strawberriesandhotmen

[strawberriesandhotmen]

SOO WHEN THEY WERE ALL AT THE COMMUNITY DANCE THING AND JOEL (hottie btw) STOOD UP FOR ELLIE WHEN THAT GUY CALLED HER AND DINA THE 'D' SLUR AND HER YELLING AT HIM IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AND HIS POOR HURT FACE LIKE SHE JUST STABBED HIM IN THE BACK AND THE SILENCE WHEN SHE GOT HOME AND EVERYTHING IN THAT DAMN EPISODE LIKE JUST STAB ME IN THE FUCKING HEART I GUESS

[strawberriesandhotmen]

the 'full man sandwich' genuinely took me out. i didn't pay fifteen dollars to see jason momoa and jack black sixty nine in a pg movie

[strawberriesandhotmen]

so basically im bitches

Bitches be like ‘I’m so tired and sleepy’ and then stay up doing hyperfixtation shit for the next 5 hours

[strawberriesandhotmen]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY POOKILY BOOKILY BEAR

jokes aside, this man is such an amazing and kind person, and i am so proud of his success. he worked so hard to get where he is, and he deserves every bit of it

my man is looking gorgeous even at fifty

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Wicked Games and Cigarettes

a/n: I know I’m supposed to be posting a Harry Styles fic right now 🥴 I’M SORRY I have no motivation but I’m forcing myself to work on it so don’t worry pookies. I honestly just needed to write this Javier Peña thing because he’s a baddie so yeah. Hope y’all enjoy 😝

pairing: partner!Javier Peña x DEA agent!fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, smoking, angst (i’ve got some more tension and build up for you lovelies), unprotected piv (wrap it up), they are actually both assholes but it’s fine, angry sex angry sex angry sex (kind of not really, they forget about it pretty quick), javier peña is a warning in his own right let’s get serious

word count: 2.6k

Sexual tension.

It could be fun, but it could also be thoroughly infuriating.

Moreso, not to mention, when the person said sexual tension was between was someone you thoroughly hated. 

At least, you should hate them.

Javier Peña was an asshole, utterly and completely. Arrogant, selfish, unaware, callous, ho-

Anyways.

The list goes on.

It wasn’t like you weren’t thrilled when you were first partnered up with him. Getting to work with a highly decorated agent straight out of the gate? It was exhilarating, until he actually spoke.

Or rather, merely looked your way.

A scowl was definitely his permanent expression of choice; you struggled to remember a time when the man had actually cracked a smile, let alone laughed. God forbid he enjoy his life.

Your first real assignment with him was painstaking, to say the least. It was a throwaway mission, really, something to initiate you, almost. At least, you recognized it as such. It wasn’t even a two-man job, and Javier ended up hovering over you like a supervisor instead of contributing in the slightest.

Nails on a chalkboard was the skin-crawling feeling you got whenever someone just watched you, for no other reason than their own occupation. This, predictably, was Javier’s natural state. A hovering surveillance robot created solely for your scrutinization and utter annoyance.

You couldn’t even ignore his cologne while he breathed down your neck as you typed up a report, pointing out an extra comma here or a misspelling there. His scent bullied its way into your nose without consent, wafting up to your brain as if it belonged there, and for a split second  you would think maybe it did.

Nonsense.

That was the sleep deprivation talking, there was no other explanation. These wild and outlandish thoughts were starting to get on your last nerve, if you were being honest.

And when weren’t you honest? Except, maybe with yourself.

It wasn’t as though it was easy to miss the contours of his jaw when he clenched it in aggravation, or the veins protruding from his hands when he flexed them impatiently. You didn’t appreciate the way you had unwittingly become accustomed to the smell of cigarettes, even tolerating it.

The fact that he couldn’t go two minutes without lighting up may have been a red flag, but it had disguised itself as something entirely different.

Alluring.

You weren’t admitting to being attracted to him; hardly, in fact. Anyone could make smoking look hot, couldn’t they?

Even the overweight cashier at the liquor store had some appeal with a cloud of smoke swirling around his bulbous features, sure.

It was the slow burn of the embers as it ate away at the thin stick, the small puff that escaped his - rather, anyone’s - lips at each exhale, the lingering scent that overpowered anything present before it.

Oh, who were you kidding? It was so overwhelmingly him. You were humble enough to admit that, confident enough in your overall repulsion of him that you could grant the man a small win. He had certainly mastered the art of making impending lung cancer look sexy.

And he was truly protective over his allotted smoke breaks, territorial, almost. It was like an indulgence for him, the slight burn in his throat that crackled to his lungs, the once clean air that grew thick around him, the peace of it all.

You usually tried to respect this instance; in fact, you always did, but after a mission that had gone particularly dismally, Javier wasn’t the only one in need of a distraction.

It had gone bad, really bad. It had been neither of your intentions to lose two agents in twenty minutes, and the plan certainly hadn’t included bombing the mission entirely. It was no one’s fault, and also everyone’s fault. Who couldn’t blame themselves?

You had plopped down next to Javier on the wire bench in the courtyard, maintaining enough self-awareness amidst your self-loathing to keep a semblance of space between the two of you. 

Cigarettes had never been your thing; one or two bad decisions in high school had solidified that. But after what had just happened, it wasn’t seeming so damaging.

Your eyes had flickered to the cartridge in his hand, the name Peña scrawled lazily across the top.

Jesus Christ, this guy actually labels his cigarettes?

He had noticed your lingering gaze, reaching into his personal stash to hold a stick out to you despite himself. He hadn’t made eye contact, hadn’t even bothered to look your way. That would make it too personal, too intimate. He was being decent, and that was all.

Neither of you spoke as you took the cigarette between your slightly dry lips, puckering as he held the lighter at the tip. You didn’t need to; everything was understood.

It would have been profound; poetic, even, if it had been anyone other than him. But no, it only served to frustrate you more.

Why couldn’t you escape him, why couldn’t you stay away?

He had left before you finished your smoke, his already burnt to a crisp, abandoning you to wallow in a cloud of smoke and bad decisions. It wasn’t discussed the next day, or the day after that.

You never talked about it because you never talked about anything; apart from your missions, that is. And even then it was clinical, detached. You didn’t acknowledge the important stuff, because that’s too close for comfort.

It was just that way; it was understood, accepted by both of you. And it had worked, always, until this mission.

This half-baked, godforsaken mission that took a turn for the worse in every possible way. It was heinous, really, just how poorly the operation had gone. You had taken some risks, he had missed some shots, all things to be expected. The issue here, however, was that these risks should not have been taken, and those shots should never have been missed.

And that is how you found yourself in Javier’s office, five feet apart, screaming at each other to see who would lose their voice first.

“I told you to stick to the fucking plan!” He bellowed, the decibels echoing off his sparsely decorated walls.  

“The plan went to shit, in case you didn’t notice! It was a suicide mission either way!” You weren’t wrong; your superiors had passed down the assignment from their place high in the castle, sending off their peons to complete their dirty work. It was shafty, poorly put together. You had both recognized it from the start, but who were you to refuse them?

“That mission wasn’t my fucking call and you know it!” He shot back, running a hand through his aggravated dark curls, pacing aggressively.

Fuck, his ha-

Anyways.

“I didn’t say it was, dickwad!” Oh yeah, that was a strong one.

“Oh, dickwad, that’s poetic!” He let out a sardonic, humorless chuckle, shaking his head and flashing you an ironic grin. You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might roll back, crossing your arms defiantly. 

“Ever the mature one, Peña.” You weren’t really one to be talking, purposefully pissing him off by saying his last name rather than his first, but any dig was entirely worth it. You were fully aware of your talent at snaking under his skin.

