care of you.” He says, rubbing gentle circles into your knee. You don’t know what to say, or how to say what you want to. But you figure this is your chance to prove to him that you don’t want it to be like every other guy. He’s special. “You know how I told you that..nothing ever happened, between me and him?” He nods, humming softly. “It’s..never happened. Not with anyone.” His thumb halts, the circles he’d been tracing now stopping in their tracks as the silence lingers between you, the hum of the running engine in the background. Steve’s not an asshole-not one of those guys who obsesses over virginity, “deflowering” whoever they get their hands on. But he’s gentle, wanting to handle you with care. Because you’re special to him. Because he loves you. “Oh,” He says, that same look of surprise from the party gracing his features. You can tell he’s not judging you, or surprised that you haven’t done anything. He’s just…surprised. “Yeah..” You trail off, and he grins lightheartedly. “And you want me to..in the back of this shitty car?” You exhale a laugh through your nose, raising you brows for a moment. “No, but..I want to. With you.” 

So, that’s how you end up in Steve’s bed, the clock on his bedside table reading 2:23 a.m. His head is delved between your thighs, working his mouth tantalizingly on your clit. His shoulders shelve your legs, holding you steady under your thighs. “Steve, please-” You writhe, unsure of what you’re even asking for. You just know that you want more. “Soon, baby.” He promises, his voice muffled into the plush of your thighs, pressing kisses along them every time he needs to speak. He’s intentionally taking his time, basking in all the experiences he’s  getting to show you. How good he’s going to get to make you feel. “My pretty baby.” He coos, tongue working against your pussy once more. You throw your head back, tugging at the locks of his hair, gasping and panting as moans spill from your lips. He wants to take his time with you-find out what makes you tick. So far, he’s gathered that marking you and working his lips against your clit makes your head spin. But he wants to know more-wants to know everything. 

“Want you inside-” You beg, finally casting your gaze downward upon him. Before he looks up at you, all you can see is tousled chestnut waves,tightened by your grip, broad shoulders, and large palms. “Can’t take all of me yet, baby,” He says, your pussy clenching at his tone. It’s almost condescending, and your brain goes fuzzy registering all of the experience that he has. “Gotta work you open first.” He pulls his face from between your thighs, pressing his thumb gently to your clit, working delicate circles into it as he looks up at you. “Think you can take my fingers, honey?” He asks. Your brows are furrowed with desperation, soaking up every ounce of pleasure he grants you. You hold onto it, not wanting him to take it away from you. “Yeah,” You urge, nodding. And even if there’s a little dishonesty His gaze harbors caution, not wanting to go too hard on you. He gently slides a finger inside of you, causing you to hiss through your teeth. “Too much?” He quickly asks, and you shake your head. “No, no-just-keep it there for a second,” You urge, the muscles in your stomach tightening with anticipation. It hurts, but only a little. Still, you need to let yourself adjust. You quickly do, the pain subsiding, melting into pleasure as you finally adjust to his size.

 He continues, finally working two fingers into you. He’s been knuckles deep in you for a while now, his mouth sucking gently on your clit to ease any discomfort. Your head feels dizzy, and all you can focus on is the pleasure he’s granting you. No one’s ever taken care of you like this before, and he’s urged you to just feel it. To just feel good, and not focus on anything else; just the sound of his voice. He finally climbs up from between your legs, hovering over you as his forearms rest on the mattress. “I love you.” He says, honestly. You nod in agreement, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. “I love you.” And in this moment, you know it’s forever; that everything you had gone through to get right to this moment was worth it-that it all had a purpose. He slides his cock along your entrance, gliding into you slowly. You hiss between through your teeth, and he quickly reaches for your hand. “You’re okay, baby-right?” He assures you, but he’s also asking. You’ve never seen someone balance the scales so well. “M’okay,” You nod. “Promise.” He continues, “S’the same as my fingers, baby.” He explains; soothes. You can tell by the way his breath shudders; he’s having a hard time keeping it together, that it’s taking everything in his power to not pound into you-to watch your eyes roll back into your head, all because of him. But, he’s a gentleman. “It’ll go away-feel good.” You start to feel yourself adjust, just like how you did his fingers. A moan slips from your mouth, a sign for him to finally move. “Move,” You plead, and his eyes light up. Not because he gets to fuck you, but because you’re okay. “Yeah?” He asks, his breath hitching in his throat.

 He starts slow at first, studying your features, still on that journey to find out what makes you tick. “M’gonna be gentle, honey. ‘Kay?” He nods, and you return the motion. “Wanna see-” He starts, slowly lifting your leg up. His frame leans into yours as he does so, his cock reaching deeper inside of your pussy. “Oh-” You gasp, moaning softly as he hits that spot inside of you. A spot only he could reach, and the only one who ever has. “There.” He notes, chestnut hair falling to frame his face. He can’t help the smug grin that tugs onto his features, tongue-in-cheek as he looks down at you. Your pussy is dripping, and you can’t take it anymore-tortured from the foreplay he’d given you. “Please, God-Steve. Want you to move, please fuck me-please-” You say, nearly babbling. He nods, soothing you as he hushes you. “Shhh, alright. Alright, baby.” He chuckles, and he moves his hips, his broad shoulders shelving your leg that he’s got ahold of. He keeps it steady, wrapping his arm around it as he fucks into you. Harder, and faster. Moans start to pour from your mouth, and you’re unable to contain any sounds that you make because of him. “Yeah, that’s it.” He praises, fucking into you harder. He doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second, reading any and every facial expression that you make. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” You nod rapidly, feeling his cock slide in and out of you. It’s like nothing you’ve felt before..ever.

”Yes-fuck-” Your brows furrow, scrunching together as you feel a warmth build in the pit of your stomach. He’d denied you an orgasm with his mouth, and his fingers, so you’d be ready to completely unravel for him. Any time you felt like you were getting close, he’d stop. You’d wondered why, until now. “Wanna see you. Wanna see your face when I give you your first.” Your head lulls back as you moan for him, tugging at his biceps, needing him closer. You’re nearly skin to skin, his hair hanging forward as it brushes against your forehead with each thrust.Your leg is still lifted, just bent now, causing your stomach to bunch with rolls as he presses his chest into you. “Come on, honey.” He coos. “Come for me.” It’s the first orgasm you’ve had that wasn’t by your own hand; finally by the hand you’d wanted it to be all along. You pant beneath him, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as you come undone for him. Your cheeks flush pink, rosied and fucked-out as your nails dig into the flesh of his biceps. “Uh-huh, there it is.” He chuckles, feeling his own orgasm approaching. You’d been on birth control for all sorts of reasons that..had nothing to do with sex. Until now. “Come in me,” You say, nodding rapidly. His jaw goes slack, shuddering gently at your words. “Can’t say things like that, baby. Can’t-” “M’on the pill, Steve-please,” You beg, “Promise, I love you.” Something shifts in Steve, and his full weight rests on top of you, pounding relentlessly into your pussy. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, sloppily sucking hickies into the flesh, leaving purple bruises in their wake. “I fuckin’ love you.” He breathes, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. He’s still holding your hand, finally spilling over inside of you. His moans are staggered, jolting out of him as he finally regulates his breathing, rolling over beside you as he pulls himself from you. He immediately pulls you into his side, feeling the fresh linen sheets bunch up beneath you both. Your eyes have adjusted to the moonlit room, studying his features in the dark as he looks at you. He’s lovestricken, doe-eyed with a wide grin on his features. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.” He says, and you roll your eyes with sweet embarrassment. “Stop! No you were not-” You tease, laughing softly. “I was-!” He retorts, brushing stray hairs out of your face as he smiles. “Always have been.” You stop your laughter, feeling it melt into a soft grin as you bask in the moment of his confessions. “And so have I.” You say. He pulls your face to him, pressing his lips to your forehead. You sigh with relief into his arms, feeling yourself doze off as he murmurs against your flesh, knowing that forever starts tonight. “Always will be.” 

[empresskylo]

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠WARNINGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost to sad/sweet!ghost. smut. rough sex. trauma/ptsd. dub-con sorta. wc 1.8k ➠SUMMARY | after a bad mission, simon comes back and takes his pain out on you. ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | had to get this out of my system okay....

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ghost found you in his room as you sat peacefully on his small bed, a book nestled in your lap. you lazily turned the page unaware of his presence. the single light in the room created haunting shadows across your face that made you appear ethereal. usually, that would gain a smile from him, but he just glowered.

ghost had basically stormed into the barracks, soap trying to reassure him that the mission wasn’t a total bust as he made his way down the hall, heavy-footed and stomping.

when he made it to his room, he was less than pleased to see you on his bed. usually, he enjoyed having you with him after a long mission, your warm body pressed against his side, your hands stroking through his hair, his arms wrapped possessively around you. but not tonight. not after what he went through.

“out,” he barked.

you startled, putting a hand to your chest. “jesus, you scared me.” 

he threw his tactical vest on his desk chair and glowered at you. “i said out,” he demanded. 

a small sense of apprehension spread through you. you closed the book and placed it beside you on the bed. “is everything okay?” you asked timidly.

ghost took in an impatient breath, his eyes focusing on his wardrobe rather than on you.

“you need to leave.” he tore his mask off then his gloves and dropped them on his small desk. he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and took a breath to compose himself. he didn’t want to yell at you. “i’m not in a good mood. i jus’ don’t wanna take it out on you.” he had to muster all his willpower to explain this gently. 

he squeezed his fists into a tight knot and he shut his eyes, his mind going back to his men shouting in frustration and pain, calling out to ghost, unsure of what to do next. ghost saw himself panic and make the wrong call. 

