#BCS Fanfiction

[richeeduvie]

Lalo + princesa heavy make out sesh drabble PLS

A LITTLE MAKEOUT BLURB

.・���.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Sometimes, just kissing Lalo feels like a forever. You don't mind it. Not at all, especially when he leans in, breath heavy, warm - no, hot hands brushing your chin.

"I should say sorry every time I'm so mean with you, huh? Cause that's what you do...you make it too hard to stay mad at you, Princesa. I should be mad at that. I was stronger once. You like making people weak?"

Before you can shake your head no, Lalo presses his lips into yours.

The darkness of his eyes, his hair - the world he presses against you falls your body. You moan with breaths turning shallow and quick, like you're a teenager. Not that you've ever done this when you were one.

"Lalo-"

Lalo takes his hand across your jaw, grasping it. He tugs - you're on a string and on your feet with its pull.

His lips are warm. Soft, but the hairs of his mustache are never not ticklishly. Coarse. Perfect. And yet, you pull back because, of course, you do. You're guilty of wanting him to want you. You have to admit that now.

The coal of his eyes meets yours. You don't speak, and you don't think he breathes. And, like always, the reasonings for why you do guilty things come along. Lalo dips in. He's firmer by his lips and hands. Heat pools in your stomach, spreads the ways your soft static-nerves do.

"You know what you do, hm?"

Lalo wraps his arm around your middle to press you against him and you...teeter. You close your eyes, but you feel him tease your lips with the tips of his tongue.

You pull away again. You want him to pull you back in, harshly - but never denying you. It's so selfish that you'll feel wrong for it in ever other moment but now.

Lalo kisses the corner of your mouth. Your heart throbs. You don't feel like a teenager, you're you. Intense and overwhelmed by any simple, intimate movement with his skin and touch. That's how it is.

You tilt your jaw up, and he kisses your chin. You think it's a low rumble as the strong tip of his nose draws down your neck.

He peppers kisses on your throat, but it only takes a second or so for them to become open-mouthed. Wet.

"Lalo. I-"

Teethy. You moan. The groan of his voice makes your insides fall apart, but not by cracking, by melting.

It's funny how Lalo says he's made you into something else. With this, all of this...you don't think you've ever thought clearly in a moment of this type of touch. You've always thought too much, so much - but you can't think more than his name when his tongue swirls in your mouth.

It does when his lips find their way back to yours. You press in, dipping in. Lalo's staggered in breath. Like you.

There's a ringing from his back pocket. His sighs into your mouth.

"Maldita sea-"

You pull him by the arm when he goes to pick it up. He sighs heavier, like it's all his weight in a breath falling into you. He cups both of your cheeks, you think you feel a smile.

"You can't beat it too."

Lalo pushes you into the bed. You guess you can't - but you like it when you're matching.

[drabbles-mc]

Pick-Up

Jesse Pinkman & Ignacio "Nacho" Varga

For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Near Misses: fanwork with two characters from the same show who have never met

Warnings: 18+, language, no plot just vibes

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: do you ever think about the fact that these two never got to meet? because i sure do!!!!!! i feel like there is more down the line that i would like to do with these two in a different story. but for now there's this! also my first time ever writing for Jesse so 🫡

“Yo!” Jesse banged on the safehouse door. “Open up!”

He didn’t hear anyone calling back to him, didn’t hear any movement from the other side of the door at all. Letting out a deep sigh, he started to make his way around the house. All of the curtains were covering the windows, all the locks on them secured. The only car in the driveway was his own, and for a moment Jesse couldn’t help but to think that maybe Mike had sent him off on some sort of wild goose chase. Punishment for whatever he’d done most recently that had annoyed him.

When he wound up back at the front door again, Jesse was about to turn around and walk off. He’d been through enough bouts of hazing and pointless trips. What he didn’t want, though, was to get into deeper trouble because he didn’t do what he was supposed to. There was still always the off-chance that this was all legit.

Standing halfway between the front door and the car, Jesse took out his phone and dialed one of the four numbers that were programmed into it. Bringing the phone up to his ear, he let it ring. His shoulders slumped, head tilting back as he waited to be sent to voicemail, to a voicemail box that probably wouldn’t even let him leave a message.

“What?” Mike’s voice came through on the other end of the line, as unamused as he ever was.

“Did you even send me to the right place?” Jesse asked.

“Did you go to the right place?” he rebutted.

Jesse rolled his eyes, able to picture perfectly Mike’s expression even though the two of them were miles and miles away from each other. “I think I can match a house number and a street name.”

“Okay, then, you’re in the right spot.”

“Does your guy know I’m coming, then? Because I’m out here banging on the door and—”

“Did you really think that banging on the door was the best course of action? For a man that’s currently a fugitive and on the run from—”

“Alright, alright. So,” Jesse shrugged, “what, then?”

“There’s a number in your phone that you’ve never had to call before.” He paused, a meaningful silence that lasted just long enough for Jesse to put two and two together on his own. “Call it.”

Jesse opened his mouth to respond, something along the lines of, “How was I supposed to know?” or “Why wasn’t that part of the directions?” But before he could say anything the line went dead. He huffed before navigating his way through the umpteenth flip phone that he’d had and gone through.

He hovered over the contact saved into his phone as only NV. He looked back up at the windows on the front of the house, hoping to catch some movement in the curtains and getting nothing. Finally, he hit the dial button.

When the person on the other end of the line answered, they didn’t say anything. Jesse could hear the faint waves of static, but no breathing, no voice. “Look, I’m gonna wait out here for five more minutes and then I’m turning around and going home. I’m only out here because Mike—”

“Mike sent you?” the man on the other end of the line finally spoke up at the sound of a familiar name.

“Yeah,” Jesse said, rolling his eyes. “Sent me because he’s too busy doing other shit, I guess.” He paused, waited for the man to say something else, and when he didn’t, he said, “Four minutes, dude.”

Jesse waited for a response but it never came. Once more he was faced with a dead phone line and he briefly wondered if there would ever be a time in his life again when people actually gave him a response of some kind before hanging up. A simple “Got it” or “Thanks” would work in lieu of a real goodbye, but he never seemed to get anything these days.

He stood there and continued to stare at the front of the house. He watched the windows, the curtains still not showing any kind of movement. He wasn’t really close enough to hear the sounds of any scuffling around inside but he still strained an ear just in case. Another minute had almost ticked by, which never really felt like a long time until Jesse was standing aimlessly in someone’s driveway, and the front door still hadn’t opened.

Finally hitting the point where he felt like he’d either been set up for failure, or was about to fall into some sort of trap, Jesse shook his head and mumbled a quiet, “Fuck this,” to himself before continuing the trek back to the car.

Just as his fingers wrapped around the handle of the car door, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning in the direction of it, he saw a man walking out from behind the house. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and a gun clutched with both hands pointed at the ground. Jesse’s face scrunched in confusion as much at the gun as at the state of the man in general.

Mike hadn’t told him much of anything about the errand that he was on, which was typical. He definitely hadn’t given Jesse a description of the person that he was supposed to be transporting which, looking back on it seemed like just as much of a security measure as it was a liability but there was nothing that he was ever going to be able to do about that.

Whoever this guy was, he certainly wasn’t dressed like a man on the run with the exception of the gun in his hands. He didn’t fit the bill for a guy who had been hiding out in a safehouse for who knows how long. Even though his shirt was dingy and wrinkled now, Jesse could see that on a better day, it was nicer than anything that was in his own closet. The boots on his feet weren’t the kind made for the types of treks they would most likely find themselves on.

There was no shortage to the number of comments that crossed Jesse’s mind to make as the man walked closer to him. The one he settled on, however, was emphasized with a perplexed look as he said, “Dude, what are you doing?”

The man mirrored his expression, though there was more annoyance etched into his features than Jesse’s. “What?”

Jesse nodded towards the gun that he was holding. “What are you doing? It’s just,” he held his hands out, gesturing to the space around the two of them, “just us. Gonna pop your ride out of here?”

He kept both hands on the gun still, however the muscles in his arms lost a little bit of their tension. “If you’re my ride,” he said, giving Jesse a pointed once-over as he did, “then yeah, sorry if I don’t wanna just take my chances.”

“You think Mike would send me all the way out here just to—”

“Even if you’re not here to kill me, I don’t exactly trust that you’re gonna be able to stop someone else who wants to,” he explained. He didn’t want to say it, but he also wouldn’t put it past Mike or anyone in their business to send someone all the way out to where he was just to get rid of him. Whoever this kid was that Mike sent didn’t seem like the kind of guy he’d send for that kind of job, but he knew better now than to say things like never.

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” Finally reaching and pulling the door open, he said, “Get in. Or don’t.”

Jesse had hardly sat down in the driver’s seat before turning the car back on. He was half-expecting whoever this guy was to turn around and walk back towards the house. Jesse wouldn’t have stopped him. Leaning across the console, Jesse stared out through the passenger window to see what the guy was doing, and found him doing another scan around them before finally opening the door and getting inside.

He watched the man as he set his bag on the floor between his feet. Jesse contemplated offering for him to throw it in the back seat, but the gun still being held in one of the guy’s hands was telling Jesse that the level of trust probably wasn’t quite there yet.

“Jesse,” he said as he shifted to reverse.

“What?”

Jesse looked at him before continuing on to look over his shoulder to back out of the crumbling driveway. “My name is Jesse. This is, you know,” he put the car into drive, “the part where you tell me who you are, what makes you so special.”

He stared at Jesse skeptically for a moment as he started off down the road. The car rattled slightly, filing what would’ve been deafening silence otherwise. He sat and he stared until Jesse turned to give him a quick glance before locking back onto the road. “Dude, it’s gonna be a long-ass drive if you’re just gonna sit there and stare at me in silence.”

He narrowed his eyes just slightly before finally saying, “Nacho.”

The chuckle that Jesse let out at that was reflexive. It was far from the strangest nickname he’d heard, and given the circles that he’d found himself running in lately he should know better than to laugh. But he couldn’t stop himself. He shook his head slightly as he reined in the other laughs that wanted to sneak their way out, an undeniable smirk on his face.

“Nacho,” he repeated with emphasis that was only amusing to him, “right on, yo.”

Jesse sat and waited for another moment longer, wondering if Nacho was going to have anything to say in response to that. He wasn’t looking for the guy’s life story, but he was wondering if Nacho was going to divulge anything about why they were in their current situation. Maybe even say how he knew Mike, or why Mike gave enough of a crap about him to have someone go out and fetch him, but didn’t give so much of a crap to come out and rescue Nacho himself. He’d settle for anything, but as Nacho settled back in his seat, gun still in his lap, Jesse knew that he wasn’t going to get any information that he didn’t pry or dig for.