“Ever the ma-” He trailed off, letting out a huff of laughter at the absurdity of it all. “That is ironic coming from you.” He spoke, your tones quieter now, but no less charged with insult. He stalked closer to you as a dangerous smirk graced his features, quirking his mustache upward in the best way. He let himself lean in, just enough for you to feel his breath on your ear, before he whispered.

He fucking whispered.

“You’re just a walking mistake with a badge.” Suddenly, you could barely breathe. The air around you felt thick, smoky, but for once his lips were void of a cigarette. You took a step back, burning a hole into his eyes with your own.

“Guess that makes two of us.” You replied lowly, letting him revel in the momentary illusion that he had actually stung. You made a circle around him, now tip-toeing to whisper in his own ear.

“They died fixing your fuckup.” And hell if he didn’t snap then and there. Just as you stepped two feet away, he whirled around to slam his fist onto the desk, a yelled curse coupling with the ringing in your ears.

“You don’t get to walk away!” He directed at you, quickly crowding you against the nearest wall as he planted your wrists beside your head. 

And for once, it was silent.

Only the sound of your harsh breaths filled the room as you both stared, not at your eyes, but something else.

Something entirely more damaging.

Lips.

His body was completely slotted against your own, his leg between your thighs, his grip on your wrists firm and unrelenting. His chest rose and fell against your own as ragged breaths escaped you both.

He was so close. All he would have to do is lean down just a bit and then he would be able to-

“Damn you.” You forced out, dying to avoid the inevitability of it all. “I hate y-”

And then it was all a clash of lips and teeth, the burn of cigarettes transferring from his tongue to yours. There was nothing gentle or tender about any of it; on the contrary. It was primal, animalistic, desperate. He pulled after what felt like an eternity, only for air, only to speak.

“I hate you too.” He panted in response, giving you no time to realize his underlying insinuation before he was on you again. His hands finally released your wrists, sliding down to grip your waist as if he was afraid you would disappear. Your back was still flush with the wall, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he explored your mouth.

“So fuckin’ annoying.” He mumbled under his breath as his lips moved to your neck, leaving marks in their wake.

“Such an idiot.” You breathed back at him, letting your head fall back against the wall as he reached your collarbone.

Insults were traded back and forth as layers began to shed, your clothes now decorating the floor in a haphazard arrangement. When you had finally bared yourselves to each other, Javier stooped down to whisk you into his arms, shifting you over to the desk. He set you atop the cool surface, your breath hitching at the sensation as you remained wrapped around him.

“So pretty, amor.” He hummed into your hair, deeply inhaling your scent as the mirage of hatred fell between you. “And so wet.” You gasped as his fingers were suddenly toying with your swollen clit, and your grip on him tightened. You were sure you had already leaked onto the desk, and judging by the rather smug expression on Javier’s face, you were right.

“Don’t tease.” You forced out, tugging him closer by the vice your legs created. He could’ve teased you more; much more, in fact, but he wasn’t cruel. He could be, but he wouldn’t.

Not today. 

Not with you looking so fucked out in his arms when he’s barely even touched you. Not with the way your lips were parted just enough to let shallow breaths through. Not with how your hair was flipped to one side, framing your angelic features so fucking perfectly.

“Fuck, hermosa.” He groaned, capturing your lips with his for what felt like the hundredth time as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. There was no time for foreplay, no time to ‘get you ready.’ You would just have to take it like the good girl you were. And when his leaking tip notched just inside, you could swear you could’ve come then and there.

With your nails marking crescent shapes into his back and your tongue tangling with his, he pushed into you at a torturous pace, and you weren’t sure how he could tolerate it.

“Javi, shit.” You moaned against his lips, breaking the kiss and pressing your forehead against his. He let out a deep sigh when he was fully sheathed inside of you, relishing in how tightly you squeezed him.

“So fuckin’ tight, cariño.” He panted as he began to slowly pull out, only to slam into you with a force that drew a sharp, muffled cry from your lips. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well, isn’t she?” It wasn’t as if that question was anything but rhetorical, but the praising tone drew such a flutter from inside that you assumed even he felt it.

“Faster, Javi, please.” You weren’t one to beg. In fact, you were sure you had never begged during sex before. Javier, to be fair, seemed to have a natural talent for bringing out the best in you (if pathetic is considered a good thing, and in this case, you were thinking yes). He let another groan escape those perfect lips, revealing just how deeply you were affecting him.

“As you wish, hermosa.” He grunted, increasing his speed at your plea. You could hardly form a complete thought, the feeling of his thick cock stretching you so deliciously fucking you out. The slick and punctuating sounds of him pounding into you filled the bare office, the empty walls allowing the sounds to echo that much more.

It felt like nothing and an eternity all at the same time, and you could hardly believe your ears when you barely registered Javier’s words.

“Shit, baby, m’close.” There was no fucking way that Javier Peña would come early inside of you, so the logical conclusion was that he was fucking you too well for you to process time correctly.

Yes, that must be it.

Your moans grew louder and your back arched harder as his thumb rubbed harsh circles into your puffy clit, making that knot in your stomach all the more noticeable. It was like nothing else the moment you came, your vision going white, your nerves lighting up, your eyes rolling back.

It was surreal.

And you could assume he felt the same, the way he pulled you close and buried his face in your neck after you had both relaxed, breathing you in deeply just like before. He pressed tender kisses to your neck, now glistening with sweat, any hint of the animosity from before long gone.

“You’re such a tease, hermosa.” You could feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, and it brought a soft one to your own. “These games you play with me, they’re torturous.” You let out a little giggle as his eyelashes tickled the skin beneath your ear, sighing contentedly. Your arms around him tightened at his next words, relishing in the husky tone and the insinuation of it all.

“Games, amor. Wicked games.”

[strawberriesandhotmen]

not now kitten whiskers, daddy has to put together a banner for a filthy and vile fic i just wrote

[strawberriesandhotmen]

what is your favorite song

ooo babeeee great question. i possess such a wide range of taste in music that it's hard for me to pick just one because i go through phases of every genre

Love You Goodbye by One Direction has my heart because all of their voices sound so fucking good and the lyricism in peak

Send Me an Angel by Real Life is TOP TIER i can't explain the transcendent experience i transcended after listening to this for the first time

ive also been really liking Heaven by Kane Brown recently, i think it's so cutesy and it makes me happy

[strawberriesandhotmen]

i love how much of a slut he is

GAME OF THRONES Season 4, Episode 2 - The Lion and the Rose

[strawberriesandhotmen]

babies am i the only one who was totally unaware of this ides of march tumblr lore like hello 💀

[strawberriesandhotmen]

MY BEST FRIEND'S DAD IS THE ONE FOR ME

a/n: UHMM, SO HEY GUYS *nervously sweats* I haven't been active on here in a HOT minute (and I know you guys are still waiting on that part two of Vi) but life has just been pretty messy as of rn, so i took the week off from writing and thinking and kinda just rotted lmfao. depression is a bitch but life moves on ig. anywaysss, im doing a lot better now!! im slightly more motivated, so im gonna be working on the part two of trainer!Vi, but i didn't want to completely abandon y'all, so i decided to post a little smutshot thingy with a new obsession of mine lmfao. this was written with my glorious wife @strawberriesandhotmen in mind sooooo yeah! onto the smut (hetero version, ik im sowwy guys but it's pedro pascal so i think i get a pass)

pairings: bestfriendsdad!Joel Miller x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, NASTY SEX BC YESSSS, fingering (fem receiving), p in v (unprotected), cumming inside (bc im NASTYYY, but irl WRAP IT UP FOLKS), mutual pining, yes the best friend is based off of me, it's my little stan lee cameo (ALSO EVERYONE IS OF AGE Y'ALL, WHEN I MENTIONED YOU DRIVING VIC HOME FROM SCHOOL IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE COLLEGE OK DONT KILL ME PLS)

song: BFB, from Victorious

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You should feel guilty. Relly, you should. Wanting to have your best friend’s dad absolutely ruin you was not something you should have been proud of. Victoria had been your best friend for as long as you could remember, and you had been utterly in love with her dad for the same amount of time. Well, maybe love was too strong of a word. 