“please, just leave.” his voice was more defeated that time, his patience wearing thin.

you stood up off the bed and ghost almost let out a sigh of relief until he heard you stepping closer to him. 

he spun to meet you. “god fucking damnit!” he cursed, slamming his hand on the wall beside your head.

you held back a flinch but he could see the heartache in your eyes. 

“i’m not afraid of you.” ghost sucked in a breath at your words.

simon’s face was scarred and broken from years of hell. and usually, that didn’t hinder the beautiful man buried beneath. but tonight, his eyes were dark and angry. his lips were pulled back in a snarl. he frightened you. not because you were worried he’d purposely harm you, but because you knew he would tear himself apart if left to his own devices. he thought he needed to be alone to decompress, but that wasn’t true. that would strand him in his own thoughts.

“i’m not leaving,” you tried to say with merit but your voice was soft. 

simon’s other hand came out and slipped around your neck, putting a small bit of force on your windpipe as he hunched over to speak, his breath fanning against your lips. “i’m in a destructive mood, pet. i don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“maybe i want to be hurt,” you challenged him. simon’s eyes darted between yours, contemplating picking you up, tossing you out, and locking the door, that, or letting his dark thoughts win.

“i won’t be able to stop once i start,” he warned.

you nodded, “i know.”

against his better judgment, his let the latter succeed, conceding to his fucked up mood filled with frustration, anger, acrimony, malice, and self-hatred. he quickly spun you around, pushing you up against the wall. his hands immediately went to your pants and he yanked them down in a hard pull, making you gasp.

one hand went to the back of your neck to keep you flat against the wall, the other fiddled with his belt. the clinking of metal had you squeezing your thighs together in anticipation. simon was rather gentle when you were together, he never wanted to put you in harm's way. it was the complete opposite really–he’d do anything to protect you. 

but tonight he felt like he had gone back to his old self. the version of him that was set on avenging his family. the part of him that had been tortured and locked away–beaten and broken. and he couldn’t seem to get those emotions to leave his system. 

simon thrusted his hips against you, one hand on the wall, one hand on your neck. you whimpered when you felt his cock slide against you, between your thighs and bumping your clit. your pants were gathered around your knees, making it hard for you to spread them further for him. both of simon’s hands came up and squeezed your breasts forcefully, pulling you into him in a hasty motion. 

“tell me what happened,” you whispered. 

simon grunted, nipping at your neck making you cry out. 

he spun you both around and bent you over his desk, shoving your face against the wood. his hands gripped your hips, holding them so tight you worried you’d have bruises come morning. 

in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you. you whined and he groaned loudly. his voice was guttural and husky as he spoke. “lost good men over a stupid fuckin’ mistake.” his hands yanked your hips back to meet his thrusts. “they died because of me.” his words were slightly slurred as he spoke through grunts. 

“simon,” you said faintly, but he likely didn’t hear you, too lost in his own mind. 

“i froze. i don’t know why i fuckin’ froze,” he said with pure, unhindered anger. you cried out as he slammed into you harder. you knew you were going to be a new level of sore by tomorrow. 

simon roughly grabbed you, pulling you up to him, his hand wrapping around your neck tightly, cutting off most of your airflow, and holding your body against his own. he continued to rut into you, your hips hitting the desk with each of his thrusts. you mewled, closing your eyes and holding back any tears that threatened to fall. 

his hand around your throat slid up a bit further, his fingers splayed across your jaw. his hot breath was by your ear now, leaving goosebumps. “you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growled. 

you weren’t used to this side of simon. sure, he was a cold-blooded killer, the antagonist of people’s nightmares. but not with you. he was never that way with you. 

but you’d be lying if you said the way he was using your body, letting everything out of his system, didn’t send sizzling tingles straight to your belly and between your thighs.

you felt like his fingers were leaving dark red marks along your throat and you struggled to swallow. “just let go, simon,” you encouraged, your voice staggered. 

one of his hands dragged across your stomach as he pulled you into him, his other hand on your neck pulling it to the side so he could nip and bite along your throat. “fuck. fuck,” he moaned. 

his hips never let up, if anything, he began thrusting into you harder and faster. “it’s not your fault,” you managed to get out. 

you heard him groan. you both stumbled forward a bit and your hips hit the desk painfully, making it slide back in a screeching motion. that didn’t deter simon as his hand slid down to your waist, then along your hip, yanking you back to meet his thrusts. 

he quickly pulled out of you and spun you around to face him. you saw tear marks streaking his face paint as you studied him for that brief moment of reprieve. 

he backed you against the wall and shuffled as he pulled your pants the rest of the way off and tossed them aside. he stood up, gripping your ass and hoisting you up. you wrapped your legs around him and he was immediately back inside you, rutting his hips at the same speed as earlier. 

he leaned into you, his face buried in your neck, his hand tugging at your hair. you yelped quietly at the way he pulled on your hair, your body slamming against the wall with each flick of his hips. you heard what might have been a whimper, his lips leaving little kisses along your neck where bite marks had appeared. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore. his hand gripped your waist painfully tight and the fingers of his other hand–half buried in your hair, half against your cheek–pressed aggressively against you. the way he claimed you, took you for himself, and let his anger pour out of him, was almost possessive. 

you clenched around him, reaching your own high, triggering simon’s. his nails dug into you as yours tore against his clothed back. “god,” he grunted, followed by your name in a breathy tone, his hips keeping the same speed as his came inside you. 

you clung onto him, letting the last bit of pain leave him, before he slowed and gently loosened his grip on you. 

after several seconds of breathing heavily into your neck, he pulled back to look at you. you could see the tears that had lined his cheeks clearly now and one of your hands came up to rest against his jaw. he leaned into your touch, his fingers rubbing circles wherever they were against you. 

“im sorry,” he said faintly. 

“it’s okay, simon.” you gave him a weak smile. 

“it’s not.” he looked at you. saw the marks along your skin. felt the way his hand had been gripping you, sure to leave dark bruises. “i didn’t want to hurt you.” his voice broke over his last words. 

a tear slid down your cheek and he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. he set you down and you slid your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, and tugged him toward his bed. you pushed him down so he sat on the mattress and watched you. you stripped the rest of your clothes off and encouraged him to do the same. you slid on one of his t-shirts from his drawers and simon stripped down to just his boxers. 

you pushed him back and curled into the bed with him, clicking the light off. his arms immediately wrapped around you on instinct. he pulled you close and buried his face in your hair. his hands slid up under your shirt and you felt him rubbing patterns on your back. “i’m okay,” you promised him. 

he pulled you closer against him, tucking you into his side, wanting to have you as close as possible. “i love you,” he murmured, his thoughts settling to just thoughts of you. no one else. nothing else from that day. just you. 

“i love you, too,” you said back, your low voice honey to his ears. 

[nanaslutt]

have this idea stuck in my head for days

tojis obviously would be very opposed to the idea of subbing but hear me out, when you ride him and it just becomes too much, he would definitely let out little whimpers and be so embarrassed :((

I am SO into this.

Contains: fem reader, switch?reader & toji, dom!toji, nipple play, riding, backshots, soooo much dirty talk, daddy kink (i had to), lots of pet names for reader, pullout method used (shocker), praise, degradation, established relationship, toji is whipped for reader, face slapping, squirting, passing out during sex briefly (he stops)

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Your thighs are burning from supporting the rapid pace of your bouncing. Chastizing your aching legs silently, calling them ungrateful in this current situation.

Toji never let you take control. He hardly let you even ride him, and when you did he he often set the pace for you by fucking his hips up into your cunt. Toji like the dominance he had over you, loved seeing you go drunk from his length alone. There was nothing inherently wrong with his preference. Sex always being very satisfying with him.

But could couldn't deny that there were times when you wanted to see his facad fall apart. Growing wetter at the idea of him submissive underneath you.

You tried proposing the idea to Toji, but he shot it down down faster than you could even finish getting it out your words.

"There is no way I'm gonna be your bitch, sorry sweetheart." He delivered the news to you shortly, ruffling your hair in the process.

You argued back, "Cmon Toji, 's not like I'm gonna fuck you with a strap or something." Pouting when his large palm finished messing up the hair atop your head.

Head turning to stare at you with lidded eyes, disbelief plastered on his face at the mention alone of you fucking his ass with a fake cock.

Arguing back and forth for a while before settling on a compromise you could get behind. "Jesus christ girl, if this is so important to you, ill let ya ride my me or somethin."

You smiled, triumph filling your body at his proposition, "but if you don't fuck me right, I'm taking over." He stated flatly, making you roll your eyes at his overconfident tone.

Bringing you back to the current situation. Toji's large frame was sprawled out on the matress beneath you, large cock snug in your cunt as you bounced up and down. The pace you set didnt even come close to his usual speed, but you were just getting started.

You were so determined to make him eat his words, and show him how good submitting even just a little, could feel.

Pausing your bouncing for a second, his rough voice cut through the hot air, "Already done?" he smirked, tone having i told you so, laced all throughout it.

You lean back, hands bracing right above Toji’s knees as you plant your feet on the bottom of his abs, resituating yourself.

just you wait old man.

You stayed silent, giving him a small smile as you started thrusting your hips against him, sliding his hard cock in and out of your walls.

The new angle made his breath hitch, your cunt feeling so much tighter in this position. Toji's tip was being forced up against your tummy when you fucked his cock into yourself.

Trying not to lose yourself at the feeling of him directly hitting your sweet spot, realigning your brain to focus on your goal.

He licked his lips, jaw opening slightly, groaning unabashedly at the feeling of you deliberately clenching your cunt around him.

"Feel good daddy?" you teased, confidence filling your voice when his eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head. The older man’s hips fighting the urge to fuck into up you, trying to respect his pretty girlfriend’s wishes for the time being.