“Right,” Jesse muttered under his breath. Not wanting to just listen to the rattling of the car on the road, and since his temporary partner didn’t seem to have anything to say, Jesse reached and turned the radio on to fill the void.

Music blared from the speakers for about forty seconds before Nacho shook his head and reached forward to shut it off. Nacho scoffed at the noise, and Jesse rolled his eyes at the lack of it.

Silence persisted for another minute or two before Jesse started to improvise, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. The rhythm didn’t feel familiar to Nacho, and he wondered if Jesse even had something in mind or if it was just stream of consciousness at this point. Nacho turned and looked at him as he drove and decided that there was no forethought happening there.

“Turn it back on,” Nacho finally said with a shake of his head.

“What?” Jesse asked, looking over at the man in the passenger seat.

“The radio.” He leaned so that his elbow was propped on the tiny ledge built into the car door. “Turn it back on,” he repeated as he propped his chin in his hand that wasn’t holding onto the gun.

Jesse rolled his eyes but he did as instructed, just glad to have something aside from his own thoughts to listen to. “Alright.” With both hands back on the wheel, he still found himself tapping his thumbs against it but it wasn’t audible. Eyes still trained on the road, he said, “Should’ve known that Mike wasn’t sending me to pick up anyone fun.”

“I—”

“If you’re looking for fun I think you’re looking in…the worst places possible.”

The sound Jesse made next wasn’t quite a chuckle, just that short, sharp exhale through his nose to prove that he’d heard and understood what Nacho was saying whether or not he agreed with it. Something about the response made it all click for him in a way, why Mike had sent Jesse out to the middle of nowhere to pick this guy up. Nacho might not have been in the divulging mood, probably wouldn’t ever be based on what Jesse had seen so far, but he didn’t need to know anything else to see how the web tangled itself together.

Leaning back in the driver’s seat, Jesse reached to turn the volume up two more notches before letting his hand fall onto the center console instead of back on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nacho give another shake of his head, but neither of them said anything to the other. The ends of Jesse’s mouth curled upwards as he continued on down the road, preparing for a long, quiet drive back home.

[somebodylovesyougcv]

chapter 6 of you must have been looking for me is up now!

fandom: better call saul

pairing: jimmy mcgill/kim wexler

rating: M

chapter summary: Chuck McGill returns home to Chicago to host a mixer for prospective law students and the Chicago legal community. In attendance? Kim Wexler and Howard Hamlin.

read from the beginning here

[art-by-jas]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Better Call Saul (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Original Female Character(s), Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca & Original Female Character(s), Ignacio "Nacho" Varga & Original Female Character(s), Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina & Original Female Character(s) Characters: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca, Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina, Original Female Character(s), Daniella Molina (OFC) Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, First Meetings, Best Friend Ignacio Varga, Canon Compliant, Cousin Domingo Molina Summary:

𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗅𝗅ɑ "𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂" 𝖬𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇ɑ, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖣𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗈 "𝖪𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗒-𝟪" 𝖬𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇ɑ, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 ɑ 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖤𝗅 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗈ɑ𝖼ɑ́𝗇𝗈, 𝖭ɑ𝖼𝗁𝗈 ɑ𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌ɑ𝗀𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗌𝗌' 𝗇𝖾𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗐, 𝖤𝖽𝗎ɑ𝗋𝖽𝗈 '𝖫ɑ𝗅𝗈' 𝖲ɑ𝗅ɑ𝗆ɑ𝗇𝖼ɑ, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗉𝗅ɑ𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 ɑ𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝗎ɑ𝗅. 𝖧𝖾 𝗍ɑ𝗄𝖾𝗌 ɑ 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋ɑ𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 ɑ𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖾ɑ𝗋, 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇. 𝖭ɑ𝖼𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 ɑ𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂 ɑ𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗐ɑ𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆ɑ𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁ɑ𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋.

[thekimspoblog]

Sheepdog: "Elevator"

Kim continues to doggedly drag herself across the hallway of the courthouse. The elevator is still several yards away, and other people in suits have already packed themselves into it. Just as the doors close and the music begins to fade out, Howard’s voice pierces through the commotion like nails on a chalkboard.

“Kim! Kim! Aha! Was almost worried I wouldn’t catch up to you”

Our heroine just nods, counting the seconds that this exchange has to drag on.

Howard continues, “Wow… Look at you!”

“Look at me…” she parrots, praying the sarcasm is hamfisted enough that he’ll take a goddamn hint.

“It’s just… I had no idea!” the pompous little prince apologized.

“It’s a funny story. Neither did I!” replied Kim.

“How… How do you feel?”

“My back hurts, my boobs hurt, my feet hurt, nausea, dizziness, fatigue. All the hits; all the classics. Truth be told, I feel more beaten up than when I wrecked my car. Then again, they gave me Percocet when I wrecked my car…”

“Well you look great,” Howard had to push it, “You’re glowing”

“Wish I could return the compliment, Howard. But really, you look like hell. I mean you’ve always kind of looked like a wax mannequin, but lately it’s like you’re melting under the lights!”

“How’s the solo practice working out? No offense, but oftentimes even if pro-bono work can be spiritually validating, financially it can feel like a fisherman who’s limited themself to minnows”

“Well, that’s one reason we didn’t spring for a big ceremony” Kim responded through a gritted smile, “But I’ve found my own ways to still put bread on the table. Bootstraps and elbow grease and long nights, and all that”

“You know, I know how difficult it can be to quit smoking. Believe me, it took multiple tries myself. But I was recently reading yet another medical journal emphasizing the harm cigarettes and other tobacco products can do to an unborn child. You have no idea the stress it puts…”

This was a good point for Kim to cut him off, “Howard, are we friends?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because if we were friends, this level of concern would be very touching,” her eyes widened, “But if we’re not friends, this exchange could be interpreted as intrusive, and condescending, and overbearing, and… annoying”

“Well…” Howard’s face broke into a deep frown, “Chuck’s gone… If you and I aren’t friends… I guess I don’t have any friends…”

The elevator finally returned to the ground floor.

“Congratulations, either way…” Howard shrugged, sounding wistful, “Give Jimmy my best”

Kim lugged her heavy briefcase into the compartment and turned around. “This conversation was a treat. I’ll tell you everything, how about next Thursday? We can go over it over tequila shots!”

The doors closed before that life-sized Ken doll could get another word in edgewise.

________

At around 9:45 pm, over 13 hours and several scenes later:

Wexler-McGill are engaged in some blandly cute preoccupation; lavender swaying in the breeze, warm milk, and reveries, all that jazz, when the landline rings…

“Hello?” Jimmy answers, “Oh hey, Ernie! Long time, no talk. I'm going to put you on speakerphone”

“Hey Jimmy… Did Howard ever visit Alamogordo? Trinity Test Site? Was he ever anywhere near White Sands? You and Kim knew him longer than I did”

“Trinity?! Um, no. He never mentioned anything like that. Can you really imagine him mucking around in the desert in his Bontonis?”

“I just didn’t know who else to talk to,” sighed Ernie, “I’ve still got friends at HHM, and they’re all kind of panicking, because they know they’ve basically lost their jobs. But it’s all just so weird! The examiner keeps asking me questions, and nobody here knew him well enough to have any answers”

“Ernie, what are you talking about?” Jimmy tried to interrupt.

“At first, it seemed like a heart attack, or maybe the flu. He was in a cold sweat when he collapsed. Then, early test results were saying kidney cancer, and it went undiagnosed? But apparently - they can’t explain it - the body’s radioactive. Like he walked too close to a power plant. Or he picked up a piece of radioactive glass, or something? His hair was falling out; now the doctors are saying it was radiation poisoning”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. You’re saying Howard is sick? He’s in the hospital?”

“I’m sorry!” Ernie stammered, “I assumed you’d already heard… Howard’s dead”

“That’s impossible. Kim talked to him this morning”

Kim averted her gaze.

“He refused to take a sick day, said he’d just sleep it off on the couch. He said he felt great afterwards, everything went on as usual, then just as they were all packing up, he was saying something to Marci when he just… dropped. The rest of the employees are fine, but the doctors called in some people with Geiger Counters, and their readings are over 5,000 on Hamlin. A-apparently that’s high…”

“Ripley's…” Jimmy mumbled, quite perplexed but still fundamentally apathetic about any loose threads involving his former boss, “I’m sure more will be in the news in the coming weeks. But needless to say, Howard and I weren’t close, especially not these past few years. I’ve got my own plate full, otherwise I’d offer to hire those poor mailroom comrades who are now out on their asses. This is real spooky. Keep me posted, Ernie”

After a few more patient nods, Jimmy put the receiver down. He looked over to see Kim running her hands over her middle, disturbed. Wasn't this what she wanted? Didn’t she wish for Howard to drop dead? Since yesterday, every obstacle in her path seemed to be courteously moving out of the way. And there was only so much that could be blamed on serendipity.

[thekimspoblog]

Me, after watching Season 5: "Oh boy! Call it dorky, but one thing I'm looking forward to about going to law school is that now I can write more detailed and accurately about Kim Wexler doing her job. Because I love the scenes where she's a titan of the field, but it's so hard to write courtroom drama when your only frame of reference is other clich�� courtroom dramas. This way I'll have first-hand knowledge when writing-"

Season 6: "She quit her job and confessed to a felony."

Me, still with three years of school ahead of me: "😤 O....kay... That's FINE! I'll just think of other reasons for her to be in court, then. Like... as a defendant"

We don’t talk enough about how fanfiction writers love to give character large amounts of non-specific paperwork they hate doing

[shaftking]

Ao3 is actually massively culturally important and very very good at being what it is. I’m so serious when I say that ao3 needs to be protected as the anti censorship, by fans for fans, nonprofit, volunteer run, expertly designed archival site that it is. You don’t have to read or like fanfiction to understand that on principle, ao3 is a site that should be defended.

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[turtletoria]

i wanted to try drawing older Mabel and Dipper !

[mail-me-a-snail]

TRUE BLU - CHAPTER ART ii.-v.

the complete collection of the weekly chapter art i did for my fic true blu ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ also, idk if it was obvious before this post, but...

...each piece that has red in it lines up with the next ^_^ if you somehow noticed this before i pointed it out, congrats! you get a billion funny monies

[drabbles-mc]

Should've Seen It Coming

Nacho Varga x F!Reader

For Day 5 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: dragged, defiance

Warnings: 18+, angst, kidnapping, language

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is the first piece I ever published for Nacho! I have a longfic in the works for him, but idk when that will be ready. In the meantime, have this! I feel like there's more I want to do with this but I can't put my finger on it. Hope you enjoy!

BCS Taglist: @garbinge @hausofmamadas @narcolini (I'm essentially just tagging the few people I've talked to about this fic, but if in the future anyone else wants to be on the list, let me know!)