Lust.

Yeah, you were in lust. But who could blame you? The man was beyond fine. With his salt and pepper hair and matching beard, his creamy chocolate eyes, his mouth watering body. You honestly didn’t know how Vic didn’t see it.

“Come on, not even a little bit?” She raised an eyebrow at you, looking up from her freshly painted nails. Another Friday, another sleepover at her house. 

“Ew, no. Bitch, that’s my dad.” You rolled your eyes, popping a grape in your mouth. 

“Bitch, you’re adopted. Plus, you can acknowledge he’s attractive without wanting to fuck him.” She snorted.

“Nah, I’m not into dad bods.” You huffed, popping two more grapes in your mouth. She quickly snatched the bowl out of your hands, making you pout around a mouthful of fruit.

“Hey!”

“Everytime you come over here you annihilate all the fruit in my house. We are not going to be healthy right now! Not on my watch!” You rolled your eyes at her antics. After twenty minutes of her destroying her kitchen in hopes of finding junk food, it became clear that there was nothing in her house besides stale lettuce and week-old beans. She huffed in frustration, crossing her arms.

“Okay, well I guess I’ll just text my dad to grab us-” The door flung open as she pulled out her phone, her glorious hunk of a father stepping into the apartment. He looked tired as hell, and that only made him hotter. He shrugged off his orange vest, then tossed his hat carelessly on the couch. His dark eyes found yours almost immediately, and the room felt thick with a heat that had nothing to do with the broken AC. Victoria sighed, oblivious to the growing tension in the air.

“Hey, girls.” He nodded at each of you, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes quickly trailed over your body.

“Ugh, dad. You came home at the worst possible time.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at his daughter’s antics. That was another thing that made your heart flutter. He was such a good dad.

“I’m gonna take the car and grab some snacks. Text me if you want anything!” He nodded, his gaze finding yours once again. You felt your cheeks flush, a steady heat building in-between your legs. Victoria sent you a pointed look, then skipped out of the apartment. The silence that followed was deafening. It was always like this. Awkward tension and mutual attraction neither of you were ready to admit. But today something almost felt… different. You shifted awkwardly, clearing your throat as he made his way towards you.

“Um, thank you so much for having me over again, Mr. Miller. I-” His eyes darkened, and suddenly he crashed his lips against yours. You gasped, and he took the opportunity to shove his tongue down your throat. Your back hit the wall with a thud, and he finally pulled away from you. He was panting, his eyes dark and his grip tight on your body. You instinctively followed his lips, but he stopped you, resting his forehead on yours.

“Sorry, doll. Been wanting to do that for years, and I figured you wouldn’t mind with the way you were fucking me with your eyes.” His voice was like a thick honey pooling along your skin. You blinked owlishly.

“Years?” He grinned, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“Ever since you drove Vic back from school in that slutty fucking uniform.” Your whole body flushed.

“Joel…” He shuddered, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Again.”

“Joel.” He dragged his lips lazily against your neck. 

“Again.”

“Joel-” You gasped as he nipped at your neck, his hands travelling dangerously low. “Wh-what about Vic?” He hummed, his fingers teasing the hem of your skirt.

“What about her? You want her to join?” Your eyes went wide at the insinuation. He chuckled at your flustered reaction. “Relax, doll. It’s just us in here.” He continued to nip at your neck as his hand slipped under your skirt. You squeezed your eyes shut as his finger slid under your panties, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. 

“You ever been with a man before?” His eyes glinted dangerously at you. “A real man?” You shook your head shyly. He chuckled again, lazily dipping a finger into your heat. “Good.” He hissed, thrusting knuckle deep into you. Your thighs shook with the effort of holding yourself up as he pleasured you. You could feel every wrinkle and ridge on his thick finger, and if his finger felt this good, you could only imagine his cock. You whined as his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, his finger never stopping its rhythm. 

“That’s it, baby. Such a good girl, so wet f’me.” He purred in your ear. God, Vic would be so disappointed in you…. Actually, she wouldn’t, that whore. A particularly hash thrust to your cunt quickly snapped you back to reality. His grin was wicked.

“What? Already going dumb on me?” Your mind was too hazy to form a response. He chuckled, sliding yet another finger into your heat. You inhaled sharply, nails digging into his shoulders. 

“Oh, shit. Fuck, please don’t stop.” You babbled out, your thighs shaking as the tightness in your stomach grew. You were so close, on the very precipice, and then-

He stopped.

You whined, your eyes snapping open as you stared up at him in desperation. He flashed you a shit-eating grin, making a show of pulling his fingers out of you and cleaning them of your arousal. The sight made you clench around nothing. 

“Joel-”

“Shh, I know baby. Wanna feel you cum on my cock, that’s all.” Your gaze was helplessly trained on his bulge as he quickly unbuckled his jeans, sliding his pants and boxers down and letting them pool at his ankles. Goddamn, he was huge. His tip was flushed and leaking copious amounts of precum. Your mouth watered at the sight. He placed his hand under one of your thighs, lifting up your leg so you were more exposed to him. He all but ripped the seam of your panties, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. You swore you heard his breath catch.

“Joel, please.” You whimpered out, pouting up at him. 

“I know, I know. Just can’t help it, baby. She’s so pretty.” He wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, guiding it to notch at your entrance. You tensed, excitement and anticipation flowing through your veins. When he pushed the head in, you almost came immediately. Fuck, it was so much. He was so big already, and your cunt was helplessly trying to suck him in deeper while your body squirmed, unsure if you should move closer or run away. You didn’t even register how his eyes rolled back and how a low-throaty moan slipped past his lips. His hips jerked, almost as if he couldn’t take it anymore, and then he was sheathed all the way inside of you. You keened once he started moving, his thrusts fast and hard and sloppy. Years of pining touching yourselves to the thought of the other surfaced, and it showed with the way you were grabbing each other. His hands were all of you, and yours were wrapped around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer.

“Fuck, m’gonna cum, m’gonna cum!” You squealed out, your insides clenching around him as he continued to abuse your g-spot. He groaned, then bit down on the juncture of your neck, and that was all it took for you both to explode. His thrusts turned shallow as he fucked his cum back up into you, his grip on your thigh tightening at the feeling. Your body was thrumming, and you had to blink spots out of your vision from the feeling. 

“You doin’ alright?” He panted out after you had both come back down to reality. You nodded, now feeling uncomfortably sticky. You flashed him a tired smile.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel good.” His grin turned slightly more devious, and you could feel him hardening inside of you again.

“That, I do-” You both jumped as the door flung open.

“Hey guys, so I got a bunch of Takis, and then you never fucking texted me what you wanted so- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: why're you guys traumatizing the poor girl 😔 justice for vic yall

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Leather, Whiskey, and Pine

Leather, Whiskey, and Pine

a/n: Y’all. Y’all. The short amount of time in which I wrote this actually does boggle my mind, but I’m so obsessed with it and I can’t wait to hear what y’all think. I love, love, love this Pedro character and I’ve been wanting to write about him for a while. I really tried to give y’all a lot of content for this one because I was putting a lot of effort into every aspect of it, so I hope y’all enjoy. This one’s for you baby @burguesinha24

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x fem!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, girthy age gap (reader is legal at all times i repeat at all times and Joel is like late forties idk imagine what you will), LOTS OF TENSION AND BUILD UP, oral (f!recieving), unprotected piv, Joel is like a mild perv here but we’re not judging because we accept it from him (be a perv it’s ok bb), the reader is pretty down bad but basically yeah valid in all ways

word count: 4.3 k

Leather, whiskey, and pine.