"Sure does cute thing, makin' me feel so fucking good." Grabbing the entirety of your ankles in his palms, using them to ground himself.

You catch him off guard, leaning forward swiftly and hooking your feet on the insides of his thighs, grinding your hips deliciously against his pelvis, providing your clit with mouthwatering stimulation in the process as it bumped against his hard pelvis.

"Fuuuuuck," he grit his teeth at the arousal knotting under his abs, his cock being rubbed against your walls delectably, making him feel lightheaded.

You braced your hands on his pecs, scratching your nails over his stiff nipples intentionally.

His reaction even catching himself off guard as he fucking whimpered. Body jerking when you repeated the process a couple times. His big hand coming up to cover his mouth, face turning crimson under his fingers when you picked up your hips again, pulling out till the tip was just inside before slamming them down roughly.

"H-aah," He breathily moaned, "You like it when I play with ur nipples daddy?" you whined with a smile, fingers coming up to the pretty pink buds, rolling them between your fingers.

His hand pressing harder over his mouth doing little to conceal his whimpers. You never would have guessed he was so sensitive here, never letting your sly fingers get close enough to test it.

“Can feel you twitching inside m-me” you moan out, pace of your hips finally matching the one he’s used to.

Watching his eyes repeatedly roll back in his head while he tried his best to suppress the whines that threatened to fall from his lips, making your clit fucking throb.

Abandoning one of your hand toying with his nipples to grab at his wrist, pulling at the hand covering his mouth, “Toji ‘s okay, w-wanna hear you.”

He feels the tips of his ears heat up, embarrassed that you had to comfort him like this. Usually having to be the one to console you when you were struggling to adjust to his length. He didn’t appreciate this reverse in your respective roles.

Dropping his hand onto you thigh and gripping hard, making the veins in his hand pop, he looked away from your eyes, “S-shut up.” he groaned, lip tucked snugly under his teeth.

Not letting his words get to you, thoroughly aware he wasn’t used to letting himself feel like this, you spoke again, “Sounds ur makin are getting me so f-fucking wet.” you praised.

Veins popping in his forhead at this as now you sounded a little too much like him, “That’s enough of that,” he quickly flips you over, roles falling back into their rightful place as he started pounding his cock into your cunt from behind, pressing the weight of his hard body against your back.

“Think you can talk to me like i’m some submissive slut? huh?” he growled into the shell of your ear, tongue darting inside, licking around in your ear.

“Tojiiiiii,” you whined at his mean hips, disappointed he had cut off your fun. Still fairly happy with the progress you made in allowing him to get used to being more submissive around you if he wanted, but still missing the slightly more domineering position you held moments ago.

“Cant believe you made me embarrass myself in front of you like that.” thinking back to moments ago when you quite literally had him whimpering under the assault of your hips and sneaky fucking fingers.

“Gotta put you back in your place,” he whispered darkly into your ear.

“N-not fair,” you moaned in retaliation, voice getting cut short as he painfully forced his cock deep into your walls, kissing your cervix with the deep angle.

“I think you had your- fun” he emphasized the last word with a thrust, “want me to admit it felt good when you rode my dick, huh? thag what you want?” Deep voice moaning at the feeling of your cunt constricting his dick like you were trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

“Think it was pretty obvious when you made me fucking whimper.” he spat, biting down on your hear and pulling it between his teeth before letting it go.

Leaning his body up and taking a strong hold on your hips, gripping them hard enough to almost guarantee to leave nasty bruises.

Toji pulled you back on his dick, your fingers gripping into the sheets for dear life as he fucked you like he had a personal vendetta against you.

And right now he did.

“God this little pussy is sucking me in so good.” his scared mouth forms a grin feeling you gush around him.

“Toji ‘s too m-uch” wining at the stretch of him still. Trying and failing to warn him of how close you were.

He pulls your hips back against him harder, shutting you up. “Nahhh you can take it.” he replies.

“Fucking- take- it” fucking his words into your body with each thrust, massaging your walls expertly with his girth. Your cunt pulsing around him unexpectedly as your orgasm crashed over you suddenly.

Transfixed with the cum squirting out of your pussy while he fucked got through it, “Oh yesssss, squirt all over me baby,” he encouraged, helping the cum spray out of you by rubbing his fingers back and forth across your clit,

“Fuuuuuck, oh-my-god” your voice squealed through it as little spurts of your arousal kept dripping out around his length.

The sheets underneath your body were fucking soaked, not having time to feel bad about it before you black out, limbs collapsing limply against the sheets, losing consciousness and the intensity in which you just came.

“Ahhh shit, heh” toji giggled, stopping his thrusts and burring his cock deep inside you before he leaned over your body. He slapped your face with his rough fingers a couple times before your eyes rolled back into place in their sockets.

Gaps and whines finding your tongue when you came to, tears falling down your face at sheer intensity of your orgasm. “You okay sweetheart?” he asked, keeping himself still, buried to the hilt while he waited for your answer.

Giggling when you nodded, stupid head unable to form any coherent words. “Attagirl, thought I killed ya’ for a second, that woulda’ been a new one.” laughing at his sick joke, while he kissed the side of your face.

“Think ya can keep going?” he asked, concern peeking out through his words.

Hearing you whimper out a quiet “mhmm” next to his chiseled face, he got back into position, pushing your back down into a mean arch as he started his pace up again.

“So good to daddy baby, promise i’ll make it quick.” staring down at you with admiration in his eyes as he thrusts recklessly into your cunt.

Words being a lot more literal that he thought, as he was only a couple thrusts in and already started feeling his balls tighten. Feeling the cum traveling through his dick, getting ready to give his load to you.

“Nggghh, gotta stop suckin me in like that, makin me think you want me to fill you up.” he groaned when your overstimulated pussy tightened, protestesting at his cock’s incessant thrusting.

Mind barely registering his words but your sweet voice slurring out, “yessss gimmie ur babiesss, cum inside me tojiii” anyways.

“Dangerous words doll,” he laughed feeling his cock react strongly to your words, “Maybe another night tho, pretty head doesn’t seem screwed on just right, right now.” much to your dismay he was pulling out soon after.

Jerking his cock quickly, hot ropes of cum decorating your ass while he groaned into the air, moaning your name full of pleasure while he came down.

He tapped your ass a couple times, signaling you to relax, body immediately obeying as your arch dissipated, flattening against the bed on your stomach, groaning at how sore your pussy felt.

He collapsed down on the bed next to you, pulling your abused body onto his sweaty torso, cradling you in his arms.

Feeling toji softly kiss your head while he whispered praises into your ear, mind slowly drifting off into what would be the best night of sleep of your life.

When sex got rough with toji and you fell asleep right after, much like now, he always made sure to wipe you clean. Never failing to wake up under his soft sheets, sticky mess cleaned off your body, slick between your thighs gone without a trace like it was never there in the first place.

Toji might be a rough man, not great with words, appearing intimidating and gruff to most, but he loved you and you really felt it with the little things like this that he did for you.

Rhythm of his stroking lulling you into dreamland, waiting until your breaths to evened out before he spoke, “felt kinda good to be under yer mercy like that, kid.” mumbling his confession into your hair before he situated you into the sheets next to him, standing to gather the supplies to clean you up while you slept like a baby, completely oblivious to his words.

[javiscigarette]

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painfull reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

[thecreelhouse]

handle with care

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Eddie and Robin think Steve needs to get out more, but he ends up in what he believes to be the wrong place at the wrong time, until he meets you. (meet cute/ugly au!!)

WC: 2.7k

CW/Tags: language, alcohol, mentions of injuries/blood, teeth mention, super brief suggestive moment, but the rest is awkward yet sweet fluff, reader is GN except for one gendered term at the end I couldn���t work around (apologies!!)

A/N: 10 years ago I broke my tooth on some poor dude’s head while stage diving, so here’s a fic inspired by that LMAO. I didn’t realize how similar some of it is to an old fic I wrote in 2020 until I finished writing this, but the overall idea is different enough to still post imo. this is silly and I don’t expect anyone to read it but if you do, thanks and enjoy! <3

“Oh. Oh, dude… that looks rough.”

Steve’s stumbling out of the small yet packed crowd, holding his head while blood drips down his face. He looks miserable, to say the least.

“Last fucking time I let either of you drag me out to some shit like this.”

“Whoa, hey, man, it’s your fault for not knowing pit etiquette,” Eddie snarks back, still handing a napkin over to Steve.

As soon as it’s in his hand, Steve recoils and throws the napkin back at Eddie. “Why is this wet?”

“Found it on the bar—“

“Jesus Christ.”

Robin rolls her eyes, handing Steve a clean, dry napkin for the blood. “The hell happened?”

“Some fucking idiot decided to stage dive onto me, and something hard stabbed my forehead.”

Robin stifles a laugh, but Eddie doesn’t bother hiding his snicker. “Dude, I warned you about crowdsurfing, pits, and stage diving.”

“What happened to just… enjoying music with your ears?”

Eddie quips back, “There’s absolutely no fun in that, Harrington.” 

Steve drops into the barstool next to Robin, holding his head with a groan. She moves his hands away from the source of blood. “Let me see— oh, shit.”

“What? What happened? Is it bad?” Steve panics, but as he looks up, he sees Robin looking over his shoulder down the bar. Eddie follows her gaze, eyes narrowing at someone asking the bartender something, ending up with a glass of water.

“Think I found your idiot.”

Steve turns around, but too quickly, hit with dizziness instantly. “God, I’m never leaving the house without a fucking helmet ever again.”