You walked up to the table you’d been waiting on for the last stretch of your shift. The man hadn’t ordered much. Truthfully, it seemed like he was more there for any scraps of conversation that you could offer him rather than anything else. If it had been a quieter afternoon, you probably could’ve done a better job of indulging him in that.

He didn’t seem to mind, however, didn’t seem to take it personally. Each time you walked over to refill his coffee, ask him if there was anything else that you could get for him, he always greeted you with a wide, charming smile. You couldn’t help but to notice the singular tattoo he seemed to have, the and that went around his forearm. While it wasn’t something that you would typically pay a whole lot of attention to, it stood out solely because it was the only one. Something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it. His voice was smooth, but not quite what you had been expecting. There was a hint of humor to it. You wondered if maybe he’d been here before, but just got lost in the sea of faces that you saw every day.

Stopping at the end of the table, you tucked your hands into the pockets of the apron that was tied around your waist. “I just wanted to stop and see if there was anything else I could get you before I head out.” You gestured towards the register where one of your coworkers was standing. “My shift is over so I’m handing you off to Stacey.”

“Leaving so soon?” he replied with a grin and a laugh.

You smiled and shook your head. “You wouldn’t think it was so soon if you’d gotten here when I got here this morning.”

He laughed, perhaps a little harder than what your comment warranted, but you didn’t mind. “That’s true.” He lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, then.”

You nodded. “You too.”

Walking to the counter at the back of the diner, you swapped out your apron for your purse and finally started to head out. You waved goodbye to Stacey as you made your way for the front door of the diner. It didn’t even cross your mind to look at the table where the man had been sitting. If it had, you would’ve seen the way that he was casually stirring his spoon in his coffee mug, but his eyes never left you. You might not have been paying him all that much mind, but he had made sure that you never left his sight.

The bell above the door chimed as it swung shut behind you. He gave you a few moments, watching you walk across the parking lot through the window next to his table. He watched as you reached into your purse, pulling out the keys to your car but also a pack of cigarettes. There was a small smile beginning to curl his lips as he watched you pull one cigarette out of the pack.

Standing up, he tossed enough money on the table to more than cover his bill and the tip. He silently made his way to the door, slipping out without a word or anyone seeming to notice him. He went down the short stretch of steps that led to the diner, his shoes hitting the blacktop of the parking lot without much of a sound.

Your back was to him, shielding your lighter from the wind as you tried to light your cigarette before getting into your car. You never seemed to smoke inside of it, which was an odd line in the sand in his mind, but he respected it. For a brief moment he thought about waiting, letting you get a few drags in, but it was too late to hit the brakes now.

You turned around at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you. When you saw the semi-familiar smile on his face, your body relaxed as you let out a stream of smoke. “Oh, hey, are you—”

The rest of the sentence was lost and buried as the entire world went black.

Nacho was putting the rest of the shop back together, back to its formal glory, when his phone started to ring. He checked it quickly, and he knew immediately who was calling him. He didn’t want to answer, knowing that it wasn’t going to be anything good. Still, he knew that ignoring it was only going to cause more problems.

Bringing the phone up to his ear, he said, “Yea?”

“Oh, good. Was worried that you weren’t going to pick up.”

Nacho drew a deep breath in, knowing that whatever that hint of mirth in Lalo’s tone was, it couldn’t spell out anything good. “Well, I did.” He paused, and when he was met with more silence, he shook his head and continued. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I made it very clear to you,” he kept his tone casual almost to a fault, “that I’m a patient man but I do run out of patience eventually.”

Despite the pleasantness in his voice, Nacho’s heart immediately dropped into his stomach. Men growing impatient never spelled out good things for him, or for the people that he cared about. He remembered the dread that nearly incapacitated him when he was trapped in a car and forced to watch helplessly as his poor, unknowing father was threatened. No matter who he was working with, working for, no one he cared about was ever safe.

He walked to the back of the shop, his tone hushed but urgent as he spoke into the phone. “What did you do?”

Lalo laughed. “Who said anyone did anything, hm? No one said—”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Ooh,” Lalo feigned being impressed before letting out a laugh. “Okay, okay.” He paused, letting the silence last longer than necessary before saying, “I see why you like her. She’s very sweet.”

Panic shot through every nerve in his body. He couldn’t even will himself to say anything in response. He opened his mouth a few times to try and say something, but each time he came up empty. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t what? I told you, Nacho, no one is doing anything.”

“Let,” there was a shake to his voice that he wanted to get rid of and couldn’t, “let her go.”

“I can do that,” he took a deep, dramatic breath, “but you have to do something for me first.”

Nacho couldn’t believe that his heart hadn’t completely stopped. “Whatever you want.” Showing that amount of desperation with his words and his tone was nothing but a sign of weakness, and he knew that, but there was no stopping it. The same way he would’ve done and promised just about anything to save his father, he was willing to burn it all down to save you.

“You know what I want.”

The panic was quickly transforming into anger the longer that he talked to Lalo. The façade of lightness in the man’s voice was enough to make anyone’s blood boil on a good day, let alone a day like the one Nacho was now having. More often than not, he was willing to do the song and dance required to work with Lalo. But not this time, not when he’d laid a hand on you.

The anger that was bubbling up in him gave him enough nerve to push through the panic, desperation giving way to defiance. “I’m not doing shit for you until you let her go.”

Lalo laughed. “I don’t think that’s true.” He paused. “You weren’t doing anything for me before she was with me. So, I think that this might actually be the one thing that gets you moving.” He expected Nacho to argue, but when he didn’t, Lalo said, “I guess we’ll find out.”

Nacho could feel that Lalo was about to hang up. “Where are you?”

Lalo chuckled into the other end of the line. “Somewhere you know very well.”

Nacho could feel the sweat beginning to clam up his palms. “If you hurt her—”

“What exactly would you do then?” he asked like it was a joke to even think about.

“Don’t hurt her and you won’t have to find out.”

Lalo chuckled. “I’m sure that I’ll see you soon, then.”

Nacho was about to try and argue when the line went dead. Snapping his phone shut, he took a deep breath as he rubbed his eyes for a moment. Shoving the phone into the pocket of his jeans, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, shutting them tight as he did so. He forced himself to take a few more deep breaths before opening them and letting his arms drop back to his sides again.

Forcing his hands to stop trembling, just as much from anger as from fear of what Lalo may or may not have already done to you, he started to make his way towards the door of the shop. He slipped by other workers without a word, most of them too wrapped up in what they were doing to even notice that he was going by them.

It wasn’t until he reached the door that someone noticed that he was making a break for it. His father looked up from the register, confusion on his face as he spoke to his son. His voice was as soft as it ever was as he took in the frazzled look on Nacho’s face, the tension his son was carrying throughout his entire body.

“Leaving, mijo?” he asked, although the answer was quite clear.

Nacho cleared his throat, trying to sound as normal as possible as he replied, “Yea. Something, uh, something came up.” He hated lying to his dad but there was no way that he could tell him what was going on. The list of things that Manuel would never truly be able to forgive him for was already a mile long, but Nacho was certain that this would be a step too far. His father wouldn’t be wrong to feel that way either, but Nacho selfishly wanted to put off that outcome for as long as possible. “I won’t be long.”

“Todo bien?” The sadness in his eyes conveyed that he already knew the answer.

Nacho nodded. What was one more lie? “Todo bien.”

For as much as he wanted to try and stop him, try and get him to say more, Manuel knew that it was no use. A sad smile crossed his face, an odd acceptance of defeat. “Be safe, Ignacio.”

When Nacho saw the look on his father’s face, he couldn’t help but to think about the fact that all Manuel had ever done was worry about him. He didn’t have the time to ruminate on it. Nodding, he pushed the door of the shop open. “I will.”

Within minutes of making that promise to his father, Nacho was tearing down the street in his car at break-neck speeds. He felt like he’d already wasted too much time in trying to get to you, he wasn’t going to let speed limits and traffic lights hold him up any longer.

Your breathing was ragged against the rag that was tied around your head and stuffed in your mouth. You had no idea who this man was, or what he wanted with you. All you knew was that when you came-to, you were lying in the back of a van that had no windows in the back. You’d tried to figure out some sort of escape plan, tried to call for help, but there seemed to be something thwarting every attempt you made to try and accomplish anything. Your wrists and ankles were bound so you couldn’t move, rag tied and snug against your mouth so you could scream. And on top of it all you had no idea where you were being taken.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you tried to get your breathing under control. It felt like your entire body was shaking and you couldn’t get it to stop. You managed to wriggle yourself so that you were sitting upright at least. Your forehead was slicked with sweat—you could feel it starting to trickle down the sides of your face.

“Good!” The man in the driver’s seat looked at you through the rearview mirror, a smile on his face. “You’re up!” He saw the panic in your eyes but it didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Don’t worry,” he reassured, “everything is going to be just fine. I called our mutual friend and he’ll be here soon to sort everything out.”

You had no idea who you would have in common with this man, not a single clue who your mutual friend could be. Truthfully, as you sat and tried to keep from tipping over, you were struggling to think of anyone that you knew at all, let alone someone you knew that this man might also know. Panic stripped every single name from your memory. If the man in the driver’s seat had handed you a phone and told you to call anyone in the world to come and get you, you didn’t think that you would’ve been able to think of a name and a number.

“Varga never mentioned me then?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

It felt like your throat was closing up as you processed what he said. Even if you had questions to ask, it wasn’t as though you’d really be able to say them because of the rag in your mouth. More tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about Nacho, about what all of this could possibly have to do with him.

“I guess I can’t blame him.” There was still a smile on his face as he spoke, his eyes trained on the road as he drove the two of you to wherever your destination was. “Don’t worry, though—he’ll have a chance to explain himself to both of us soon.”

If he meant that to be reassuring to you in any way, it wasn’t. All it did was make you worried about Nacho as well as yourself. You forced yourself to take a slow, deep breath in through your nose as you tried to figure out what to do, if there was anything you could do.

You didn’t know how long you’d been driving around. You tried to focus on the buildings passing by the windshield but there was so much going on in your head that you couldn’t really dial into any of it. It couldn’t have been that long—there was no way you’d been out long enough for him to take you that far away. Also, realistically, if he wanted you as some sort of enticement for Nacho, then he had to be planning to stay at least somewhat local.

For as much as you wanted nothing to do with this man now, you wished that you could at least spit the gag out of your mouth so that you could talk to him. It was so easy to have so many things to say when you weren’t going to have the opportunity to say any of them.

He reached forward and turned the radio up as he drove, nodding his head along to the beat like he was simply going for an evening drive. That was one of the most terrifying details of the entire thing—he seemed so comfortable. You didn’t know what to do with that. If there had been any fight left in you to begin with, it was certainly gone now, because anyone who felt this at home doing whatever he was planning on doing to you wasn’t someone you saw yourself winning against.