Three things, the sense of which that were so distinctly his.

Who would’ve thought that the combination of such vastly separate things could become so addicting, so intoxicating?

Your fall from grace wasn’t quite planned; how could it have been? There was no way to predict that your family would move halfway across the country to Texas, or that your dad would become so uncharacteristically close with the first neighbor who introduced himself, or that the neighbor would be him.

Joel.

You were only seventeen when you first met him, when you first shook his hand, when you first looked into his eyes, when you first heard his voice. He had been so polite, so respectful, a quality you had come to resent whenever it came from him. 

He had hosted a barbeque to welcome your family to the neighborhood; it was so cliche, but oh, how you had enjoyed it. And oh, how he had enjoyed that little sundress you wore. Joel was beyond professional the entire time, aggravatingly so, and you regrettably missed the subtle glances he would send your way every now and then. He knew it was wrong, so taboo, but he couldn’t help himself.

You were the equivalent of heaven on earth. 

Rather conversely, he didn’t miss the way your pretty eyes grazed over his broad shoulders, never failing to linger a moment longer than they should on the zipper of his jeans. It was sinful, how deceptively innocent you looked. Your childlike enthusiasm never failed to amuse him, your doe eyes sparking some very interesting thoughts.

He almost hated himself for the way he silently objectified you, but he couldn’t. How could he? If someone like you was so entranced by him, there must be something worthwhile. 

Pathetic.

Joel was a grown ass man. Generously old enough to be your father, with a year or two left over. All the better, in your mind, but it was torture for Joel. Knowing a pretty young thing like you wanted him like that and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it? No, that knowledge was hell on earth.

It was at one of the many parties your father hosted where you first touched Joel. And not in a simple way, or with a silly handshake. No, it was intimate. At least, the two of you thought so.

He had come into the kitchen while the others were occupied with the football game, catching you in the unfortunate act of sneaking a swig of Tito’s from the cabinet. Rookie mistake, to be sure, risking a drink when anyone could walk in. Rather than guilt, you felt as though the Fates had smiled down at you when Joel strolled in.

He had raised an eyebrow at you, his chocolate brown eyes flickering to the bottle in your hand, likely moments away from being refilled with water. You had bitten your lip, feigning worry and quickly shoving the bottle back into the cabinet. You had stepped closer, peering up at him through those damned eyes of yours.

“You won’t tell, Joel, will you?” Your voice had sounded so sweet, so blameless, but he steeled himself against your whispered words. What kind of friend would he be if he let his best friend’s daughter get away with this? Yes, he had momentarily chosen to ignore the rampant lustful thoughts he had about you on a daily basis.

“Ain’t right, sweetheart.” He had mumbled in his southern drawl, the last word flowing off his tongue so sweetly you could swear he was made of honey. “S’a bad habit.” You could’ve rolled your eyes at his poor attempt to discipline you, but you chose a different route. You raised your delicate, manicured hand to grasp his forearm, leaning in closer.

“Please, Joel?” And fuck, the sight of you pleading for him like that? The only thing missing was you on your knees. He couldn’t possibly deny you your secret now, not with how you were looking at him so desperately. It was feigned, of course; like you gave a shit if your parents found out. But him; you gave a shit for him.

With a defeated sigh and a soft smile, Joel took a swig from the bottle himself before handing it over to you. He leaned in close, his lips millimeters away from the shell of your ear as his hand rested gently on your exposed shoulder.

“Ain’t right, what you do to me.” You shivered at his wholly inappropriate words with wholly inappropriate connotations, blinking once or twice as he walked away to be sure you weren’t dreaming. While there was no real way to explain away what he had said, your mind damn well tried.

He was just kidding, he was being facetious, that jokester. If you could’ve thought of another synonym for ‘joking,’ you would’ve used it. As much as you wanted your deepest desires to come true, your greater desire happened to be not entirely embarrassing yourself by misinterpretation.

The following weeks turned into months, which soon turned into a year. You were finally off to college, which regrettably led you away from Joel. It’s for the best, you thought, deceiving yourself once again into believing you miraculously misinterpreted every glance, every linger of his touch, everything.

Despite every bit of judgement shoving you in the other direction, you had made the poor decision to invite Joel to your graduation party. Your dad would be there, so it couldn’t seem too weird, right? 

Right? 

You had convinced yourself of it either way, slipping into the shortest dress you owned under the ceremonious robes. The heels you had chosen elongated your legs just enough, the curls in your hair perfectly framing your face. God, you were so desperate for him.

This time, you hadn’t blindly missed the way his gaze lingered on your accentuated calves, or the way he had kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe jeans weren’t the best choice, he had thought to himself. An unfortunate lack of forethought on his part.

He had felt as though the party would never end, forced to watch you laugh and dance with you friends, looking so pretty when you smiled. He had snuck out after a while onto the balcony, leaning against the railing with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had needed air, and appropriate space from you.

Rather unluckily, you had somehow wandered to that very place of respite, finding your place beside him against the railing.

“Party too much for you, old man?” You had teased playfully, nudging his shoulder with your own. He let out a scoff at your would-be insult, unable to fight back the amused smile pulling on his lips.

“You underestimate me, sweetheart.” That sexy southern drawl of his mixed with those words had your stomach fluttering, and you even grasped the rail a little tighter.

“Do I?” You had stepped closer, your upper arm now pressed against his. Tease, he had thought. You knew exactly what you were doing. He grunted in acknowledgement, not trusting himself to speak when you looked like that.

Your plump, pink lips slightly parted, your eyes a little wide as you stared up at him, a strand of hair or two out of place across your forehead.

Before he could stop himself, his calloused hand was already tucking that strand back into place behind your ear, the pad of his finger trailing down to the crook of your neck. You involuntarily shivered at his touch, earning a pleased smirk from him.

Damn my responsiveness, you had thought to yourself. In a shred of buzzed courage, you mimicked his actions, allowing your finger to rest in the same place on him. You smiled triumphantly as he reacted in the same way.

Parallels, parallels, parallels.

A thought had popped into your head; a bad one. You knew it would be wrong to actually ask something of him, especially given the very specific circumstances you found yourselves in, but it had seemed as though it couldn’t be helped. Looking back, it could have. You could have stopped yourself, using a rare opportunity to exercise better judgement, but instead you employed the progressive philosophy that had worked for you thus far.

Fuck it.

“Joel?” You had hummed sweetly, tearing your eyes away from where you were still touching him to meet his gaze. His breath hitched at the look in your eyes; so innocent, but so full of something he couldn’t quite place. He had mimicked your hum, words failing him as he urged you to continue.

“I…” You had hesitated, suddenly increasingly unsure of yourself. Swallowing thickly, you steeled yourself under his knee-weakening gaze and took your chance. “I want you to kiss me.”

If Joel had been taking a drink at that moment, he would’ve choked. Those words were the last things he expected to fly out of your mouth so immediately, almost casually. But you were feeling anything but casual. If anything, you felt as though your panties might vanish by the very look he was giving you.

Before he could snap himself out of his state of disbelief, you shifted your hand to grasp his forearm, your eyes now filled with something akin to urgency.

Desperation.

“I’ve never kissed anyone, Joel, and I…” You swallowed thickly. “I want you to be my first.” You could’ve cringed visibly at the ridiculous words you had just spoken, but upon seeing Joel’s  reaction, you realized he might not have had the same impression.

He looked flustered.

“Sweetheart, I-” You cut him off, placing a finger to his lips to silence him. It was his turn to shiver at your touch.

“Please, Joel.” Jesus Christ, those words. Those same words you had whispered to him a year ago, and how he had longed to hear them again. You were breaking him, his resolve slowly crumbling. He fought with himself internally, and you could see the gears turning behind those deep brown eyes. He wanted to, God, he needed to, but he couldn’t.

It was wrong.