“Hey, hey—“ Eddie calls out to you while you’re walking by the trio, rubbing your finger along the new, jagged edge of your tooth, lost in your thoughts. You spit into the closest trash can, blood tinged saliva finally off your tongue before taking a sip of water. Eddie’s hand lands on your shoulder, spinning you around. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Your brows scrunch together as you shrug his hand off of you. “What’s yours?”

“Is— did you break your tooth?” Robin can’t help asking as you run your thumb along the sharpness of your now damaged front tooth. 

You yell over the music, “Yeah, some fucking moron wasn’t moving with the crowd, and chipped my tooth! I think I hit their head while stage diving. Who the fuck comes to these shows to just stand there?”

Robin and Eddie both glance at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“What? What’s so fu—“ You glance between the two of them, then notice Steve, cradling his head in his hands as he holds a napkin to the wound; your face drops in a cruel mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Oh my god— fuck, dude, I-  I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, it’s not like I haven’t had enough concussions in my lifetime, or anything.” Steve groans, side eyeing you. He’s about to give you more sass, only to become distracted with your face. You’re so … pretty. He was expecting some annoying, ‘tough guy’ to be the culprit, not someone cute like you. “I— it’s cool, what’s one more, right?”

Robin has to hold back her laughter at Steve’s attempt of a save, spinning around on the barstool as she tries hiding her face in her drink. She only ends up laughing, dribbling onto her shirt.

“Great job, Buckley, can’t take you anywhere either.”

Robin ignores Steve’s remark after the first few notes of another song begins, “Oh, wait! Hold on, hold—” She downs her drink before yelling, “I loooooove this song!” Looking over at you, she asks, “You two should be fine, right? Great!” She hops off the barstool before dragging Eddie into the crowd with her.

Immediately you take her seat, gently pushing Steve’s hair away from his face. “C’mon, lemme see the damage— oh no.”

Steve groans, lifting his head with his eyes screwed shut from the pain. “If I hear one more ominous “oh” I’m gonna lose it.”

His comment is shrugged off, “Probably should properly introduce myself, since, y’know, my tooth decided to meet your head first.” Your joke pops his eyes open, laughing for a moment until it worsens his pain with a cringe. “Ah— shit, sorry!” You shoot him an apologetic glance before offering your name.

Glancing up at you, getting a better view of your features, he stumbles over what should just be a simple response. “St- Ste— my name? It’s Steve.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back a giggle before continuing, “Steve, I got bad news for ya’.”

“What now?”

Taking over on blotting the wound, you move his hand away softly as your own adds pressure to stop the bleeding. He blushes under your touch, welcoming and soft in contrast to the sharp pain you accidentally left behind first.

“You’re gonna have to wear a bandage on that cute face for awhile.”

Steve laughs at your corny attempt of flirting; like he’s any better.

“Yeah, well…” His eyes meet yours, then fall to your smile. The part of your tooth cracked off isn’t terrible. Noticeable, sure, but somehow you make it work. “I got nothin’ clever to say, but you’re still cute with a broken tooth. Not easy to pull off.”

You roll your eyes playfully with a smile as kind as your touch.

“I’m so sorry me and my tooth happened to dive bomb into your pretty head,” You tease, using your free hand to rummage through your jacket pocket before finding a sealed bandage. “You mind if I see?”

“I mean… your tooth was literally in my head, so I don’t think you have to ask.”

“Okay, sassy pants, hold still.” You carefully remove the now bloody napkin away, noticing the gash is pretty rough, but not worth an ER trip, thankfully. The bleeding’s beginning to slow down.

“What’s the news, doc? Am I gonna make it?”

“Hm… not sure. Might need a drink for that,” You smirk, applying the bandaid to his head. Steve looks a little silly, but still terribly attractive. “Pick your poison, s’on me.”

“Oh, I- I—“ He glances up at you as you lean onto the bar, admiring how your outfit hugs you in all the right places. “S- surprise me?”

You give another smile before catching the bartender’s attention. Steve misses what you order with how hard his head is pounding, loud music no help whatsoever. You murmur a quick thanks before sliding a tip towards the bartender, handing Steve his drink before knocking your glass against his, “To the only idiots in this place.”

There’s cherries in both yours and his, but he has an extra; after taking a sip, his eyes go wide with nostalgia. “Why does this taste familiar?”

“Dirty Shirley!” You exclaim happily, but Steve looks confused. “Like, a Shirley Temple, but grown up! Get it? ‘Cause it’s got the vodka?” You force a laugh at your own bad humor, but the way you poke fun at yourself earns a genuine, soft laugh from Steve as he shakes his head. “Used to be my fave drink as a kid, and now it’s even better.”

“You didn’t get as many cherries as I did,” He points out with the slightest pout while you take a sip. 

“Told ‘em yours needed to be as sweet as you.”

“You’re knocking it outta the park with these corny lines.”

“Yeah? Enough to apologize for being a total asshole and flinging myself on you?”

Steve hums, lips on the edge of his glass, “Might need to try a little harder.” He knows he’s not a lightweight, so it can’t be the alcohol making him feel so airy and bold, it has to be the head injury. He reaches out to your chin, gently pulling on it to lower your bottom lip; you part your lips, catching on immediately as you try playing it cool, ignoring the way your breath hitches.

It’s got to be a weird sight out of context, watching Steve feel along your broken tooth, but it’s kind of on par for how weird this entire situation has been. “S’sharp. Does it hurt?” If this was any other stranger touching your tooth you just broke on their head, you’d be creeped out, but something about Steve’s demeanor shows he means no harm.

“Sore but it ain’t so bad. Got my nose cracked in a pit last year, that was worse.” You shrug while Steve looks at you like you’re insane; his hand pulls back before you become nosy. “So… gonna tell me why your polo wearing ass is in a place like this?”

He nods over to Robin and Eddie, bopping around the crowd. “Those two thought I needed to get out of the house more.”

“Shoulda’ picked something more your speed,” The comment’s lighthearted, but you feel bad instantly; you barely know Steve, you probably should ease up on the teasing.  “M’sorry again, like, for real. I got way too excited to stage dive for the first time, and it’s definitely my last.”

“Nah, you’re right, I stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”

“What? In a dive bar balls deep in the DIY scene? The whole point of subcultures in music like this is giving everyone a place to feel welcome, even if they’re cute dorks that don’t move with the crowd.” You catch yourself before rambling away about something you’re so passionate about. “If there’s ever a show you wanna go to and need someone to hang with, I’m always down for shit like this. Even if it’s something more your speed, just lemme know.”

Steve finds himself smiling over your offer, curiosity getting the best of him, “Why do you like all of this—” He gestures lazily around the club “—so much?”

You down the rest of your drink, “It’s a second home to me— and that sounds bizarre, I’m sure, ‘cause, like… how the hell do you feel at home in a room full of strangers? But I feel safer losing myself to the music with people who get it.” You pull a cherry out of the glass, popping it into your mouth with a pluck of the stem. “Whether I’m by myself or with friends, it beats being home home, I guess. Either way, I don’t feel so alone here.”

Steve watches you fidget with the cherry stem, mentally kicking himself for asking something so personal. “I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— that’s—“ He collects his thoughts for a moment, “I’m sorry if that put you on the spot to answer so… uh—“

“Keep your apology, Steve, you did nothing wrong. My bad for over sharing, I tend to do that… a lot.”

He shakes his head, “Hey, don’t— you keep your apology, too.” He’s not sure when his hand reached for your arm, softly squeezing it in a supportive gesture, but you don’t seem to mind. He laughs humorlessly, “Jesus, are you bad with that too? I feel like I’m apologizing all the time for just—“

“Just existing?”

“Yes!” He’s a little too excited to relate to someone with a personal struggle, but you don’t mind.

You lift his hand off of your arm, and for a moment he worries he was too forward, but you gently hold his hand in yours, pressing your palm against his. The two of you splay your fingers out, pressed up against one another.

“Don’t know why you’re scared of being in a pit with hands like this. Y’could totally take on jerks like me who get carried away.” Your comment isn’t meant to be anything more than harmless and playful, but once the words leave your lips, you curse yourself internally for how they’re phrased.

Steve’s brow quirks, and your mouth opens, about to apologize, but he beats you to it. “Can’t tell if that was supposed to be another corny pickup line or not.”

“… Maybe it is.” You smirk, but anxiously add, “Unless it’s— it doesn’t— not unless—“

“Unless I want it to be?” He finishes for you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “‘Cause I do.”

You beam with a nod, “So… you wanna hang out again? Like, for real, not this whole tooth in your head mess.”

Steve finally shoots a smooth response, “Can’t do that unless I have your number, y’know.”

“Oh— oh, duh, oh my god.” You lean over the bar, asking the bartender for a pen and paper, but he only has a pen; there’s probably something cliche in the way you’re writing your number on a bar napkin, when just minutes earlier, you used them to halt the bleeding from Steve’s head.

Scribbling it down, you hand it to Steve, but not before a tiny boost of confidence pushes you to add, “Might need your number too, in case one of your friends decides to use that napkin.” He side eyes you with a hint of a smile, writing and exchanging his number with you, too.

Neither of you notice Robin and Eddie across the room, yell-whispering to one another over the music as they gossip over the two of you.

“You saw that too, right? They did the hand thing, the hand thing!” Robin happily shouts, and Eddie chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, they’re definitely gonna fuck.” Eddie snickers and Robin jokingly smacks his shoulder.

“Bet they’re gonna be endgame.”

“Sure fuckin’ hope so, it’d be one hell of a story.”

—

Omitting anything inappropriate, especially the last part— told to you teasingly a month into dating Steve— you finish retelling the night you and Steve met.