Almost as though he could read your mind, he spoke up and said, “Don’t worry, we won’t be driving much longer.”

You didn’t know why that statement caused more tears to spring into your eyes. It should’ve been reassuring in its own weird way. It wasn’t like you were going to be any use to this man if you were dead. He’d have to keep you alive at least, right? If he was almost to wherever he was going, you were at least one step closer to figuring out what the fuck was going on.

When he pulled off the road and into a lot, you caught a quick glimpse of the building he was parking by but it didn’t make any sense. You were expecting him to pull into somewhere abandoned, somewhere at the very least off the beaten path. If your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you, he’d pulled into a restaurant. It seemed outlandish at best, stupid at worst. Why would he bring you somewhere where there would be people?

You tumbled over when he threw the van in reverse and backed up to what you were assuming was going to be a back door of some kind. With what little you could move your feet, you tried to quickly situate your legs as you got yourself upright again. Your breathing was ragged, heart pounding in your chest as you heard him pull on the latch of the door.

He greeted you with the same warm smile he had at the diner, only now it was difficult to see the warmth you originally thought you had. As he reached in, still grinning, and grabbed onto your arm, you felt like you’d been so foolish to believe it before, to fall for the smile and easy-going demeanor. You couldn’t have known, but you felt like you should have.

You stumbled out of the back of the van, kept from toppling to the ground solely by his grip on you. If he hadn’t hooked his arm under yours so effectively you would’ve been eating the pavement. The binding of your ankles left you some room for movement, but not enough. The man was still essentially dragging you through the door and into the back of the restaurant.

Making your way inside, your eyes were darting around frantically as you tried to see where you really were. It wasn’t like you’d been in the backs of many restaurants before. There was nothing that was unique enough to really clue you into what place you’d been brought to exactly. What you did notice, though, was that it was quiet. It was practically silent. You didn’t hear any customers, but even stranger than that, you didn’t hear any sounds coming from the kitchen. You knew enough to know that even if a place wasn’t open, there was always commotion in the back. Not here, though, and it made your stomach sink.

“Here,” he said as he pulled you into a storage room and let go of you. He lingered in the doorway, same slick grin on his face as he said, “Don’t go anywhere.” The tinge of laughter in his voice made bile creep up the back of your throat.

Right after he pulled the door shut, you heard the lock clicking. You hadn’t had a fool’s chance in getting out to begin with, but there was something so much more hopeless settling into your bones once you heard that. Your body wanted to move, but you couldn’t. All that anxious energy and you couldn’t even channel it into pacing. Trying to blink back the tears in your eyes, you found a bare stretch of wall and slid down and sat on the tile floor.

Time was lost on you once more as you sat in the silence of the storage room. You were anxiously tapping your head back against the wall behind you when you finally heard some noise coming from the other side. It wasn’t typical restaurant chaos; it wasn’t music or the like. But you heard something. There were too many walls between you and them to make out who it was or what exactly they were saying, but you could feel the energy off it. They must’ve been loud if you could hear them, their yelling muffled but the anger was clear.

You wanted to scream, call for help. You wanted to be able to actually cry and let out everything that had been bubbling within your chest and threatening to drown you. But you couldn’t do any of that, simply forced to sit silently next to the door and pray for an outcome to it all that panned out well for you.

The sound of the gunshots had you yelping against the gag in your mouth. The tears you’d been trying to fight off with varying levels of success all came tumbling down your cheeks. It was the closest you’d ever been to gunfire and it was way too close for comfort. You tried to scramble to your feet, but in your panic only ended up making it harder for yourself. Your heart was thumping so fast you were sure it was going to stop altogether.

But that’s when you heard it. Distant and panicked but you finally heard Nacho’s voice. The relief that went through you brought a fresh wave of tears. The closer he got, the more you could hear what he was actually saying. The sound of your own name had never been something to bring you so much comfort. You wished that you had any control of your arms and hands, because you would’ve been pounding on the door for all that you were worth. As it stood, you just had to sit and try to cry out against the rag in your mouth in hopes that it would be enough for him to hear you.

The sound of the lock being undone wasn’t loud, but it felt as though it was echoing. You shimmied, trying to get to your feet on your own as you waited for him to get the door open. The light that came pouring through the door as it opened was only broken by Nacho’s silhouette as he stood in the doorway.

“Oh my god.” He didn’t even sound like himself as he instantly buckled to the ground next to you.

His hands immediately felt their way to the back of your head, loosing the knot that had been keeping your gag in place. He gently pulled it away from your face. His fingers ghosted over your face for a moment, making sure it was really you and that you were really in one piece. As much as every single fiber of his being wanted to hold you, he fought the urge as he maneuvered himself around you so that he could free your wrists and your ankles.

The second you couldn’t feel the pull of the restraints against you anymore, all of the fight left your body. You collapsed into Nacho, slumping against him with a sob as he knelt in front of you. Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close. It took you a few moments to feel like you really had control over yourself again, but once you had the strength to move, you slipped your arms over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. You pulled yourself tight to him, sobbing into the crook of his neck and letting out all of the emotions that had been tied and gagged inside of you.

Nacho shut his eyes tight as he squeezed you closer to him. One of his hands spread across your back, the other resting on the back of your head. He could feel the way that your body was trembling and his heart sank knowing that all of this had happened because of him. What was even worse was that he couldn’t even try to tell you that it was over—he couldn’t promise you that.

Turning his head just slightly, he pressed a kiss to your temple. He did his best to take a deep breath as he kept you held tight, feeling the unsteadiness of your entire body and trying not to succumb to his own.

“I got you,” he murmured softly, the most honest thing he could tell you. “I promise, I’ve got you.”

[somebodylovesyougcv]

chapter 4 of you must have been looking for me is up now!

fandom: better call saul

pairing: jimmy mcgill/kim wexler

rating: M

chapter summary: New year, new beginnings

read from the beginning here

[cameronsprincess]

Truth or Dare — R.C

summary: A game of truth or dare leads to you and your best friend taking a step over the line of friendship at a New Year’s Eve party.

CW: smut! 18+ only! bsf!rafe x bsf!reader, slightly angsty? (oops), drinking, game of truth or dare, mutual pining, spitting, handjob, male receiving oral, fingering, shared climax (is that a thing? they cum at the same time lmao)

note: happy new year babies🖤🥂 also big thank you to @cameronwillow + @rafesthroatbaby for helping me out with dares and truths for this!🤞🏻🤍

“Alright, the rules are simple,” Topper shouts, passing out solo cups to everyone sitting around the table, “Truth or dare, we all know how to play it. But, tonight’s game is going to be a little different.”

You shift in your spot, your eyes glancing over at your best friend, Rafe Cameron, and the girl he had sat in his lap. You quickly stand, tuning Topper and his explanation of the game out, heading into the kitchen.

Your eyes scan the various bottles of liquor, settling on the Patrón silver. You glance back over at the table of your friends, eyes burning into the back of Rafe’s head before you tear them away, pouring the shot glass full and throwing it back, slamming it onto the counter and repeating the process.

The liquor burns as it slides down your throat, but you keep pushing, taking shot after shot until your face tingles, body buzzing from the tequila coursing through your veins. You slightly shake your head, the high pony your hair is in swaying side to side on top of your head. You’re not sure why you give a shit that Rafe is here with Brooke, it’s not like he’s yours. He’s not yours. He’s just your best friend. Always has been your- “Yo, Y/L/N. You gonna play or what?” Kelce shouts, cutting your thoughts off.

You give a weak smile, nodding your head and slowly making your way back to the group. The second you sit, you can feel his eyes on you, and you quickly glance at him, concern etched in his perfect face. You roll your eyes, tearing them off of him and focusing your attention on the game.

Topper goes first. “Alright…Ahhh, Tatum,” everyone laughs, knowing that Topper would choose Tatum first. “Truth or dare?”

Tatum gives him a mischievous smile, “Dare.” she says confidently.

Oohs erupt through the group, and Topper chuckles, flopping back into the chair he’s in. He places a hand on his chin, as if he’s in thought before his own grin spreads across his lips.

“I dare you…to do a body shot off the person you find most attractive in the group.”

Tatum snorts out a laugh, her lips pursed as she pushes herself out of her chair. She slowly makes her way toward Topper before quickly swerving to the right, her hand reaching out for Gabby.

Both girls erupt into a fit of giggles as Gabby lays on the ground, lifting her shirt just enough to expose her stomach. Tatum returns from the kitchen, bottle of Patrón in hand, before she sits herself on her knees on the floor. All of the guys are deadly silent, and you watch the expression on each of their faces as they watch Tatum pour the tequila on Gabby’s stomach, a lime held between the latter’s teeth. Tatum then pours a small amount of salt across Gabby’s upper stomach, licking it clean before drinking the shot from her belly button and moving to grab the lime from her teeth.

Your eyes land on Rafe’s, his bright blue pools burning into you instead of watching the show the other two girls were giving. The two of you keep your eyes on each other, not once breaking eye contact until Brooke’s voice breaks through the tension surrounding you.

“Rafey, truth or dare?” she asks, voice all high pitched and annoying as she bats her lashes at him.

Rafe clears his throat, “Uh.. Tru-Truth.” He replies, bringing his solo cup to his lips and taking a long sip.

Brooke lets out an obnoxious groan, like she was hoping he’d choose dare. Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth as she thinks of a question to ask him. Finally, she smiles, “If you had to make-out with anyone in this room, who would it be and why?”

Rafe clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He places his hands on Brooke’s hips, lifting her from his lap and placing her in the empty chair next to him. She scoffs, crossing one leg over the other before she takes a long sip of her drink.

“Well? You gonna answer or lose a piece of clothing, Cameron?” Topper teases.

Rafe looks toward you, taking a quick sip of his drink and rolling his neck before he confidently says your name. A few shocked gasps tear through the room, and you choke on your drink, the rum and pineapple juice spilling down the front of your dress. You narrow your eyes on him. Is he fucking joking?

“Well… Alrighty then.. So it would be Y/N, but you have to tell us why?” Kelce says, breaking the awkward silence.

“Because why not? She’s hot, my best friend, and I dunno, I think she’d be a fun time.”

Your cheeks heat up, the alcohol along with Rafe’s words making your already foggy head spin.

“Alright, move on.” Rafe says firmly, standing from his chair and making his way into the kitchen to make a new drink.

You quickly stand from your spot, following Rafe into the kitchen. His body tenses the second you’re beside him. “What the hell was that?” You ask him, arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe pours more whiskey into his cup, quickly downing it before he turns to face you. He places his hands on your shoulders, and you suck in a breath when he lowers his face to yours. You can smell the whiskey and mint on his breath, the warmth sending a shiver down your spine. “It was nothin’ alright? Just wanted Brooke off my dick, she’s been trying all night, and I… I’m not into it. That’s all.”