In this case, too wrong for him to come to terms with at that moment.

He had taken an uncertain step backward, your hand falling to your side as he put the distance between you.

“Have fun at college, darlin’.” He rasped, sounding as though he were talking through a lump in his throat. “We’ll miss ya’.” He whispered the last part, and you could swear you heard a sniffle as he walked away. And with only a few simple words, the man you had wanted for the past year of your life had broken your heart.

He had broken you.

In the months that followed, you soon found that college life bored you. At no parties, in no friendships, during no meaningless flings could you find what you had felt with Joel. What you had felt just by being in his mere presence was something no boy could give you, and you came to realize no other man could, either.

Tiny, insignificant memories of him had begun to fade into the background, new and equally insignificant experiences and people taking over the place in your mind he had once dominated. It was more a forced forgettance, to be sure, not really a natural occurrence. Nothing you did could ever truly get rid of Joel; no, he always lingered in your thoughts, in your heart that you had since glued back together.

No mindless, useless sex or nameless guy above you could make you forget him, the smell of him, the feel of him. Ironically, you nearly did forget he would be there when you returned home from the summer, partially due to him purposefully ‘missing’ visits during holidays.

He had avoided them at all costs. After all, how could he face you after that night? He had turned down the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, who had conveniently, metaphorically fallen at his very feet. He was an idiot, and he knew it. He assumed you did too.

And that is why it was such a shock when you finally did see him at the ‘welcome home’ party your parents had thrown for you. That is why your heart nearly beat out of your chest at the sight of his rolled up sleeves, those beautifully defined forearms, his greying beard and soft curls atop his head, his fucking eyes.

Whoever said that brown eyes are the worst color can park their foot up their ass because it’s a damn lie.

You suddenly felt self conscious about your outfit choice, all for nought as it fully grabbed Joel’s attention. The sight of your fucking ass in those jean shorts could’ve made him bust then and there, but he had a little more class than that.

A little.

You had reduced him to the likes of a pervy (perfectly welcome) teenage boy, holding a pillow over his lap on the couch to obstruct anyone’s view of his painful hard-on. And God, when you walked up to him as you adjusted the strap of that little tank top, he thought he could die. He almost wanted to when your eyes flickered to the frilly pillow he was squeezing the life out of.

“Hey, Joel. It’s been a long time.” Shit, your smile. You were effortlessly pretty, and he was convinced you would never know how much. You couldn’t, because it was practically blinding.

“Hey yourself, sweetheart.” Your knees nearly buckled at the tilted smile on his face, but you narrowly managed to keep your composure. Since you could tell he wouldn’t be standing any time soon, you plopped on the couch next to him, bouncing up slightly as the cushion springs gave way. Clearing his throat, Joel forced himself to speak.

“How’s college treatin’ ya’?” He drawled smoothly, fighting against all odds to keep his eyes from trailing down to your cleavage.

Fuck, I should be institutionalized, he thought.

“It’s…different, I suppose.” You shrugged casually, leaning into the plush cushion against your back.

“How so?” He rasped, clearing his throat awkwardly. You were too entranced by his sizable hands and thick fingers to notice.

“Well, I guess it’s quite like high school except…bigger?” Idiot. Dumb, stupid, moron. Why couldn’t you talk to him? Everything used to be so easy between the two of you, and you supposed you had ruined it that night.

Unfortunate.

He let out a little laugh, distracting himself from his own awkwardness by focusing on yours. It was cute when it was you. Before you had time to talk any longer, a friend called you away, forcing you to excuse yourself in the manner you least wanted to. You wanted to stay. You wanted to stay with him.

It wasn’t until an hour later when you both found yourselves on that same balcony, staring at the same stars you had been a year ago.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Your voice was airy, gentle, almost wistful as you gazed at the twinkles in the sky. He smiled, nodding in agreement, his eyes anywhere but the stars.

He was looking at you.

“Stunning.” He muttered the word so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it. Almost. You decided to refrain from teasing him about his obvious behavior, at least for the time being. He was making you feel too many things all at once.

Heartbreak, joy, melancholy, desire.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you leaned over the railing, still admiring the view you found to be so peaceful. You had never been truly uncomfortable around Joel. Flustered, surely, but never uneasy. It wasn’t possible.

“Hope you don’t mind me sayin’ this, darlin’, but…” He hesitated, his eyes flickering between yours. His voice dropped a pitch as he continued, subconsciously leaning closer. “You look real pretty tonight.” A blush spread across your cheeks like wildfire, and you spared a look down at your lacking outfit. Before you could reject the complement, he shook his head, silencing your unspoken rebuttal with just one look.

“Real pretty.” Your lips parted as your breath hitched, and you could feel the sincerity in his eyes. He always meant what he said, even if he didn’t always say what he wanted.

Looking at you, Joel’s resolve was quickly fading into the background, the sight of you staring up at him so innocently stirring something dangerous inside him. He was preparing to abandon every boundary he had set that night, without a care in the world for what the consequences might be.  

“Joel-” The very instant that his whispered name left your perfect lips, that was it. You had now broken him as he had broken you. Utterly and completely. It wasn’t a moment before he was on you, pinning you against the railing with his hands on your hips, his lips on yours.

Your first kiss.

Sure, you had been with some of the guys at college, but you had maintained one standard rule. No kissing. It was completely pathetic, to be sure, but in this moment you praised whatever higher power there was that you had the foresight to stick with it. This made it all worth it, every disgusted sneer, every joke made in poor taste, every insult.

He was worth it.

You hadn’t expected your first kiss to be so climactic, or so genuinely pivotal. But it truly felt like fireworks the moment he pressed his mouth to yours, your lips moving in tandem to create a perfect rhythm. Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging lightly as he pressed his body so close to yours that you thought you might become one.

He pulled back for a split second, only for air, before cupping the back of your head and diving in with more passion than before. He let his tongue glide over your bottom lip, taking advantage of the gasp it earned him and sliding his tongue into your mouth. Yours tangled with his, trapped in a beautiful dance that you never wanted to end. You wanted to stay like this forever.

You pulled away this time, panting heavily and staring up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“You really like kissing.” You pointed out stupidly, metaphorically drunkenly, toying with the bit of hair at the nape of his neck. He huffed out an amused laugh, running a hand through his mussed curls.

“I really like kissin’ you, baby.” He cruelly didn’t allow you time to process those poetic words before he was on you again, hauling you to sit atop the railing as he moved in between your thighs. And you could see, or rather, feel, that he really did like kissing you, as if he couldn't survive one more moment apart from your lips.

In a blissful moment of peace, with just him against you, you could sense those three things again.

Leather, whiskey, and pine.

The leather of his jacket under your fingertips, the whiskey on his tongue as it swirled with yours, the pine that just was embedded in him.

It was just Joel.

When you both realized you couldn’t go any farther on the very exposed balcony, he whisked you inside of your bedroom, gingerly setting you atop the frilly sheets that had been there since you left last fall. He finally allowed his lips to grant you attention elsewhere, to press open mouthed pecks to the soft skin of your neck, moving down to your collarbone, and then your chest. He undressed you with so much care it was as if lust wasn’t even a factor, as if he was doing it for you.

He let out a muffled moan against your neck as he felt your hands on his chest, sneaking under his shirt before you removed it completely. You marveled at the way his muscled chest heaved with each pant, at the way his biceps flexed as he hovered above you. He was so perfect.

Within minutes you were both bare for each other, Joel’s eyes blown wide as they landed on the space between your thighs. He thought you were perfect.

“God, baby, you’re so pretty.” He breathed, settling himself between your thighs in a trance, hooking your legs over his shoulders. You clutched the sheets beneath you in anticipation, letting your head fall back onto the pillow. When his lips met your core, you let out a breathy moan, arching off the bed as he pleasured you like no one had before.