“That’s how you met Daddy?” The twins’ reactions starkly contrast one another’s, as usual; your daughter is horrified, while your son is thrilled to learn this.

“S’so silly!” He falls onto his back from his spot on the floor, holding his tummy as he laughs loudly. 

“Did he glue your tooth back together?” Your daughter asks, blatantly ignoring that Steve has no dentistry experience whatsoever. You hold back your laughter, not wanting to make her feel bad. 

“No, honey, I actually spit it into—“

“— Into their hand, and safely took it to the dentist for him to fix the next day.” Steve rushes in as he walks by the room, overhearing the conversation; he looks to you, eyes wide, mouthing, “what are you doing?”

Your daughter runs to Steve, clinging to him like a koala. He laughs as he lifts her into his arms, watching as her tiny hands push his hair away from his face; he starts going cross eyed trying to follow her movement. 

“Sweetheart, what are you up to?” Steve chuckles as she runs her hand along his forehead, face displaying a state of determination.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Where’s the spot Mommy’s tooth hit your head?”

He glares down at you playfully while his daughter continues searching for a scar. Looking back at his daughter, he answers, “It faded awhile ago, probably from all the forehead kisses Mommy gave me.”

You force a fake cough, “Corny.” At the same time, both of your kids make “blech!” noises.

Before Steve can retort, your son runs to climb into your lap, excitedly asking, “Can you show me how to do that?”

Your brows furrow a bit but you laugh, “Show you how to do what, kiddo?”

“Stage diving!”

Both you and Steve exclaim a firm, “NO.” making your son pout, but only for a moment.

“S’okay, I’ll ask Uncle Eddie instead,” He slips off your lap, marching out of the room; his sister wriggles out of Steve’s grasp, and he takes the hint, setting her down gently. She gives a “hmph!” stomping out after her brother.

Once the coast is clear, the two of you burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Did you ever think us being absolute idiots would lead to all of this?” You find yourself asking Steve between giggles. He pulls you up off the chair and into his arms, kissing the top of your head as he laughs softly. 

“Not at all, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

You push his hair away from his face, finding the very faint scar from that fateful night years ago, pressing a soft kiss to the exact spot, thinking:

What a hell of a story.

[qveerthe0ry]

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect. 

He’s your dream man. 

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place. 

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees. 

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally. 

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit. 

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own. 

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it. 

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too. 

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight. 

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things. 

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him. 

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing. 

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow. 

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore. 

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training. 

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager. 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated. 

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it. 

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in. 

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.” 

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine. 

“You’re lying.” 

You sigh and close your eyes. 

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.” 

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty. 

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers. 

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.” 

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment. 

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?” 

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction. 

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?” 

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little. 

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs. 

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation. 

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not. 

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him. 

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?” 

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead. 

“Everyone?” 

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you. 

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up. 

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at. 

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you? 

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.” 

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze. 

“Really?”

You scoff. 

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth. 

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine. 

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment. 

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back. 

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone. 

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted. 

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs. 

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.” 

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth. 

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you. 

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction. 

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long. 

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs. 

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt. 

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking. 

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved. 

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” 

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest. 

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?” 

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter. 

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod. 

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience. 

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt. 

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?” 

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss. 

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head. 

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you. 

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before. 

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers. 

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch. 

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck. 

“It’s just you.” 

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief. 

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans. 

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess. 

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips. 

“That’s all for me?” 

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again. 

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip. 

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you. 

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes. 

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs. 

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face. 

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control. 

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him. 

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest. 

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels. 

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.” 

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest. 

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure. 

Oh, he’s fucking good at this. 

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else. 

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding. 

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers. 

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face. 

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side. 

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles. 

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself. 

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together. 

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing. 

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids. 

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours. 

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder. 

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?” 

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs. 

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction. 

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants. 

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.” 

You huff. 

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it. 

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours. 

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe. 

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs. 

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out. 

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation. 

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again. 

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you. 

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold. 

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs. 

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever. 

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.” 

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust. 

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there. 

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake. 

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.” 

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping. 

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue. 

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him. 

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him. 

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach. 

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers. 

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that. 

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is. 

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat. 

“So… How’d it compare?” 

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question. 

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them. 

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?” 

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up. 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are. 

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs. 

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs. 

“Better,” you whisper. 

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back. 

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver. 

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips. 

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants. 

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension. 

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. 

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little. 

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up. 

“Will you let me suck it?” 

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods. 

“Please.” 

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction. 

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough. 

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go. 

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you. 

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel. 

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock. 

His little cock. 

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess. 

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing. 

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this. 

You’ll make him look, one way or another. 

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention. 

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head. 

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth. 

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him. 

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show. 

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to. 

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more. 

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool. 

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere. 

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock. 

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself. 

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds. 

He says your name. 

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls. 

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked. 

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face. 

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face. 

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.” 

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question. 

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe. 

“Yeah? You still want it?” 

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. 

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.” 

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away. 

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?” 

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of  amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later. 

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body. 

He’s so hot. 

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed. 

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling. 

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time. 

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense. 

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you. 

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him. 

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles. 

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm. 

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out. 

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh. 

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up. 

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist. 

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you. 

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them. 

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit. 

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight. 

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy. 

There’s screaming. 

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts. 

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene. 

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks. 

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps. 

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again. 

“Huh?” 

God, how are you ever going to move again? 

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words? 

“What are you talking about?” 

He clears his throat. 

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly. 

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright. 

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out. 

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?” 

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver. 

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees. 

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you. 

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body. 

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high. 

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part. 

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle. 

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach. 

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do. 

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest. 

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth. 

“When can we go again?”

[hihomeghere]

Dreams | Arthur Morgan/Reader

Word Count : 1.1k Summary : Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you Warnings/tags : Cursing, fluff, mention of infidelity, just Arthur being a sweet guy <3

He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t be having these thoughts, because all they are just dreams. They’re never going to become a reality. Not when they’re constantly on the move, running from place to place. He sees the way it affects Jack, poor kid, not knowing what the hell is going on. And his daddy doesn’t exactly help him understand. 

He can’t even say he would be a better father, he wasn’t before. 

Hell you two ain’t even married yet, and he’s not that much of a fool. Not anymore. His regret for not marrying Eliza weighs heavily on him most days, even if he didn’t love her in that way. Now you on the other hand, he loves you more than anything. More than this stupid gang, more than life itself. He would happily lay down his life if he knew you would be happy, safe. 

When these thoughts enter his head, he can’t say. His days sort of blend together, making it hard to pinpoint. Although seeing you interact with Jack doesn’t help. 

You are so sweet, so motherly, hell you even mother the younger folks in the gang. Soft touches, kind words, but internally strong. You have all the qualities he finds attractive in a woman. Somehow you fell for him just as hard as he fell for you. 

But he ain’t a fool, he knows this ain’t the right time or place. So instead he writes down all these dreams in his journal, his safe place. The place where he can say anything without being judged. He dreams of little girls, he didn’t know how to interact with Isaac. Too afraid of being his own father. Girls seem less daunting, and a little you would be perfect. He already has one angel, what’s one more?

He comes up with the name while north of Brandywine Drop. The bright purple flowers caught his eye just off the trail.

Violet.

Violet Beatrice Morgan.

His heart sings, scribbling the name down in the margins of his journal. He finds himself writing VM in his journal, smiling foolishly to himself. It’s beautiful, his precious flower. 

It’s not like you meant to snoop. You were looking for Arthur, since he was nowhere to be found. You entered his tent, which in reality wasn’t much of a tent at all, finding his journal open. You walked over to it, looking over the worn page. There were the normal doodles he drew, along with his flowing hand writing. But one thing stood out to you, a pair of initials circled by hearts. VM.

You furrowed your brows, you couldn’t think of anyone you knew with the initials VM. Those definitely weren’t your initials either. 

With your curiosity peaked you flipped through a couple more pages. VM was written everywhere, along with those damn little hearts. 

You felt that little green monster grow inside you the further you looked into his journal. Biting your cheek so hard you could taste blood. It did nothing to quench the fire inside of you. 

“Darlin?” Arthur called walking into the so-called tent. You dropped the journal back onto the table, turning to face him. “There you are.” He grinned walking towards you.

“Here I am.” You said forcing a smile.

“Hosea said you were looking for me.” He said softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "Anything you need?”

“Must have forgot.” You said with a noncommittal shrug, “I ought to get back to work.” You nod walking past him. Arthur furrowed his brow at your attitude. Did he say something to offend you?

Then his eyes fall onto his open journal. His stomach drops at the sight. Jesus, you saw. You saw all of it. You were probably thinking the worst, seeing the initial surrounded by hearts. How was he gonna fix this?

You stomped off to the edge of camp, trying to wrack your brain as to who this VM could be. And why was Arthur drawing hearts beside the initials? Maybe you had this all wrong, Arthur would never do anything to hurt you. He was a good man, a man you could trust. Wasn't he?

“Y/n!” He called trailing behind you, a crestfallen expression on his face. You stopped at the tree lining, biting your lip as you turned to face him. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I-“ He sighed looking down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a low curse. 

“Who is she?” You asked clenching your jaw. He furrowed his brows looking up at you.

“What?” He asked, his hands settling on his hips.

“VM, the girl you keep drawing hearts around. Who is she?” You were blunt, something he loved so much. Always telling it like it is, never leaving him to guess your feelings. A small smile spread on his face, which only made you more mad. “Seriously, you think this is funny?” You hissed, taking a step towards him. Arthur only had one choice, to tell you the truth. 