You scoff. “Sure didn’t look like you weren’t into it, lettin’ her sit all pretty in your lap, I mean hell, you kissed her tonight did you not?”

Rafe sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah.. Yeah, fuck. Alright yeah I did. But that was before I realized I didn’t want to go into next year lyin’ to myself about who I really want sittin’ in my lap at all these stupid ass parties.”

Your head tilts to the side, confusion written across your face. “And who do you want… Hmm? Anyone I know?”

Rafe laughs. “I think you know her pretty well.”

Jealousy sparks deep in your stomach, of course he’d be into one of your friends. It would never be you. He saw you as a sister, a best friend, nothing more, nothing less. The quicker you got that through your head, the better.

“Hey, look at me.” Rafe whispers, his thumb and index finger hooking under your chin to lift your head, forcing your eyes on him. You force the tears back, refusing to let him see you break. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why are you so..so angry? Emotional? I don’t know but you’re just off tonight.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, opening your mouth to reply but Topper’s voice cuts you off. “Y/L/N, Cameron, get your asses back in here, it’s Rafe’s turn again.”

You take advantage of Rafe’s hold loosening on your chin, yanking away from him and making your way back to your seat. Rafe follows silently behind you, his ringed fingers tightly gripping at his solo cup as he sits down. Brooke places her hand on his thigh instantly, but Rafe roughly shoves her off, causing you to smile to yourself.

“Alright bud, truth or dare?” Topper asks Rafe.

Rafe straightens his spine, chugging down his whiskey before he says, “Dare.”

All the girls get excited, but you just roll your eyes, crossing your feet under your chair and sipping at your Malibu and pineapple.

“I dare you to spit tequila into the mouth of any girl in this room. The choice is yours.”

Hushed giggles fill your ears, every girl in this room— yourself included— hoping to be Rafe’s choice. Any girl would kill to have Rafe Cameron spit liquor into their mouths, but the off chance of him picking you is slim to none…

Your small pity party is short lived as Rafe stands, harshly yanking the Patrón bottle off the table, slowly making his way toward you. Your eyes flit up to his face, before looking back down at his outstretched hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you onto your feet. His right hand grips the back of your neck, squeezing softly before his left hand brings the liquor bottle to his lips. “Open up, sweetheart.” He rasps, bringing the lip of the bottle to his lips and filling his mouth with the clear liquid.

You obey, opening your mouth and allowing him to pull you into him, his grip on your neck tightening before he’s messily spitting the tequila into your open mouth. He pulls back, a smirk on his face as he watches the liquor that missed your mouth dribble down your lips and chin, falling onto your chest and dripping down the valley of your breasts. Rafe’s tongue darts out, licking up the liquor that’s on the side of your lips, running it down to your chin before stopping at your neck. His blue eyes burn into yours, silently asking for permission to continue.

You give him a small nod, your eyes never leaving his as he dips his head lower, his tongue softly licking at the skin of your neck, running it down low, low, all the way down to the exposed skin of your chest. He licks over the swell of your breasts, pulling a small, hushed moan from you. Rafe pulls back, placing a hand on your cheek, his thumb soothingly rubbing at the skin. His eyes dart back and forth between your eyes and your lips, and your heart rate picks up a notch. He leans in until his lips are brushing against yours, a smile taking over his face before he finally presses his lips against yours.

He kisses you slowly at first, but then he picks up his pace, slipping his tongue into your mouth and getting lost in your taste, your scent, just as much as you get lost in him. He wraps an arm around your waist, all the noise, everyone else in the room drowned out. It was just you and Rafe in this moment.

The sound of someone clearing their throat has you pushing off Rafe, face flushed and mind buzzing from the kiss.

“Alright, alright. It’s about damn time you two came to your senses, but do us all a favor? Get a room!” Topper jokes, throwing a small pillow at you and Rafe while laughing uncontrollably.

Rafe looks down at you, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “Do you want to? Get a room, I mean..” he laughs.

You bite at your bottom lip nervously. You want to, you really do, but you’re afraid to ruin what you and Rafe have. What if this messes everything up? You’ve wanted him for so long, and after that little show, it’s obvious he feels the same, but what if something goes wrong? What if this ruins your life-long friendship? What if-

“We don’t have to, sweetheart. There’s no press-”

Before he can even finish his sentence, you’re cutting him off with your lips, pressing a quick kiss to his before you say, “Of course I want to.”

Rafe is quick to grab your hand, dragging you toward the stairs as all of your friends hoot and holler behind you. Rafe starts pulling you up the stairs, dragging you down the long hallway upstairs before reaching an empty guest room at the end of the hall. He pushes the door open, softly nudging you inside before shutting and locking it behind him. He’s on you quick, his large hands gripping both sides of your face and pulling you back into him.

You and Rafe kiss each other fast and rough, tongues swirling, teeth clashing. You moan against his mouth when his teeth bite at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before letting it go with a soft “pop”.

He pushes off of you, standing to his full height before you. You watch intently as he grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, exposing his tanned and toned stomach and chest to you. Your hands fly to the belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. You slowly pull the belt through the loops of his khakis, tossing it to the ground and popping the button on his pants before slowly pulling at the zipper. Rafe breathes heavy, his eyes darkened over with lust, watching your movements in awe. He’d never seen anyone so fucking perfect in his life. You were it for him, always had been.

You slowly push his khakis down his thighs, sucking in a sharp breath when you see the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric of his briefs. Rafe smirks down at you, his fingers hooking under your chin and forcing your eyes back on him.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “Absolutely sure.”

Rafe breathes out a sigh of relief, dipping down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. You dig your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, shoving them down his thighs, his rock hard cock springing free, a bead of precum already leaking from the tip. You softly take him in your hands, giving slow, deliberate strokes, leaning forward and licking the precum from his slit.

Rafe lets out a throaty groan, his right hand sliding up your back, gripping at the back of your neck again. He squeezes softly, “Go on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.” he teases.

You hold eye contact with him, continuing to slowly stroke his cock. Slowly leaning forward, you wrap your lips around the tip, swirling your tongue around the swollen head before pushing more of him down your throat.

Rafe groans, his fingers wrapping around the high ponytail you wore and tugging at it softly. You bob your head up and down his length, your tongue flattening against the vein on the underside of his cock running up as you pull back. You flick your tongue against his tip, swirling around it, teasing him.

He pulls you back by your hair, dropping himself onto the mattress and turning your body. You tuck your legs underneath yourself, folding yourself over, forearms resting on the mattress as you poked your ass out. Rafe runs his hands down your back, reaching the globe of your ass, gripping a handful in his hands through your dress before sliding his hands down to the hem of the dress.

His fingers rub over your pussy through your panties, a small raspy groan escaping him. “So fuckin’ wet aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You moan around his length, pushing him to the back of your throat and holding him there. Rafe groans, bucking his hips upward, his tip hitting the back of your throat. He slides your panties to the side, his fingertips teasing at your dripping entrance. He slowly pushes a finger inside you, curling it upward and toying at your g-spot. You quickly pull your head up off his cock, strings of spit pulling with your lips. You find his eyes, lips slightly parted as you breathe heavily, pushing yourself back onto his hand.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ sexy,” Rafe groans, adding another finger and harshly thrusting them in and out of you.

Your loud cries of pleasure fill the room, your eyes on Rafe as he finger fucks you, your hands making slow strokes to his shaft. You slowly rotate your hands, running them up his thick shaft and to his swollen tip. You close your hand around his tip, squeezing gently as you slowly circle your hand around it.

“Fuck, keep that up and I won’t last much longer, sweetheart.”

You smile up at him, wrapping your lips back around his cock and sucking at him fast. You keep your right hand wrapped around him, stroking and sucking simultaneously as Rafe picks up the pace of his fingers, pushing them in and out of your pussy roughly.

The loud chants of your friends downstairs catch your attention for a moment, the countdown to midnight starting. Rafe bucks his hips upward, fucking himself down your throat as his fingers push you closer to your release.

“Don’t focus on them, focus on me baby.” he says breathlessly, his cock pulsing against your tongue.

Your walls clench around his fingers at the same time his cock twitches, both of you about to come undone for one another.

“Three.. Two.. One.. HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Your friends shouts boom downstairs, you and Rafe’s pleasured moans filling the guest room. Rafe thrusts up one final time, his dick stiffening before the hot ropes of his cum spill down your throat. You’re coming undone at the same time as him, legs shaking and body rocking against his hand as he fucks you through your high, riding out his own.

The two of you come down from your shared highs, trying to steady your breathing. Rafe pulls his fingers from inside you, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. You lift yourself up onto your knees, your eyes finding his again. You smile softly at him, “Happy New Year, best friend.”

“Nah, fuck that. You’re still my best friend, but we’re going into this year together. I mean that. You’re mine, and I’m yours. I think I always have been yours.”

You can’t contain the smile on your face, feeling giddy like a child that your best friend was now your boyfriend. You press a kiss to his lips, sighing contentedly as Rafe kisses you back with a hunger you’d never experienced.

tagging some moots: @nemesyaaa @rafesthroatbaby @starkeysbabygirl @starkeysprincess @rafeyscurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @bloodibambiidoll @cameronwillow @oceandriveab @httpsdrewstarkey @cherrygirlfriend @sarahsangelicdoll @lacydollette

[miedei]

terrible profilers

(aka the team meets early seasons!spence's not-so-secret girlfriend)

a/n: this came to me in my dream last night and i cannot get over it, pls send asks/requests and tell me what you thought! (look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: USE OF Y/N IM SORRY reader has she/her pronouns, the team is nosy, reader is a phd student, my niche personal headcanons of how i think spencer would text, probably more tech inaccuracies

wc: 3.5k

part one | part three | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

The moment Spencer walks into the bullpen, he knows something’s up. Garcia never replied to the text he’d sent on Friday night, and he’d hoped she was just busy on their first weekend off in a while, but it’s clear there’s more. Clutching the strap of his satchel, he walks to his desk, observing the strange tension blanketing the room.

For one, Hotch and Gideon are in the bullpen, standing in the corner speaking in hushed tones. Weird. They usually go to one of their offices to talk, and either way, they usually are stuck in their offices until lunchtime when they don’t have cases.

Another thing. JJ and Penelope are standing around Elle’s desk, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but they’ve swivelled around to stare at Spencer like he’s an alien (which they do on occasion, but Spencer is pretty sure he hasn’t been strange yet. He just walked in!).