With just his mouth.

He hadn’t even used his fucking fingers yet.

The moans he let out against your dripping pussy wracked through your body, and you fought to keep from suffocating him with your thighs. He gripped onto the plush skin tightly, his tongue working you like a man starved.

And he did feel like he had been truly starved of you.

His tongue flicked over your swollen clit, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching against your sweat-sheened skin as his fingers finally made their way inside of you, stretching you open deliciously to get you ready for what was to come. He let his free hand toy with your sensitive bud as he pulled away, his eyes locked on how your pussy clenched around his thick, veiny fingers as they curled to hit the perfect spot. You writhed underneath him restlessly, a hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the moans that wouldn’t stay inside.

“Joel, m’gonna-” It was so cliche, but so, so intense. You were right on the edge, the very precipice, and he pulled away. You gasped at the feeling of being so suddenly empty, your brow knitting together as you shot up.

“Wha-” He cut you off, pinning your arms beside your head as he crawled on top of you.

“Need to be inside you when you come, pretty girl. Wanna feel you.” He mumbled, sucking on your neck as he blindly aligned himself with your entrance. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips, tugging him impossibly closer as your arms remained beside your head. He let out a low, guttural groan as he slowly inched inside of you, still so tight even though he had worked you over for what felt like a blissful eternity.

“Fuck, sweetheart, so fuckin’ tight.” He rasped, his voice hoarse with desire as he bottomed out, his leaking tip kissing your cervix. You were speechless, breathless as he began to pull back again, only to thrust in fully once more. And again, and again, and again.

He set a relentless pace, and you could swear he reached a deeper place with each snap of his hips, his pelvis smacking against your nearly overstimulated clit. You whined and moaned louder than you should have, unable to be silenced as his veiny cock stretched your slick walls around him.

“Don’t - shit - don’t stop, Joel, p-please…” You moaned, your back arching almost painfully off of the bed. He had no intention of stopping. In fact, spurred on by your plea, his pace only increased, your mouth falling open and your eyes clamping shut as it all became too much.

As that knot in your stomach grew unbearably, as he fucked into you harder, as he held onto you tighter…

It all came crashing down.

You didn’t even register that you came together, the stuttering of his hips failing to distract from the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm crashing through your body, thrumming through your veins, unrelenting.

His arms shook with the struggle to keep from collapsing on top of you, and he soon rolled onto his side, pulling you with him. With his scruffy, unshaven face buried in your neck, he breathed you in deeply. He always did love the scent of your shampoo.

“My sweet girl.” He hummed, the sound muffled under your hair. “Been wantin’ you for so long.” The admittance was soft, but so clearly heard. Exhaustion was quickly taking you over, though, preventing you from responding in the way that you truly wanted. He smiled softly at your little grunt of acknowledgment, leaving momentarily and returning with a warm cloth to clean the both of you with. He was gentle, ever the gentlemen as if he hadn’t just ravaged you entirely, returning to the bed not soon enough. 

You entangled yourself with him, quite like a koala, and nuzzled your face into his chest. You could feel his very essence as you laid with him, experiencing him so deeply and fully. Those three words left your mouth before you could even stop yourself.

“I love you, Joel.” You had drifted off before he could even reply; but he did, and with those same three words you had been dying to hear fall from his lips for two years.

And in your sleep you dreamed of him and those same three things, the things you had longed for forever.

Leather, whiskey, and pine.

[strawberriesandhotmen]

His

a/n: I know, I know. What was I thinking writing this? In fact, I wasn’t. I got this idea from my lovely girl @burguesinha24 (my wife) so y’all can thank her. Something I want to make very clear is that this is not bestiality. Allow me to repeat myself: THIS IS NOT bestiality :). Knuckles is in his glorious human form here, described by me, so enjoy that little tasty treat. Not something I would usually write but I’m damn glad I did, let me know y’all’s feedback loves.

pairing: human!Chief!Knuckles x fem!slave!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, HEINOUS SHIT, oral (m!receiving), unprotected piv (doggystyle specifically, also wrap it up), we love being used by hot men, Chief Knuckles is actually a bitch ass motherfucker but its okay, reader is pathetic (i am her, reader is me), thought this was pretty messed up when I started writing it (not that I wasn’t extremely horny about it) but I just read a Joel Miller incest fic (that i thoroughly enjoyed) so im feeling pretty good about myself right now

word count: 2.3k

“Bring her in.” Moments before a loincloth-covered savage seized you from the strange teepee in which you had awoken, you heard a deep and velvety tone from outside the canvas walls.

“Get up.” The warrior barked, doing nothing to ease the spinning in your head as you struggled through confusion. The last clear memory you could recall were terrible, fragmented screams and flashes of orange and red flames. You had no idea where you were or what tribe had taken you in, but you weren’t given much time to think. The strange man, face littered with war paint, practically dragged you from the teepee and directly into an adjacent one.

The moment you stumbled into the teepee, your eyes were met with the sight of a man (or rather, a man who appeared more like a god). He sat cross-legged before a fire, his dark, sweat-speckled skin glistening in the light of the flames.

Before anything else, what caught your eye the most was the man’s striking, apple red hair. Highlights of orange wove through the spikes which licked downward quite like the flames, appearing soft yet expertly shaped. His eyes were dark, soul-searching. They caused a tug on your heart, a prick in the very center of you. His muscles rippled beneath the red and white bands of warpaint that covered his body, your eyes following the veins protruding from under his skin. He was beautiful.

He was different.

Different meaning there was something so unrecognizable in his eyes you were sure you had seen it nowhere before. He was unique, intriguing. You weren’t scared, not now. No, now? You were interested.

“What is your name?” That same velvety voice from before that you now recognized to be his snapped you out of your admiring analysis. You stuttered, taking a couple of steps closer to the fire.

“My name is Victoria.” Your voice came out much steadier than expected, and in your internal surprise you missed his eyes flickering to the warrior behind you. You let out a pained yelp as a firm staff smacked harshly into your side, covering the area with your hands.

“You will address me as Chief.” The man before you spoke coolly, tilting his head in curiosity as you straightened with the slowing of your breath. As you lowered your trembling hand, your finger brushed over a tear in your tunic dress, and you fought against the desire to look downward at it. Something about the Chief made you not want to look away.

“My sincerest apologies, Chief.” You returned, curtsying awkwardly in case that was how the system worked. His expression didn’t change, but by his body language he seemed pleased at the act. His eyes trailed over your dirt smudged body, the teasing rips in your dress and the tangles in your hair. It wasn’t judgemental, on the contrary. He looked almost…attracted.

“Leave us.” The Chief momentarily tore his gaze from your curves to glance at the warrior still behind you, sending him a firm glare. The man nodded and ducked out, leaving you alone with the imposing Chief.

For the first time since you had entered the teepee, the Chief rose to his feet, the beads of his necklaces rattling against each other. The sound lilted to your ears like music, reminding you of the way your mother’s jewelry would clank melodically in the wind when she ventured outside.

He began to circle around you in inspection, almost stalkingly so. Your heart fluttered at the attention, despite how twisted the situation was of which you didn’t even know the full extent. At this point, you were much too distracted by the Chief to even consider questioning how you were brought to him.

“You’re a pretty girl.” He mused, his eyes locked on the curves of your hips that flared the tattered cloth of your dress. Once he circled back to your front, his eyes flickered to the swell of your breasts before he added, “Very pretty.”

“Thank y-” Your words were cut off by a harsh slap to the face, one that was sure to leave behind the clear outline of a handprint. His handprint.

“Did I ask you to speak?” He barked, his face now inches from yours. You stupidly opened your mouth to respond, but quickly thought better of it and clamped your lips shut.

“Evidently,” he continued, much calmer, “Your looks are not a reflection of your intelligence. Or rather, lack thereof.” The insulting words spoken in such a tone sent a flutter between your thighs and you internally scolded yourself.