“Violet.” He said softly, reaching for you. “Violet Morgan.” You let him wrap his hand around your forearm, pulling you close to his chest.

“Who is Violet Morgan?” You asked, swallowing thickly. He sighed, looking off to the side, wetting his lips.

“She’s uh-“ He shook his head, a nervous smile on his lips. “She’s not exactly real, not yet at least.” He said. 

You shook your head, brows knitted together, “Not real? The hell you mean, not real?”

“I-“ He rubbed the back of his neck looking down, “It’s uh- shit.”

“Spit it out Morgan.” You huff throwing your arms up. 

“I thought of a name,” He explained, “A name for a girl if we- if we have one some day.” He said with a shrug, his cheeks flushed, almost as though he had been in a scuffle. 

Oh.

If we have one some day. 

“Oh Arthur.” You said softly, a smile spreading across your face. Feeling suddenly very foolish for doubting your man. “That's so sweet.” You took a step forward, tilting his face up to look at you. 

“Yeah?” He asked, looping his fingers in his gun belt. 

“Yeah.” You repeated, nodding. “Jesus you had me scared you were gonna tell me you found someone else.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Never. There ain’t no one else in this goddamn world that could replace you.” He said his hand reached up to cup your face. “You’re uh- you’re it for me darlin.” His bright blue eyes peered into yours, love and affection pouring out in his expression. 

“When we have our girl.” You said brushing away a stray strand of honey brown hair, “Violet will be a perfect name.” He grinned, wrapping a hand around your waist.

“Guess it’s settled then.” He said as he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

[gardengirl222]

husband!rafe and your kids attempt to prepare you a mother's day surprise! 💐

rafe sets down your daughter so she's sitting on the table after helping her put up some pastel ribbons, hearts and banners for decoration so he can walk over and check on the pancakes your son was in charge of.

"hey bud, those pancakes are lookin' a little...come on dude" he looms over the boy and put his hand on top of the little backwards baseball cap over your sons head. 

"it's supposed to be mickey mouse!"

"well it looks like a sad bear...think mom will think they're cute?" rafe makes a face and turns his head to see more of the "sad bears" already on a plate.

"what do i know!?" your son shrugs and drops a few more chocolate chips onto the cooking pancake.

"ehh s'alright we'll just cover'em in syrup, whipped cream or something" rafe reasons with himself when your son arm swings back after trying to flip like a chef, ironically the most decent looking pancake flies to the opposite wall and splat! its ruined. 

"aw man!" your son whines and rafe gasps dramatically. "careful!! jesus!!" he rushes over to clean the mess on the wall when your daughter screams and points to the oven. both rafe and your son's heads turn quickly to where she's pointing. "what? what's wrong baby?" rafe asks all panicked.

"dad! the oven!" your son backs away from the pancakes as the oven pours out black smoke, the french toast on fire. "what is that!?" your son furrows his eyebrows and runs to open a window. "its the french toast- or it was." rafe's face hardens in concentration, hoping the fire alarm wouldn't go off and wake you up, he grabs a towel to start to "put out the fire" or "cool it down" but that just makes the fire worse causing the alarm to ring. your daughters hands fly to cover her ears as she sits there watching, your son grabs the water in the glass jar on the table and hands it to rafe who splashes it on the flaming french toast. 

"what's going on!?" you walk into the kitchen in you nightgown, picking up your daughter and holding her on your hip. the alarm still ringing, you turn your head to see your son stood on a chair trying to get the smoke away from the alarm to get it to stop. "go back to bed mama! everything's fine!" rafe shouts over the ringing and closes the oven quickly, he takes your daughter into his arms so he can shoo you away. 

"kay guys, what do'we got?" rafe sighs after sorta cleaning up the mess and sits on the table with his kids. "we've still got the pancakes." your son points to the now broken plate with ruined pancakes due to the commotion earlier. 

"uh nah bud, we've gotta scrap that." 

"i have bubblegum grampa gave me for easter!" you daughter lights up as she offers. "no princess, you keep your bubblegum, we'll think of something else." rafe smile and smooths his hand over her messy baby hairs.

"well there's vanilla ice cream in the freezer and at least a few chip's ahoys in the pink jar." you son's eyebrows shoot up at the realization. "and strawberry wafers above the fridge." the boy points to where the wafers where supposed to be hidden. 

"right, that works..." rafe smiles and picks up your baby girl to place on his hip and give a bunch of kisses to. 

"oh my goodness! whats this!" you smile brightly sitting in your bed, pausing the movie you were watching as you see your little family come through the door, your daughter runs up to your side and hands you a card she made with glitter and lace. "thank you baby this is very sweet." you place the card against your heart momentarily, rafe walks up and places a silver tray on your lap with little scoops of ice cream, wafers and cookies. "happy mothers day mama" rafe smiles, quite proud of the little breakfast they managed to come up with last minute. 

"thank you baby" you continue to smile, reaching your hand out to place on rafe's cheek as he bends down to give you a kiss. "there's more ice cream if you want s'more after, happy mother's day!" your son says smiling showing all his teeth and handing you a bouquet of casablanca lilies and a few of his baseball cards that he considers presents, you giggle and reach over to embrace him as well.

"s'very nice of you guys, so many beautiful mother's day presents!" you tell your kids.

"its not over yet, i've got s'more gifts for you in the living room." rafe grins and hands you a spoon for the ice cream. "i love you do you know that?" he asks and you nod.

"i do, and i love you, all of you guys very much. what happened in the kitchen earlier? everything okay?" 

"i just wanna say again, i love you so very much." rafe smiles innocently ❤️

i wanna marry himmm

[chelseypprimrose]

The Boy’s a Liar / bfd!Negan x Reader / no-apocalypse AU 🧟

Warnings: daddy kink, breeding kink, boyfriendsdad!negan, oral (female receiving) use of belt, squirting, swearing, use of degrading names, general Negan ness, voyerism, unprotected sex, reader is a little evil to her boyfriend : NOT PROOFREAD YET

Summary: Reader finds out her boyfriend cheated on her via a Snapchat story, she takes sweet revenge with her boyfriend’s hot as fuck dad.

A/N: I’ve never wrote for breeding kink before so please be kind lol 🤍 I had a lot of fun with this one!

“Fucking waste of my damn time.” You cursed yourself, boys are so stupid. You couldn’t stop watching the Snapchat story of your boyfriend’s best friend, your boyfriend so obviously kissing a woman that wasn’t you. Not a care in the world, disrespecting you and the values you held in a loyal relationship. You didn’t know it this was a common occurrence that you just hadn’t noticed or a drunken one off. Not that it mattered, it was still a betrayal of your trust.

Eyes glossy with tears, you were driving towards your boyfriend’s house that he shared with his father, Negan. You didn’t even have a speech prepared, what you were going to say, if this was the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, your mind was running at a mile a minute.

Pulling into the driveway, you turned off the engine and put your car keys into your handbag, getting out and walking with purpose to the front door, your heels slamming on the concrete floor. You knocked on the door loudly, no answer. You knocked again, your hand shaking with annoyance.

The door finally opened but it wasn’t your boyfriend who stood before you, it was Negan.

“Hey doll, what you doing here so early? I was just making breakfast if you wanted any?” He offered before he took a proper look at your face, noticing the black tears of mascara that ran softly down your face.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up morals you’ve taught your son, Negan, but I thought you were a better man. Obviously I was wrong.” You said with spite, you were letting your feelings be known to anyone who would listen. It was just unfortunate that it was the wrong person to direct your anger towards.

Technically, Negan hadn’t done anything wrong, but he was guilty by association in your current messed up state. You just needed to vent at someone, and Negan was the closest person to your boyfriend.

“Woah, doll? What’s wrong, what’s he done?” Negan moved aside so you could come in, walking towards the kitchen, the smell of fresh bacon and egg filling your nostrils. You placed your handbag on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, your hand playing with your necklace.

“He went out last night and he kissed a girl, I saw it on his friend’s Snapchat.” You managed to get out through a small sob, your eyes filling up with tears again. You couldn’t believe you were crying like this in front of his dad, you felt embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry dollface, I didn’t raise the kid to do shit like that, we are loyal to our women.” Negan sighed, his hand running through his salt and pepper beard, trying to find the words to make the pain in your heart go away. His eyes watched you as you grabbed a tissue from the box placed on the dining table, using your front phone camera as a mirror to wipe your tears away.

“You know what though, it might be a blessing in disguise.” Your head whipped around to give him a look of disbelief, in what world could this be a blessing? “What the fuck do you mean, my boyfriend cheated on me? How could that even remotely be a blessing?!” Feeling your anger building up again, Negan walked around to your side of the counter, towering over you, his head coming down to whisper in your ear. “Oh please, Y/N. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me, remember that party a couple months ago, goddamn doll, you couldn’t take your eyes off my dick in them swim shorts.” He gave a small laugh, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his eyes watching your chest raise with each breath you took. “You need a real man to take care of you, I heard you with him. I’m experienced enough to know when a woman is faking it to spare a man’s feelings.” Your eyes met with his, how on earth could he tell. You couldn’t even deny it, while your boyfriend was good enough, he was too soft with you, complaining when you’d asked him to just choke you a little bit. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt you, he’d said, your eyes rolling in annoyance.

“How the fuck do you know that?” You asked, his cologne hitting you in the face as he got ever so closer to you. “Like I said doll, I know women. You want to be played with don’t you? You want someone who knows how to please you properly, give into it doll. I could give you all the pleasure you’d ever need.” You let out a soft moan, knowing this was wrong but your petty nature taking over, not only was this such an evil way to get back at him, you longed for Negan. He was right on the nose with how you looked at him, you’d always found him attractive, just trying to stop yourself from jumping his bones whenever the two of you were around each other.