Derek is sitting on Elle’s desk, leaning over to huddle with the three girls, but he’s frozen with his mouth open, like he just shut up for some reason.

“Uh… Good morning.” Spencer furrows his brows, but tries to shrug it off, more interested in the smell of coffee emanating from the kitchenette. Setting down his bag, he quickly busies himself with pouring his signature overly-sweet (according to you) coffee.

It’s like his movements snap a thread that has been holding his colleagues together, and they suddenly start bustling around the bullpen again. Derek sidles up beside him as he’s stirring in sugar, and Spencer braces himself for some Morgan-esque prod. But what he says has Spencer confused.

“Kid. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Ok, something is going on. Spencer has worked with Derek since he was 22, and they’ve fallen into a very comfortable dynamic ever since. But neither of them have ever felt the need to reassure the other of their closeness.

“What’s up, Morgan? No jabs today?”

Derek stiffens, like he’s been caught in a lie, and scrambles to reply.

“Well… We- Um, Garcia worried about you on Friday. What was up with you leaving so suddenly?”

Spencer has to bite back a smile, memories of you, coming to O’ Keefe’s just to see him, flooding into his mind. But he answers as smoothly as possible, still turned away from Derek as he elaborates.

“Oh, I felt a bit sick. It was probably the drinking and travelling back and forth from the more arid parts of the country that did it. Did you know, travelling between warmer and colder climates makes you more susceptible to contracting viruses because it strains your immune and musculoskeletal systems, causing the feedback loop of homeostasis to-” Derek puts a hand on his arm, and Spencer quiets.

“Okay, okay, pretty boy, I get it.”

With that, he walks off, and Spencer is left at the kitchenette, stirring his coffee, confused. It’s not like it was a lie, he was feeling nauseous in the bar, so you insisted that you go home. He recovered that same night over a cup of tea, Metropolis on the television, and you cuddled up on the couch next to him.

When he walks back to his desk, mug in hand, he calls out to JJ, still standing by Elle’s desk.

“JJ, no cases today? …JJ?” The blonde is looking at him, but his words seem to fly right over her head, until Elle pokes her shoulder.

“Oh! No, the cases I’m being called about are still pending, we’re probably not leaving on anything until tomorrow.” Spencer smiles softly, glad to have at least one more night sleeping at home this week. Because of his reverie, he doesn’t notice the way JJ, Penelope and Elle are staring at him, befuddled expressions on their faces.

The day continues to be a little weird, much to Spencer’s chagrin. Around 1pm, Gideon emerges from his office again. This, already, is out of the blue. Gideon only leaves his office an average of 3.78 times a day, mainly to go to Hotch’s office, or to go home. This time, however, Gideon marches to Spencer’s desk.

Gideon comes to a stop next to Spencer’s desk chair, and it’s all he can do to muster a blank face and look into his mentor’s eyes.

“Hey, Gideon. What’s… What’s going on?”

The older man sighs wearily, looking down his nose at Spencer, looking uncannily like Spencer’s highschool Calculus teacher when she got irritated at him for being a ‘13 year old know-it-all’.

“Spencer. You weren’t sick on Friday, were you?” What is happening? Spencer doesn’t lie, he’s never told Gideon something untrue, so this is incredibly out of the blue.

“Huh? No, what’s wrong? I felt nauseous, which could’ve technically been a symptom for an inner ear problem, inflammatory bowel disease, gastroenteritis…” Spencer continues to rattle off a list of things he could have had, not noticing the uncharacteristically soft, paternal gaze that Gideon has trained on him.

“...and even a brain tumour, but it was probably because I drank more than I usually do. Why do you think that’s not true?” Spencer finishes his little speech, looking up at Gideon with a confused expression. There’s nothing else the older man can do but sigh, patting his shoulder softly.

“Okay, Reid. Glad you’re feeling better now.” With that, the experienced profiler walks away, not bothering to reply to Spencer’s continued questioning:

“Gideon! What’s wrong? Why are you-” Gideon’s office door slams shut.

Unfortunately, Spencer cannot ignore the rest of the signs, spending the rest of the day in a state of coiled anxiety. Something is going on, but he can’t get anyone to tell him.

Derek and Elle are constantly glancing over at him, unreadable expressions on their faces. Penelope keeps finding excuses to go to Spencer’s desk, and even if Spencer wasn’t a profiler, he’d be able to see the words bubbling up in her throat, but she never says anything.

JJ doesn’t come talk to him at all, which is strange. Instead, she shoots him knowing looks whenever she’s in the bullpen, sending Spencer into a spiral every time she doesn’t say anything about why they’re all acting weird.

He’s even caught Hotch and Gideon peeking through the blinds over their office windows to look at Spencer, with the analytical looks they get when they’re observing a crime scene on their faces. It’s driving Spencer crazy, and he has to tell someone.

You’re leaving your desk when your phone buzzes.

SPENCE <3: Hi. I looked normal when I left the house, right?

Your brow furrows at the text. Normally Spencer isn’t a fan of texting while he’s at work, and you’d told him multiple times how handsome he looked when he left the apartment this morning. He’s wearing his striped white button down and the purple tie you bought him for his birthday last year, he looks pretty. And you made sure to tell him so.

YOU: hi <3

YOU: no spence you look pretty i told you this morning didnt i?

SPENCE <3: You did, thank you. Everyone’s acting weird at work, and I can’t think of what it could be.

YOU: maybe its something with a case?

SPENCE <3: They would tell me if it was that, right?

YOU: ur right

YOU: if you cant think of it with that big beautiful brain its probably something to do with them

There’s a solid minute of silence before he texts you back, and you grin to yourself as you walk through the halls. You can see the flush growing over his face in your mind’s eye, the way he does every time you pay him a cheesy compliment.

SPENCE <3: I guess so. They won’t tell me anything about it, which is strange.

You frown a little, imagining his frustration at being out of the loop. Spencer has expressed his love for his coworkers to you many times, but he’s also told you about his struggles feeling like the ‘baby’ of the office, and the way it makes him feel isolated at times. Racking your brain to think of a way to cheer him up, you check the time on your watch (the twin of which is settled on Spencer’s wrist).

YOU: its nearly 6

YOU: if i leave my building now i can make it to your office in 30mins

YOU: i can pick you up and we could get thai for dinner

YOU: ?

The reply is instantaneous, and you smile, looking forward to seeing him earlier than you’d expected today.

SPENCE <3: That sounds great. I’m finishing up here but text me when you’re in the lobby and I’ll come down.

SPENCE <3: I need to go, I’ve been texting you from the bathroom.

SPENCE <3: See you soon :-)

The last half hour of Spencer’s workday flies by, unlike the way the clock had crawled previously. He finishes up the consults he was working on for the day, and begins packing up the moment the clock hits 18:27.

Derek and Elle are still sneaking glances at him, but Spencer couldn’t care less at this point. As he closes the flap of his satchel, his phone buzzes in his breast pocket. He can’t help but whip out his phone immediately, missing the bewildered looks that pass between his fellow profilers as he smiles down at the screen.

Y/N L/N: in the lobby now!

Y/N L/N: i forgot how fancy it is here i feel underdressed

He doesn’t bother replying, instead opting to leave the bullpen through the glass doors, nodding at Derek and Elle, and pressing the elevator button immediately. He’s so engrossed in his thoughts as he stares at the closed doors, that he realises far too late what’s happening behind him.

He can hear the sounds of shuffling feet, a squeak of surprise (Penelope), hissed insult (Elle to Derek), and a firm clearing of a throat (Hotch). After sighing rather petulantly, Spencer turns on his heels to find the entire BAU team standing there, faces just as confusing as they’ve been all day.

“I’d ask you what’s wrong, but none of you gave me an answer the last 23 times I asked, so.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Hotch, of all people, says, “Reid, we need to… ask you something. About last Friday.” That’s strange. Spencer cocks his head in confusion.

“What about it? I already told Morgan and Gideon, I was feeling sick, but it turns out it was just that I’d just drank more than I was used to.”

Penelope looks like she’s about to burst, and finally, she blurts it out, voice slightly shrill. “Reid! Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

Derek butts in, a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “Kid, that girl. The girl you were… close to, on Friday. At the bar?” Oh. That’s what they’re talking about?

“That was Y/N. My girlfriend. Are you mad I didn’t introduce you guys? I thought you were all busy.”

Spencer sees six sets of jaws drop. There’s more silence, before JJ croaks out, “Girlfriend?”

It’s a bit of a sight, to be honest. Penelope has clutched on to Derek, and Derek on to Elle. JJ looks gobsmacked, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Even Hotch and Gideon look the most shocked Spencer has ever seen them. But why?

“Uh, yeah. She came to see me because we’d had plans before we decided to go out. Then when she found out I felt sick we went home.”

Gideon looks a little green, and when no one makes a sound, Hotch speaks, his normally stoic voice coming out a little shaky. “Reid, we didn't- We didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

What? Now they’re being even weirder. Spencer can hear the elevator doors open behind him, but he doesn’t bother. This is something he has to get to the bottom of.

“How did you not know? I’m sure I’ve mentioned having plans with her multiple times. Elle, I told you about the time I went to the movies in New York with her, when we were on that case.” Elle looks more shocked, if that’s possible, but doesn’t say a word.

“Garcia, I asked you to help me find florists that have Gibraltar campions in Vegas that one time.” Penelope jolts, muttering under her breath about ‘idiot geniuses and their mothers’.

“Gideon, I asked you for advice on how to ask her out!” Gideon stiffens, remembering the time Spencer had asked him about his ex-wife. Was that Spencer asking for advice?

“I ran into you, JJ and Morgan, when I was with her, don’t you remember? She was in the aisle over” Derek distinctly remembers a time at the bookstore, they’d seen Spencer, but not noticed anyone with him. JJ shamefully recalls being too busy making fun of Spencer’s heart-studded tie to look around.

Spencer looks bewildered, eyes bouncing between the different members of his team.

“Hotch, I literally told you about her! When I added her to my emergency contacts?” At this, Hotch pales. A year ago, Spencer had come to him with a request to change his 1st emergency contact from his mother to a Y/N L/N. How he never registered that this was a girlfriend, Hotch would never know, but he stares fixedly at his shoes as he contemplates quitting his job as a profiler.

Spencer looks at them, mystified. How did they not know? It’s not like he was ever hiding you! Of course, Spencer wanted to keep you to himself, so he didn’t talk about you that much, but they were profilers. He assumed they’d known, and just didn't want to embarrass him.

His phone buzzes three times, and he pulls it out to see more texts from you.

Y/N L/N: spence are you coming

Y/N L/N: a guy in a suit is eyeing me weird

Y/N L/N: he knows i dont belong come save me

A happy sigh leaves him, before he remembers the people standing in front of him, still gobsmacked. He scrubs a hand down his face wearily, and mutters slowly, as if he’s not sure if he wants to do this.