Pathetic.

He noticed the way your eyes flickered to the ground, the way you shifted awkwardly on your feet. This reaction seemed to satisfy him.

“You don’t remember what happened, do you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped closer once again. You merely shook your head, the corners of your lips turning downward in a subtle frown.

“No, Chief.” You risked the words, thinking since he asked you a direct question that a verbal response would be acceptable. Thankfully, you guessed correctly. He tutted in a pitying manner, bringing his knuckles upward to brush against your cheek; his touch was contrastingly gentle, and you tried not to let it fool you.

“Poor thing.” He muttered, relishing in the shiver his touch wracked from your body. “Did you have a…” He paused, seeming to consider his next words. “A mate before?” The word ‘mate’ was foreign to you in this context, its connotation so animalistic and primal, but you were able to gather his meaning.

“N-no, Chief.” You almost whispered, a little ashamed. “I’ve never even…never even…” You knew what you were trying to say, but the words just wouldn’t come. Thankfully, he was able to discern what you meant with little difficulty.

“So that’s why you seem so innocent.” He hummed, mainly to himself. “You are.” A little smirk tugged on his features, and it was then that you realized why he had just tugged you closer by your waist. He wanted you.

Now.

He quite towered over you as he bent to press his lips to your neck, his shadow entirely swallowing yours. His movements and pettings were surprisingly gentle. That is…until they weren’t.

His hand flew up to tangle in your hair, roughly yanking your head back so that you were forced to look up at him, your eyes wide in shock and unexplainable arousal.

“So fuckin’ quiet, so weak.” He chided cruelly, shoving you carelessly to your knees. “No earthly idea where your family is, caring only for me and what your untouched little pussy is crying out for.” Guilt fell into you like a punch to the gut, tears pricking your eyes, although not enough to distract from the unbearable ache between your thighs. He began to unwrap his loincloth, still muttering curses meant for your ears. It was like he fucking loathed you, and you couldn’t understand why it made you so hot.

When the flimsy scrap of cloth that had been covering his lower half dropped to the floor, you found yourself wondering how all of him had even fit under there. He was unbelievably massive, and suddenly you were terrified.

He was going to ruin you. 

“Open.” He commanded shortly, and for a moment you were confused. When he slapped your cheek with his girthy length, however, your mouth fell agape, and suddenly you understood. He allowed you no time to process what was happening before he thrusted into your mouth as far as your poor jaw would allow. His hips snapped back and forth as he grunted, holding your hair in his iron grip and admiring the tears that threatened to spill from your once innocent eyes.

They weren’t anymore, oh no. That once valuable quality of yours was long gone.

“Good girl.” He grunted, only growing rougher with each thrust. “Takin’ me so well.” His words were coming out in barely audible huffs, the pleasure your warm mouth was granting him scrambling his thoughts. And his thoughts were, in fact, consumed with only you. When his red, throbbing head punched particularly far back in your throat, your stomach spasmed as you choked around him.

“Fuck.” He cursed at the feeling of your throat closing around his head, pulling out suddenly and thoroughly confusing you. What you were unaware of was that the sight of you on your knees for him, drool dripping out of your swollen lips and eyes wide, was dangerously close to driving him over the edge. He wasn’t yet ready for that.

He wanted to come inside you.

“Get up.” He barked, yanking you to your feet by his grip on your hair. You let out a little yelp at the pain that brought a throbbing to your core, your arousal already dripping onto your plush thighs.

To your intense surprise he crashed his lips into yours, the kiss a clash of teeth and tongue. He impatiently unknotted the rope holding your dress together, the tattered fabric falling onto the dirt-caked ground.

You were sure his eyes fell out of his head the moment his eyes saw your body. You might have felt objectified if he weren’t so fucking hot. He thought your body was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Your round, perky breasts heaving with each breath, your curvy and smooth hips, and your pussy? God, your pussy was fucking sinful.

He quite literally couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you, needed to be inside you.

Causing you quite the whiplash, he shoved you carelessly onto your hands and knees, kneeling himself behind you. His angry red tip was already bullying its way between your folds, the slight stretch a mere suggestion of what was to come.

He snaked his hand around to your face, slapping it over your open mouth as pathetic little whines escaped it. And you truly were pathetic, but your dignity was the last thing on your mind right now. As it was, your dignity was actually the first thing on his mind. He wanted to take it away.

Every last fucking bit.

Without warning his hips met yours in a violent thrust, and all of a sudden he was inside you. It hurt, bad, but you found yourself only wanting to please him. You allowed yourself one pained, broken cry, then biting your cheek to stay silent.

For him.

“Fuck, she’s so fuckin’ tight.” He hissed through clenched teeth, his head tilted back as he reveled in the feeling of you around him. Untouched until now.

Unruined. 

 It wasn’t long until he began to move, painfully slow, allowing himself a thrust or two to really feel the texture of your plush walls, the slick coating his cock. And after he had satisfied himself with that, any ounce of tenderness was gone.

He was pounding into you with abandon, heavy balls thwapping against your poor clit, your pussy stretching in a deliciously painful way around him. You hung your head only to see the bulge of him in your tummy, a visual representation of how deep inside of you he could reach.

Loud, whiny moans left your lips as your entire body began to tingle, as a knot in your stomach became so prominent you were sure you would burst. The Chief himself was encased in so much pleasure he couldn’t even mock you, but there would be time for that later. His movements only grew faster as he felt your pussy clench around him, as his hands roughly gripped your shaking thighs and left bruises behind.

You cried out to no one as you came, your release forming a creamy ring around his cock that was still pumping in and out of you relentlessly. His release didn’t come long after, following close behind as his eyes squeezed shut and he gripped your hips almost painfully. He pulled out carelessly, probably not even soon enough. 

Like he cared; any woman would be blessed to bear his child, he thought.

You lay on a blanket one of his servants had laid out, the clumpy dirt uncomfortable under your back. He had left not ten minutes after, attending to tribal duties, he said. Staring up at the ceiling you had only those recents memories to reflect on, and God were you grateful for them.

Shameful though it was, you hadn’t minded being used in such a way. In fact, you had almost enjoyed it. Naive though you were, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time that this happened, and you had a feeling you would be glad.

If you were sure of one thing, it was this: he owned you now, and he wouldn’t be letting you go any time soon.

You were his.

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Old Joel Miller dick and balls. Need that.

[strawberriesandhotmen]

yall tied me up 😭😭 my babygirl @burguesinha24 has spoken and wishes for me to do the dbf so that's what im doing first, and then ill do the others in order. yalls feedback is so helpful ily

One Shot Feedback

i fear i am obsessed with this man yall and i think i will genuinely combust if i dont write about him this instant. help me out babies, which one should i do 😘

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Sister girl! I need more Frat Boy! One direction because the last one with Niall was *chefs kiss* 🫶🏼❤️

ahhh you're the sweetest babe ily. i'll work on this harry req i js got next and then i could be persuaded to write a louis one 🤭 i am here to serve baby doll

[strawberriesandhotmen]

hey babies i just got a harry styles request, kinda a fwb type of thing which is actually on period so thank you anon. ill get that out as soon as possible but I also have like three other wips in the pipeline so stay tuned for some updates in the next week

[strawberriesandhotmen]

More Than Anything

a/n: Hey babygirls. This is literally the most random thing ever, but the scenario forced its way into my head and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of shit, but this is more self indulgent than anything else. There’s complete potential for a part two (with smut) but I don’t know if y’all would want that lol. I adore hearing y’all’s feedback and hope you’ve been enjoying my content 😘 Also I know the gif is Joel, no Dieter, but I respectfully don't care cause it fit so well

pairing: bestfriend!Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

CW +18: swearing, hard drug abuse (please stay safe babies omg), mentions of suicide (seriously, stay safe), Dieter is sweet and also hypocritical but he gets a pass, this one is really sad sorry y’all (it’s called depression), mostly fluff in the sense of Dieter comforting the reader, FRIENDS TO LOVERS???

word count: 1.8k

In all your life, you had never been so profoundly fucked up.