“Fuck it, I’ve always wanted to know what your cock feels like, deep inside me.” You whispered out, your hands wrapping around Negan’s neck as he captured your lips in a kiss. His hands finding their way to your ass, squeezing the round globes hard.

He lifted you up, walking towards the stairs. “I’m going to have you begging for mercy when I’m finished with you doll.”

It was almost animalistic, months of repressed attraction coming to a conclusion. You’d never have even thought about your late night fantasies coming true, until this very moment that they had. Negan kicked the door to his bedroom open, not bothering to close it behind him. Placing you on the bed, his hands grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt to pull it over his head revealing his toned torso and arms, his tattoo that you loved so much coming into view.

Your hands started to feel up on his chest, wanting skin to skin contact with him so desperately. You tried to sit up a little to take your tank top off but Negan stopped you in your tracks, slamming your arms down above your own head. “Don’t you fucking dare doll, that’s my job.” A dark look coming across his face, he ripped the tank top off you hastily. His eyes glued to your bare chest, you hadn’t bothered to put a bra on today, in a sleepy haze just wanting to get over here to question your boyfriend. “Such beautiful breasts doll, he’s going to regret giving you up.” Negan stated as he took one of your erect nipples into his mouth, a soft bite as he did. You moaned out, watching his every move, his eyes locked to yours.

Leaning up, Negan unbuckled your belt sliding it out of your jean loops, grabbing your hands, wrapping the belt around your wrists as your hands were placed back above your head. The leather tight and digging into your skin, only turning you on more, heat rushing to your pussy. Negan took the time to unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your legs revealing your small black thong that left little to the imagination, pulling them to the side, Negan licked a strip starting from your opening to the top, focusing his attention on your throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your boyfriend never took the time to ever focus on your pleasure, either because he couldn’t be bothered or he just didn’t care, you didn’t know.

You felt the extra wetness as Negan spat right on your pussy, bringing his fingers to slowly enter you. Starting at a slow, agonising pace he could feel your body relaxing as you let your body give in to the pleasure you were feeling. You wanted nothing more than to grip onto his hair, but your bound hands didn’t allow it. As he felt you relax, he quickened his pace up, moans leaving your lips loud and clear. “Such beautiful noises for me slut, and I know these are real.” You felt your core tightening as you kept building up wave after wave of pleasure, you’d never even realised you could get so close to orgasm so fast, Negan caught on to this and took his fingers out of you, dripping in your juices. He forced his fingers into your mouth, you sucking the wetness off like it was your last meal.

“You fucking dirty girl, you like the way you taste?” He asked, his fingers still in your mouth as he pulled his shorts down, revealing his boxers to you. “Yes, I love it so much. I need to fill me up Negan, ruin me please.” You managed to get out through heavy breathing and his fingers. He chuckled, manoeuvring your body so you were on all fours, facing the mirrored closet doors, next to the entrance of the bedroom. “I’m going to fuck you so dumb baby girl, you’ll forget your own name when I’m done with you. Going to get you drunk on my cock. You won’t even want another man to touch you.” You whimpered, seeing Negan pulling his large cock out of his boxer shorts, them falling to the ground. His tip was red, leaking with precum, standing erect. He looked like a Greek god, his posture so manly and authoritative. He lined up at your opening and wasted no time, starting at a hard and fast pace. “Oh my god, Negan yes! Fuck!” Your nails dug into your own hands, the leather of the belt still digging into you causing pain but you didn’t care, the feeling was too good to complain. Your toes curled with pleasure in your heels, Negan’s hands gripped on your hips like he was holding on for dear life. “Shit doll, you feel so fucking good, so tight for Daddy.” You eyes widened at the nickname, you’d always wanted to experiment with a daddy kink but he’d never allow it, said it made him feel weird. You couldn’t believe how much this man was filling your darkest fantasies, you felt like maybe your boyfriend cheating was a blessing in disguise after all. Negan’s hand came down to slap your ass, the motion leaving a good red mark on your cheek. You looked towards the large mirrors in front of you, seeing Negan’s body go through the motions, his hips bucking against your ass as he fucked you deep. “Yes daddy, I’m so tight for you, you feel so good inside me.”

Neither you or Negan heard the front door open, your boyfriend finally getting back from his night out, guilt filling him up as he remembered what had happened last night. He knew that what he did was wrong, that kissing that woman was wrong. Still tired and hungover, he at first thought his imagination was playing tricks on him when he heard moaning coming from upstairs, he didn’t think his dad was dating anyone, a look of confusion coming onto his face. He made his way up the stairs, looking through the open gaps of the banister, his features wrinkling in disgust and disbelief when he saw you, head thrown back in pleasure as you met Negan’s thrusts in a timed motion. He rushed up the whole flight of stairs until he got to the door.

“What the fuck is happening here?!” You heard the voice of your boyfriend, your eyes opening with a gasp, you thought Negan would stop, embarrassed that the two of you had been caught in such a way but he went even faster in and out of you, your hands trying to grab some of the blanket that was at the end of the bed, failing miserably due to the fact of your hands being bound together.

“Hey son, just treating your girl to a proper fuck, you were stupid as fuck to let this one go, she’s one dirty fucking girl! Maybe this will teach you not to go round sticking your dick in other women when you’ve got an absolute diamond at home. Now stand there and watch boy.” Negan laughed, your eyes meeting with your boyfriend, you couldn’t help with the moan that escaped your lips as Negan moved down to grab your chin, his head coming to the side of your ear. “Tell him doll, tell him how good daddy’s fucking you.” You smirked, looking out the corner of your eyes to look at Negan. “So fucking good daddy, filling me up, better than he ever could. Please keep fucking me like this daddy.” You whimpered, your lips meeting with Negan as he kept his eyes open, staring at his son.

Your boyfriend didn’t know what to do, he rushed out of the room, slamming the front door behind him as he was trying to gather his thoughts together.

“That was so fucking dirty doll, oh my goodness! I can feel you getting close girl, let yourself cum all over my cock. I want to finish inside you, fill your body with my baby.” You screamed out as your orgasm took over your body, black spots coming into your vision. Your pussy felt like it had a death grip on Negan’s cock, his thrusts coming to slower pace as he let you ride out your orgasm. “Pull out of me, I want to ride you daddy.” Negan didn’t need any more encouragement as he pulled out of you, lying down on his back as you dug your heels into the mattress, sat on top of him. “Be careful with those things, don’t want a hole in my mattress dollface. You look fucking good in them though, sexy as fuck.” He said, as he shoved his cock into your dripping hole. You bounced up and down, even with your orgasm taking energy out of you, you couldn’t stop, you needed Negan like a hardcore drug. His musk mixing with a light sheen of sweat over your bodies. Negan’s hands gripped your ass as he directed your body as you grind into his hips, your second orgasm building up in your core. His cock filling you up, “That’s it baby, bounce on daddy’s cock for me, I want to see my seed dripping out of you.” You quickened your pace, feeling Negan’s cock twitching in you. “That’s it daddy, fill me up with your seed, I want you to fill my pussy up daddy!” You screamed out, uncaring about neighbours being able to hear you, you were too cock-drunk to care. Negan growled, his seed spurting out in you, his hands gripped your hips like a vice, his breathing heavy. You came to your end as well, gushing all over his cock, wetting the bed below you and Negan’s stomach as you squirted for the first time ever in your life. You moaned louder than ever, falling to the side of Negan, his flaccid cock sitting on top of his torso. You both were spent, the only thing that could be heard in the room was heavy breathing. Negan got up slowly from the bed, he released you from the belt, your wrists red and sore. He grabbed a small towel from the on-suite bathroom, cleaning you up from your squirt wetness. He laid back next to you, his arm coming over you to pull you closer, a sloppy kiss on your lips. “Life is never going to be the same again after this doll. Shit, I know it’s wrong to ask but leave him, I’ll treat you better than that stupid boy.” You looked at him, a smile coming across your face. “Negan, you could ask me to do anything right now and I’d say yes, that was the best fuck of my life, Daddy.”

Negan laughed and slapped your ass as he caught you in another sensual kiss.

[projectionistwrites]

Literally would read any moon knight smut from you 🥵 can I request something with the boys having a marking/spit kink? I feel like it is most in Marc’s character but tbh I’m not particular heh

sorry this took so long hehe i hope you like it <3

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

Marc Spector x afab!reader (mentions of Steven Grant x reader) (2.2k)

Marc Spector didn’t fancy himself a jealous man—but you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ mdni) WARNINGS: arguing, jealousy, SMUT (oral (f! and m! receiving), degradation, a bit of choking, facefucking, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, mean!dom!marc)

It was an accident, really—you hadn’t meant for it to slip out. And yet, there wasn’t a single part of you that felt bad about it.

Marc had already been in a bad mood when he’d woken up that morning, sulking and brooding and generally unpleasant to be around. When you’d asked him what was wrong, he’d brushed you off, insisting he was just tired and had a headache. You knew better than to believe him.

Truthfully, you had a suspicion that Marc had been feeling neglected. After he’d introduced you to Steven several weeks ago, the two of you had been inseparable—you and Marc had been dating for a year and half, so getting to know Steven was like the honeymoon phase all over again. He was sweet, and gentle, and shy, and many other things that Marc simply wasn’t. The contrast excited you, but you could tell that the puppy love between you and Steven had begun to take a toll on Marc.

When you’d gotten home from work today, you had planned on offering to cook a nice meal for you and Marc in an attempt to smooth things over and ease his worried mind, but he clearly was in no mood for reconciliation.

“Honey, I’m hooome.”