“She’s downstairs right now, we were going to take the metro home together. Do you… Do you guys want to meet her?” Penelope brightens up, and the rest of the team seem in higher spirits, despite their continued disappointment in themselves. Warily, Spencer opens the elevator door with a press of a button, and they all file in obediently.

“Please don’t be weird.”

“My good doctor, I would never!” He eyes Garcia with a fearful expression, but presses the ground floor button anyway. As the doors close, a strangled shout leaves JJ’s mouth.

“Wait, you live together?”

You are sitting on a bench inside the lobby of the FBI Headquarters. No matter how many times you drop Spencer off or pick him up, this will always be surreal to you. And, right now, it’s not just surreal, it’s a little scary.

A real Danny Ocean type guy is sitting on a bench across the room, talking on the phone and eyeing you. Clearly, you don’t exactly look like an agent, you know that. Dressed in the uniform of a PhD student, jeans and an oversized Doctor Who t-shirt (Spencer’s), you know that you look out of place.

You’re just hoping Spencer walks out of the elevator before you get escorted out on suspicions that you’re a spy or something.

Like some deity has heard your words, you look up at the ding of the elevator to see Spencer… and a whole gaggle of people behind him, slapping at his shoulders and barraging him with questions. He looks harried, a line between his pretty eyes.

The line disappears, though, when he locks eyes with you. His eyes light up, and his steps grow in length, before he's left his entourage behind, at least for a couple of seconds.

He uses this time to explain to you: “Hi, hello, I'm so glad you're here and I need to tell you something-” As if on instinct, your hands come up to rest on his upper arms, thumbs moving in circles soothingly as he continues to ramble, only catching the tail end of his sentence.

“-and well, they didn't know about you somehow? Which is crazy to me because you know I don't hide you so I don't know where they got that from but either way they were acting crazy, so I suggested they come meet you, and…” The group of people you now recognize to be the BAU have caught up to him, eyes darting between your face and Spencer's. His shoulders slump, and the agitated look returns, if a little less intense.

“Well, here they are.” He motions to the group behind him. “These are my coworkers, Jennifer Jareau, Elle Greenaway, Penelope Garcia, Aaron Hotchner, Jason Gideon, and Derek Morgan. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

Rising on your toes to see over his shoulder, you wave with a smile, eyes zeroing in on Penelope Garcia, who looks like she's vibrating from excitement, shouldering past Spencer to hold both of your hands.

“Hi! It's so good to meet you! I'd say I've heard a lot about you, but you know that's a lie, we didn't realize you existed until 10 minutes ago, but oh my god! You're here! You're so pretty- Spencer, she's so pretty!” She's practically bouncing up and down, causing Spencer to laugh sheepishly.

“Yeah, Garcia, I know that.” The next few minutes are a barrage of introductions and handshakes, all so brief that you can only get quick first impressions of them all.

Penelope is incredibly kind, not letting go of your hands until Spencer pries her off of you, telling you that you have to come out on girl's night with us, exactly like Spencer described her.

Elle is nearly intimidatingly cool, giving you a handshake and a smile, mentioning that she likes your eyeliner.

Aaron (Hotch? You're not sure how to refer to him) is nowhere near as stoic and intimidating as Spencer makes him out to be, breaking into a smile as he introduces himself, and grinning even wider when you congratulate him and his wife on their newborn child.

JJ is the sweetest. You've heard a lot about Spencer's best friend, and she lives up to expectations, squeezing you into a chaste hug with warm words.

Gideon is a little terrifying. He gives you a handshake, quirking the side of his lips in what you assume to be a smile, but saying very little beyond an introduction. You know how highly Spencer thinks of him, and hope he will warm up to you (Spencer is over the moon that he smiled, and informs you later that Gideon loved you).

Derek is exactly how you expected him to be. Somehow, he makes you feel wholly comfortable after a single comment, and promises to regale you with all the Spencer stories you'd want (you see him punch Spencer in the arm, grinning and saying he approved).

Spencer pulls you away from them as quick as he can, citing your dinner plans as an excuse. He slings an arm around your waist, leading you out the door as you wave over your shoulder.

“It was great to meet you guys! We should go out to dinner or something!” You hear mixed shouts of agreement from behind you, before the doors shut and it's just you and Spencer, on the sidewalk outside the building.

It's butterfly-inducing, the way you can see the tension leave his shoulders when he turns to look down at you, brown eyes shining.

“I'm sorry that was so last-minute, I know they can be… a lot.” You giggle at the weariness in his tone, resting your forearms on his shoulders.

“They were really nice, Spence. I'm glad to finally meet them. They didn't know who I was?” He sighs, hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“I don't know what goes on with them half the time. I've told them things about you so many times, but they were just being dense, I suppose. They saw us on Friday, at O’ Keefe’s, and they had no idea I was seeing someone!” He bends to rest his forehead in the crook of your neck with a sigh. As if on instinct, your hands come up to play with his hair.

“I guess they would have found it a little strange that you acted like nothing had changed, huh? Is that why they were being weird today?” He grumbles unintelligible words into your skin, before raising his head to look at you.

“I guess… You know I wasn't hiding you, right? I really thought they knew about you,” The earnestness on his face makes you want to implode, his thumbs rubbing minutely on your waist. Speaking would pop the bubble you've found yourselves in, so you find the best next option for you to show him your assertion.

Your hands roam up his neck to cup either side of his jaw, and slow, slow, slowly, you rise to your toes and kiss him.

Suddenly, Spencer's not worried anymore.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Need you to continue Best Friend! Fred please… PLEASE… I am begging on my knees… You write so well… I will be waiting right here… Oh how I yearn for Best Friend! Fred…

Merry Christmas sluts ❤️

—————————————————————————

Bestfriend!Fred with no boundaries teaches you how to have sex pt 2

summary: its the day after you asked Fred to teach you about sex, and he's keeping up on his promise.

warnings: smut, cursing

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It wasn’t unusual for you to think about Fred first thing in the morning. You often walked to breakfast with the twins and saw him within your classes on a daily basis. But it was unusual to wake up with your panties completely soaked while thinking about him. Was this something that happened the morning after, or did you just not shower well enough after last night?

Either way, you ended up taking a very cold shower before breakfast. By the time you came down to the common room, Fred and George were waiting by the couches. Fred smiled as he watched you come down the stairs.

“Good morning, lovely,” Fred said as you approached them. He pulled you under his arms as the three of you started towards the exit.

“Good morning,” you smiled, happy to start another day by your best friends side.

“What am I, a flobberworm?” George scoffed sarcastically from behind. You rolled your eyes playfully and looked back at him.

“Good morning to you too, George,” you teased, walking through the portrait hole. The day seemed much brighter in the halls, and it looked surprisingly nice out. The three of you walked into the Great Hall and sat down where you normally did, next to Hermione usually at this time of the morning.

"Good morning," she chirped, her head buried in a book.

“Morning, Hermione,” you greeted, taking a seat.

“Whatcha reading there?” The twins sat on the other side of the table.

“Ancient Uses of Mystic Herbs,” she replied, sitting up straighter and flipping her book up to show the cover. “Trying to find something that could help Harry.” You hummed in interest as Hermione sank back into her book. George pulled out a paper and began writing at the bottom.

"What’s that?" you asked, buttering your toast. George smirked and gave you a funny look.

"The Herbology assignment that's due today?" George said questioningly, raising his brows at you. Your brows shot up in response as you remembered the blank paper in your bag.

"I completely forgot about that assignment," you gasped. "Fred, can I please, please copy yours?" You pleaded, sticking your bottom lip out in persuasion. He shot you back an amused look as he gathered sausages onto his plate.

"Y/N, you're usually such a good student,” he teased, shaking his head at you in disapproval. “Were you distracted yesterday?” You sharpened your eyes at him and he laughed, passing you his paper. You felt your cheeks heat up. At least he was letting you copy off of him.

"You're too nice to her, Freddie," George joked, shaking his head at him.

"Ah, it's the least I can do for my best friend," Freddie grinned, leaning over the table to pinch your cheek. You batted his head away and started furiously copying his work, ignoring George laughing at you. As you copied his work, he filled your mug with tea. Earl grey with a dash of cream, just the way you liked it. By the time breakfast was over, you had finished the assignment and were off to your first class of the day.

The day dragged on per usual. In Herbology, Fred and George rubbed sneezewart on the observation sheets causing multiple students to rush out of class in a fit. You had a few classes without Fred and George, and Ancient Runes was your final class for the day. You stared out the window as dull clouds began to roll in from the forest. You tried to pay attention to Professor Babbling, but her droning voice quickly became background noise. The clouds came in closer to the castle, the sound of thunder rumbling through the windows. Rain storms always made you feel cozy, and you wished class would end so you could curl up in your favorite jumper. It was Fred’s Gryffindor sweatshirt and the memory of its smell reminded you of yesterday. His skin had been so close to you, and while it was comforting, there was something else. A want, a yearning to just press your hips against his. Your head snapped away from the window as your peers began to gather their belongings. You began to do the same, noting the slickness between your thighs. There it was again. You needed to find Fred and ask him what you should do about it. Was it pathetic that you knew virtually nothing about sex? You slung your bag over your shoulder and left the classroom, moving hastily towards Gryffindor. You knew Fred wouldn’t judge you and would actually teach you, that’s why you had asked him in the first place. But would he pity you for barely knowing anything at all?

By the time you got to the tower, it was pouring outside. There was the usual chatter and rough housing in the common room, but your failure to spot Fred had you climbing the stairs to his dorm. You were frustrated and cold and you just wanted to be near your best friend.

When you opened the door after a hurried knock, you were happy to see only Fred in the room. He was laying on his bed reading his book.

"Hi Y/N," he greeted, looking up from his book. "How was class?" You huffed as you moved towards his closet, pulling his hoodie out and slipping it on over your head.

"It was terrible," you pouted, coming over to his bed. Fred put his book down and opened his arms to you. You fell gladly into his chest.

"Why was it terrible love?" Fred mumbled into your hair. You groaned and buried yourself deeper into him.

"It's just..." you hesitated, always losing the courage to talk about stuff like this.

"Is it about yesterday?" Fred asked, his hand petting the back of your head. He always knew what you were thinking and you were relieved that he had caught on.

"Yes," you fussed, sitting up from his grasp. Fred huffed out a chuckle and followed suit. "It's just that, I can't stop thinking about it, y'know?"

"Oh, I know," Fred mumbled. You continued on with your ramblings.

"It's like I'm in class and I'm just distracted," you explained, your hands gesturing wildly. "And my underwear has been wet for hours. How do I make it stop?" Fred swallowed and dropped his gaze to your skirt.