He had told you to wait for him, had warned you of the dangers of doing it alone. But had you listened? Not a chance.

It had been a rough day. Rougher than usual, that is. You knew that Javi was coming over after filming, you had even set up his lines for him. And you really had meant to wait, truly. But it was the way those white grains jeered up at you, they way they so nicely contrasted with the dark granite of your bathroom counter.

They were so tempting.

You could bitch-slap yourself for being so weak, and would probably do well to commission someone to knock some sense into you. It didn’t matter anymore, though.

There you were, tank top and sleep shorts askew as you lay sprawled out on the bathroom tile. Your eyes were glassy with the fading high, your lips slightly parted as you intently inspected the generic ceiling texture from below.

A shame they put so much effort into the ceiling, you mused, when almost no one takes the time to look. It was a silly thought, a high thought. You sniffed absently, shivering as a stray grain flit its way into your nostril. You hadn’t even bothered to wipe off the residue; you hadn’t even intended to be done. Finality was rather forced upon you when you had felt yourself go limp, your vision turn hazy.

You jolted suddenly, snapping your eyes open when you realized you had begun to doze off. Even in your current state, you gathered that slipping out of consciousness probably wouldn’t be ideal.

The toxin-induced muffled state of your hearing prevented you from registering the opening of your front door, the greeting of Dieter as he comfortably strolled into your tidy apartment. You didn’t even realize he had called your name, now upwards of three times for being unable to find you.

He was concerned; you always waited for him in the living room.

Always.

You momentarily snapped out of your haze upon Dieter entering the bathroom in a panic, muttering a string of curses under his breath. You being nearly passed out on the floor was not what he had expected to walk into tonight. He knelt beside you, his hands gently grasping your shoulders to sit you up against the wall. With the new angle your hearing slowly improved, his voice echoing in and out.

“Sweetheart? Need you to sit up for me.” He didn’t trust your relatively limp spine to support you, even against the wall, and instead kept his hands firmly wrapped around your upper arms. You caught sight of your appearance in a mirror that had fallen on the floor, and it was fucking ghastly.

That must’ve been the good shit, you thought.

Eyes bloodshot to hell, snowy white powder rimming your right nostril, mascara stains painting your pallored cheeks. You looked like a shell of yourself from only a couple hours ago; that person had at least looked alive.

Your eyes made a delayed snap to him when his calloused hand cupped your cheek, the look of pure concern on his face clear even in your state. You struggled to focus your eyes on any one thing, allowing your eyelids to flutter closed. Dieter muttered another curse under his breath, confirming how disadvantageous it would be for you to pass out.

He shook you lightly, calling your name in an attempt to ‘wake you up.’ Your head lolled back, making a light thud as it hit the wall he had propped you up against. Dieter stood up suddenly, snatching a rag from underneath your sink and running it under warm water. He gingerly patted the rag over your face, first wiping off the residue from your nose. He didn’t need you ingesting any more of that shit.

The warmth from the rag slowly brought you back to reality, the glossiness of your eyes retreating only to leave behind crimson veining. You inhaled deeply, scrunching your face at the residual burning in your nose. You were an idiot, and you could already recognize that. He called your name again, and this time your head turned to him in response.

“Hey, Dieter.” Your voice was hoarse, tired. You were confused at the huff he let out, not sure why a sardonic chuckle was the correct response at the moment.

“I find you half-dead on your bathroom floor and all you have to say is ‘hey?’” He almost sounded offended; it puzzled you, but you were in no state to decipher his intentions.

“I was hardly half-dead; high as a kite, maybe. It’s not like you haven’t been there, done that, Di.” He ignored the flutter in his stomach that always came with that nickname, bristling at your words that were disappointingly true.

“That’s not the po-” “Isn’t it?” You interrupted, stumbling as you tried to stand. Even through his frustration with you, he plopped you down on the closed toilet so that you wouldn’t hurt yourself. You rolled your eyes at his bossiness, wincing at the shooting pain behind your eyes.

“You would fly off the hinges if anyone confronted you about all the shit you take, Di.” It was true, and he knew. But that wasn’t the point.

“I told you to wait for me. You know how serious I was about that.” Yes, of course you knew. He made it quite clear, and you couldn’t remember exactly why, but you clearly recall not giving a damn about whatever he had said when you started laying out those lines.

“You don’t own me, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Not if it threatens your life!” You jumped at the sudden change in volume, your hands moving to grip the underside of the toilet for support. He sighed deeply upon realizing how he had snapped, running a hand over his face in exasperation.

“Look,” He began, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in his. “I told you to wait for me for this very reason, just in case you took too much.” You didn’t make eye contact when he said that, memories flooding back to you, emotions accompanying them. You knew exactly what happened.

“I took exactly as much as I meant to.” He shook his head, rubbing circles into the backs of your hands with his thumbs.

“That’s the problem, you don’t know how mu-”

“I took exactly as much as I meant to.” You repeated slower, wanting him to understand your meaning without having to spell it out for him. You hated spelling it out for people. When realization dawned on his face, you could almost see his heart drop through the floor. He had been using for much longer than you, and you knew he understood exactly what you were referring to.

You wanted to take too much.

He saw the tears bloom in your eyes, the movement of your jaw when you bit your cheek to hold them back. You despised crying in front of people, but you had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to stop it this time.

He pulled you off of the scuffed porcelain lid, tugging your trembling frame into his lap as he scooted against the wall. You curled into him, your body immediately wracked with sobs as you melted into his arms. He had had no inkling that you had been feeling this way, and the realization of that was killing him. He was your best friend, he was supposed to know. He should’ve known.

But he didn’t.

And maybe it was because he had felt the same thing; maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe that your mind had wandered there too. He could kick himself for being so blind; there must have been signs, he just missed them.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered into your neck as your sobs died down, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m so fucking sorry.” You shook your head, sniffing as you wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“It’s o-” He shushed you, not willing to take that as an answer.

“It is not okay. It’s never okay, sweetheart. I should’ve been there for you, and instead I encouraged you.” You sighed.

“It’s just drugs, Di. I won’t do as many lines next time.” He looked absolutely shell-shocked.

“Next time? Are you fucking serious?” You furrowed your brow, pulling back to look at him. You were forced to squint through your hazy vision.

“Yes?” He scoffed, letting out a dry chuckle.

“You almost died, and you want to do it again? Not a fucking chance in hell.” It was your turn to be shocked. He was telling you what to do? Dieter Bravo? The man wrote the fucking book on addiction, and he was telling you that you had a problem.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” You replied incredulously, sliding off of his lap onto the fraying rug in front of your sink. He sighed, running a hand through his curls. He knew he was being hypocritical, but he was more concerned about you remaining alive.

“I know I’m not one to be talking, but it just kills me to see you like this because I love you so much and-” He stopped dead in his tracks.

What did he say?

“You…what?” You almost whispered the last word, suspended in total disbelief. He looked almost as astonished as you, his cheeks flaming red as his expression turned sheepish.

“I said…” He began, inhaling deeply, only to let out a shaky breath, “I love you.”

You must be hallucinating, you thought, your high still lingering. This was your best friend, he didn’t love you. He couldn’t.

His lips displayed an ironic smile; he could clearly see the wheels turning in your head, trying to talk yourself out of the truth.

“Sweetheart.” He whispered, moving a little closer to you. He leaned forward so that his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his breath drawing a shiver out of you. The words he whispered nearly drew your heart out of you, crushing your soul and making you feel alive all at once.

“More than anything.”