You sing-songed jokingly as you walked in the door, keys jingling in the lock. When you received no response, your joviality quickly dissipated and a deep frown etched itself into your face.

“Hello?”

You called again, brows furrowed in confusion. You took a few steps into the apartment, hanging your bag on the coatrack and slipping your shoes from your feet. Again, silence.

You went to turn the corner towards where the bedroom side of the studio apartment was, but quickly collided with a warm body as you rounded the bookshelf.

“Jesus fuck!”

You yelped as a hand came out to steady your shoulder, saving you from stumbling backwards on impact.

“You scared me....”

You hesitated, looking up at the man before you cautiously. The scrunch between his brows and hardness in his brown eyes quickly confirmed your suspicions.

“...Marc.”

Marc mistook your brief moment of pause as disappointment, and he sneered, releasing your arm with a small shove and sidestepping you.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint.”

You blinked a few times in disbelief, frozen in place as his words took a moment to sink in. When they finally did, you were left reeling, whirling around to face his retreating figure with an incredulous expression.

“What?”

Marc huffed angrily, nostrils flaring as he threw himself onto the couch, a hand reaching up to run through his dark hair.

“I said, sorry to disappoint. I’m sure you’d much rather have Steven greeting you when you get home.”

“I never said that.”

You scoffed, approaching him slowly with your arms crossed over your chest. His brown eyes darted up to your face, his lips curled into a scowl.

“You didn’t have to. You’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Where is this coming from, Marc?”

It was a stupid question—both of you knew the answer already. Marc’s nostrils flared as he averted his gaze from you, sulking silently and staring off at some point in the distance.

A pang of guilt accompanied the sigh that fell from your lips as you noticed the slight quiver of his lip, and you made your way to the empty spot next to him.

“Hey.”

You started gently, letting your hand trace across the veins of his forearm before your slid your fingers between his own.

“I’m sorry, Marc. I know—I know things have been moving pretty fast between me and Steven, and I know I haven’t made as much time for you as I should have. I’m sorry.”

You leaned into him, head ducking slightly in an attempt to catch his gaze with your own. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he drew in a long, deep inhalation, before he finally opened them again and fixed them on you.

“No, it’s—it’s okay, baby. I’m glad you and Steven are getting along, that’s exactly what I hoped would happen. And I’m sorry I—I freaked out. Just—miss you, s’all.”

He confessed, a slight blush creeping up his neck and ruddying his cheeks. Marc wasn’t often open about his feelings, so the brief moment of vulnerability was significant. You smiled softly at him, reaching up to brush your fingers through his soft curls.

“Why didn’t you just say so, huh, handsome?”

A smirk quickly made its way across his lips at the insinuation in your tone, his arms swiftly wrapping around your body to haul you up onto his lap and into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t until you were seconds away from an orgasm, Marc’s face buried between your thighs, that you’d fucked up.

“Shit, shit—”

You cried, fisting at the sheets on either side of you as Marc’s tongue swirled over your clit, two of his thick fingers buried in your weeping cunt.

“Oh, God, yes, m’gonna cum, gonna—ahh, fuck, don’t stop, yes, Steven, fuu—”

Your hips lurched off the bed when the stimulation abruptly ceased, your eyes shooting open in alarm only to come face-to-face with Marc’s hardened expression, his lips still shining with your slick.

“Fuck, why’d you—?”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He interrupted your whiny plea with his threatening words, growled lowly as his eyes narrowed at you. Your rapid heartrate only sped up when you thought back on your pleasured cries, quickly realizing your mistake. You bolted upright in an instant, your eyes wide and panicked, reaching to grip Marc’s bare shoulders.

“Oh, Marc, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He pulled away from you, rising to his knees on the bed so he loomed over you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your breath stuttered.

“What?”

You yelped when Marc lunged forward, his hand coming to twist in your hair to yank you harshly forward so you were face to face.

“I said,”

he growled, his breath hot on your face and fingers taut in your hair,

“get on your fucking knees.”

He released you with a rough shove and you scrambled off the bed onto your knees, quickly obeying his order. You watched as he slipped off his last remaining layer of clothing before he slowly made his way over to you, his figure towering over you with intimidation and malice. Excitement was beginning to swirl in the pit of your stomach—you’d never seen Marc so angry before, so domineering and unhinged. Still, a small pang of guilt shot through you at your earlier mistake.

“Marc, really, I’m so sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He snapped, and you immediately obliged, eyes blowing wide at the sternness in his tone. His chest was heaving with labored breaths and his nostrils were flared, eyes alight with fury.

“You just don’t know when to stop fucking talking.”

He was right in front of you, now, languidly stroking his hardened length inches away from your face, precum beading at the slit. He reached forward and roughly grabbed your jaw in his other hand, fingers curling to squeeze your cheeks.

“You wanna keep moaning his name? Guess I’ll have to make you shut up.”

His hand migrated up and wrapped in your hair before yanking your neck back. When your lips parted with a surprised gasp, he immediately plunged his thick length into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat without warning. The sudden and abrupt intrusion caused you to gag harshly, and he pulled out only long enough for you to draw in a gasping breath before he thrusted forward again, sinking his cock all the way back into your throat and beginning a steady rhythm of fucking your face.

“Only way you’ll be quiet is if you’ve got a mouth full of dick, huh?”

He grunted, hips snapping forward. There was drool foaming at the sides of your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks as you forced yourself to sit back and let him use you, the tip of his cock bruising the back of your throat and his balls slapping noisily against your chin.

“Bet you miss him now, don’t you? Steven doesn’t treat you like this—doesn’t know how much of a fucking slut you are.”

You felt yourself grow impossibly wetter at his words, reaching up to brace your hands on his muscular thighs in order to prevent them from reaching between your legs to touch yourself. You felt his arm reach down until his fingers curled around your neck, allowing him to feel each stroke of his cock down your throat.

“Fuck, baby—such a pretty little whore.”

Finally, finally, he pulled out of your mouth, a long string of saliva still connecting the tip of his ruddy cock to your swollen lips. You gasped harshly, letting the mixture of tears and drool drip from your chin as you gazed up and him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Marc, thank you, I love you, I—”

Marc growled, his grip on your throat tightening and briefly cutting off your airflow.

“Shut. Up.”

He hissed, pulling you upwards with his hand on your neck and tossing you towards the bed. You fell backwards, immediately pliant beneath him as he reached to lift both of your ankles above your head before abruptly plunging his spit-soaked cock into your dripping folds.

A pornographic mewl escaped you at the feeling of him penetrating you, your hole still tight and unprepared for the thickness of his cock. The burn of the stretch was intoxicating, but you were quickly pulled away from the feeling when Marc’s fingers found your jaw again, squeezing your cheeks so your lips involuntarily parted.

“Open.”

He growled, and you obliged, allowing him to spit straight into your awaiting mouth. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he kept railing into you, your mouth closing as his taste overwhelmed you.

“You don’t swallow until I tell you—you hear me?”

You nodded vigorously, eyes silently pleading as tears continued to stream down your face, the sound of slapping skin filling the room as Marc bared his teeth.

“Yeah, that outta wash his name outta your filthy fuckin’ mouth, huh?”

You could barely hear him over the static humming in your ears, an orgasm creeping up and washing over you without warning. You choked on your sob, desperately following Marc’s orders and keeping your mouth full of his saliva despite your desperation to cry out.

Marc felt you clench down on him, and his pace quickened.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby—you cum all over this cock.”

He leaned forward and sank his teeth into the flesh of your collarbone, licking and sucking bruises into your neck and up your throat. You lay helpless beneath him, body melting into the mattress as he continued to pound into you relentlessly, the sting of his lips hot against your sweat-sheened skin.

“Gonna keep you covered in these, baby—he’s never gonna forget who you fuckin’ belong to.”

He grunted in your ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth briefly before sitting back up, shifting up onto his knees and wrapping your legs around his waist before jackhammering into you once again.

He reached forward a final time to wrap his hand around your throat, now covered with red and purple bruises in the shape of his mouth.

“Swallow.”

He panted, his eyes wild and pace faltering.

"Swallow, and tell me who you belong to.”

You swallowed the fluid the had gathered across your tongue and finally let out a salacious moan, back arching off the bed as a second orgasm began building in your abdomen. You could hardly even remember what had started this thing in the first place, and you definitely didn’t care—your entire existence was overwhelmed with Marc, Marc, Marc.

"You, Marc—belong to you."

You cried, and you felt his fingers curl into your neck as he leaned over you, the heat of his body absolutely smothering you as his free hand reached between you to circle your clit. You keened.

“Again. Louder. Who do you belong to?”

“You, Marc—fuck, fuck, Marc, I belong to you, fuck—"

Your climax peaked fiercely, white hot and blinding as your toes curled and your entire body trembled beneath him. The rhythmic clenching of your tight cunt around him had Marc following close behind, his release punctuated by a sharp yelp before he buried himself to the hilt, allowing his seed to fill you completely, offering a few more deep thrusts before stilling.

Marc’s tension-laden body immediately collapsed on top of you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck as his cock stayed nestled inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his clammy torso, one hand stroking a soothing line down his spine and the other brushing through his hair, your lips planting a soft kiss to his forehead. His frantic exhales were hot against your neck.

“I mean it, Marc. I’m yours.”

You assured in a whisper, and Marc tilted his head up to look at you, his once cold eyes now softened with a familiar gentleness.

“I know, baby.”

He leaned up and pecked you on the lips.

“And now you’ll never forget it.”

You let out an airy giggle, sinking back into the comfortable and familiar weight of his body on yours. After a few moments, you bit your lip and gave him a mischievous smile.

“So...when do I get to meet Jake?”