"Darling, it's not something you can just stop," Fred explained, his eyes coming back up to yours. "Your body just wants more." You pursed your lips as you pondered this for a second, listening to the rain pelt against the window. Maybe you really did want more...

"I want to go all the way," you declared, sitting up straight and nodding your head. Fred couldn't help but smiled at your naivety.

"You want to go 'all the way'?" Fred chuckled, teasing your choice of words. He found this entire situation charming.

"Yes," you huffed defiantly. "I want you to have sex with me." Fred chuckled in disbelief and ran his hands through his hair. Your bold innocence made his head spin.

"It's going to hurt," Fred warned, trying his best to properly inform you before you made the decision to lose your virginity. He wouldn't be able to say no to you.

"Okay," you nodded, your fingers playing with the hem of your sock. "What else?"

"You might bleed," he said. "And it might not feel good at all this time." Your brows furrowed.

"But everybody says sex feels amazing?" You questioned, tilting your head. Freds half smile made you heart skip. That was new.

"It does," he chuckled, his eyes falling to your lips for a moment. "But it might be uncomfortable your first time. Especially with me,” he teased. You rolled your eyes at his insinuation and he laughed again. "I'm serious, Y/N. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do." This was clearly the wrong thing to say as you leaned forward to roughly grasp his shoulders.

"Fred, I want this. I want to know what it feels like and there's nobody else on this entire planet I trust more than you," you stated, gripping his shoulders as he watched your declaration.

"Well if I'm going to fuck you we need to kiss first," he grinned cheekily, watching the heat rise up to your cheeks.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," you huffed, finding the courage to lean forward to kiss him. He laughed into the kiss but gladly gripped your hips in return, his mouth moving in tandem. You kissed him greedily, your body moving on its own. Fred swept you onto your back, crawling over your without breaking the kiss. Within seconds, he had taken the control back from you, his kiss melting away your sudden burst of courage. He clearly knew what he was doing and you didn't put up a fight for dominance. The ache in your core surged as his knee pried open your legs, causing a moan to leave your lips. You felt more confident this time, less embarrassed of your noises of ecstasy as Fred's knee applied a much needed pressure to your cunt. You let your hands grip his hair, then run down his back. You felt him groan and it made you want to do it again. You were surprised at your self assurance, and even more surprised that you seemed to have to same effect on Fred that he had on you. His teeth bit softly into your neck in a change of pace.

"Fred," you moaned instinctively, you back arching off the mattress against your will. He didn't stop, instead tearing off your sweatshirt. This prompted the two of you to hastily take off all your clothes, only stopping to laugh when your hand accidentally whacked Fred in the face. The laughter faded as he came forward again, this time kissing you with such tenderness, you thought you were melting back into the mattress.

Fred was hopeless; he had been ruined since yesterday. He knew from the moment he kissed you that he'd been a complete fool. All day he'd been trying to convince himself otherwise, that he didn't harbor any romantic feelings towards you and you were still just his bestfriend. He wasn't going to bother lying to himself any longer. He was hopelessly in love with you.

His kiss began to trail down your neck again, then to your breast, then down your navel. Fred wanted to devour you. He wanted to watch as you came again for him. It drove him crazy that he was the only person to watch you unravel.

"F-Fred," you breathed, your hands tugging at his hair. "What are you doing?" His brown eyes peered up at you as he pressed his mouth into your thigh, making your hips buck.

"Before you have sex, we need to get you nice and wet for me darling," he breathed, kissing closer to your cunt. His fingers ran up your slit and you shivered. "Although, it doesn't seem like you need much help." You didn't have time to respond before he pressed a kiss into your clit, effectively sucking the rest of the air out of your lungs. You shuddered repeatedly as he licked gently on your sensitive clit. It felt so different from his fingers, so wet and warm. It took you a moment in your daze to realize he was moaning into your pussy, greedily lapping at your clit and pushing his tongue inside you. Fred wasn't even trying to hold himself back, his arms wrapping underneath you thighs and pulling you into his face. You tried to press him off of you, embarrassed at how close he was to you heat, but his grip won over you. His tongue lapped in circle, his gentle suck and kiss pulling terrible noises from your mouth. With every movement, the pressures built up inside you, sensation washing over you as you rocked your hips against his tongue. It felt like only a minute had passed when the tightness in your core suddenly snapped.

"Oh, fuck-" you cried as you came unexpectedly onto his tongue, the waves of intense pleasure taking away your ability to breathe. He sighed deeply as he lapped it all up, his grip not loosening for a second. It was only when he felt your legs kicking and your needy pleas for him that he gave one last gentle kiss to you clit. You stared at him breathlessly, unsure of what to say after you just came all over your bestfriends face. Luckily for you, Fred didn't miss a beat.

"You taste so fucking good," Fred praised, kissing up your stomach as you caught your breath. “You’re so good at this Y/N. Did that feel good?" He asked, coming up to hover over your face and brush the sweaty strands of hair off your face. You nodded shyly as you breathed, leaning up to catch his lips in a kiss. He chuckled as he accepted your kiss before saying, "Use your words, darling."

"Yes," you panted, pulling the back of his head down towards you. "That felt so good, Freddie." Fred groaned as his mouth came down to savor your kiss. You stayed like this for a while, kissing as Fred gently pressed his hips into yours. After a while, your hips began to rock with his, naturally moving with the rhythm he had set. There was nothing between the two of you besides his thin boxers, and you could feel his hard length rubbing against you. Occasionally, his tip would catch your entrance, and the pressure made the both of you groan.

"I'm ready," you mumbled into his lips, the two of you unable to break your kiss. He hummed into your lips and kissed you hard for a few more second before he pried himself off of you. He kneeled over you, freeing himself from his boxers with a slap. Your mouth parted slightly at the sight of him, and you were starting to believe him when he said it might hurt. His smile was more adoring than teasing as he watched you gape at his size. You watched breathlessly as he stroked himself a few times before coming back over you.

"Are you sure?" He asked once more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, spreading your slickness. You weren't sure you could even speak as you watched him do this, you were mesmerized.

"Yes," you breathed, you gaze coming back up to his. His eyes searched your face for any hesitation, and when he found none, he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Just tell me if you want to stop," he soothed, brushing your fallen hair behind your ear. You nodded and tightened your grip on the back of his neck. He pressed a kiss to your lips and pushed himself inside of you.

Fred felt like an idiot as he exhaled into the kiss, his thumb rubbing gently across your cheek. He couldn't believe he didn't realize how much he liked you, how much he loved you. He wanted to swallow you whole. He wished that you knew how much this meant to him, but he knew you were too distracted to be thinking about anything else but his cock inside your tight pussy for the first time. Fuck.

"How does it feel, love," Fred asked, his voice nothing but a raspy whisper. You buried your face into his neck and whined.

"Just keep going," you whispered. "Please." Fred tried not to groan at your pleading as he pulled back again. He knew it must hurt for you, you were so tight. It was taking everything inside of him not to groan uncontrollably and push himself fully inside of you, you felt so good. His lips fell to your neck and left soothing kisses as he pushed himself into you again, this time going deeper. He felt your breath hitch into his neck as your eyes clamped shut. Fred's fingers gripped the sheets for his life.

"Just one more, darling. You’re doing so good," Fred muttered, pulling back gently once more. You nodded into his neck, making some sort of noise of assurance. With a final push, Fred bottomed out and let out an irrepressible moan. You cried again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you felt his full length. He stayed like this for a moment, his lips encouraging you to return his kiss. You obliged and felt yourself relax, the feeling of his lips against yours softening your face. After a moment you let out a soft moan, the fullness inside of you finally satisfying what you thought would be a never ending ache. You moaned again into his kiss, this time louder as he became less controlled, his mouth eagerly devouring your own.

"It feels better now," you whispered into the kiss. Fred hummed and began to move with small and gentle pumps, letting you get used to his size. Fred's fingers were losing circulation as he gripped the bedsheets in an attempt to control himself from fucking you senseless. He fit perfectly inside you, and your breathy whimpers and pants were sending him over the edge. He made a critical mistake by pulling back to watch you as he picked up his pace, your watery eyes and swollen lips looked like heaven.

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted, fully moving with his entire length at this point. "I'm not going to last long." You didn't seem to be able to form any coherent words besides your whines so you just nodded instead, overwhelmed by the unexpected knot forming in your stomach. He watched your eyes as he thrust into you over and over again, the pleasure on your face growing with each movement. His hand gripped your waist as he drove himself into you at his full capability for the final few thrusts. He couldn't help himself and from the noises you were making, you seemed to enjoy it. "Fuck," Fred whispered as he pulled out of you, pumping his cock a few times as he came on the sheets next to you. You watched in awe as he spurted hot liquid onto the bed, some of it falling onto the side of your hips. It made you buck you hips as the emptiness began to creep up, his warm cum dripping teasingly down your side. Fred finished and promptly smothered you in kisses, the two of you groaning as you rode out the last moments of euphoria with each other. Breathless and spent, Fred rolled off of you and pulled you in his chest.

"Are you okay, my love?" He asked, kissing the top of your head and your ears and your cheeks. You giggled and sighed into his kisses, coming up to place one onto his lips.

"Yes," you sighed. "More than okay." Fred smiled and huffed out a laugh, burying his face into you neck as his arms pulled you in tighter. You both sighed contentedly and rested like this for a moment, wetness and warmth in between your bodies.

"We need to get you cleaned up," Fred hushed, reaching over to his bedside to grab his wand. He quickly cleaned up the bed before moving to you, carefully casting the proper charms to get you clean before doing himself. "You should definitely use the bathroom soon and shower before you go to sleep tonight, love." Fred pressed a kiss to your lips again before pulling his sweatshirt over your head and finding you a fresh pair of his boxers to slip up your legs before pulling his sweats back on.

"Mmm," you groaned, closing your eyes and falling back onto his pillow. You were sapped. Fred chuckled and came to join you again, wrapping himself around you.

"Are you listening, love?" Fred teased, rubbing your back with his soft and sturdy hands.

"Mmm," you hummed again, burying yourself deeper into his chest, relishing in his comfort. He huffed out a laugh and buried himself back into your neck.

"Well, I'm getting you up in a moment to use the bathroom," he said, pressing a kiss into the fabric on your shoulders. "And you're not getting out of it. I'm not going to succumb to your cute little noises." You murmured again into his chest and smiled when this made him laugh.

"Can we do this again?" You asked quietly, almost hoping he hadn't heard you. He chortled at your question.

"Yes. Yes, we can do this again."

[gutsby]

Stuck

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel gets nominated to play Santa Claus for Jackson’s holiday festivities. Of course, you’re into that.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding kink. Age gap. Santa Claus kink (it’s brief). F!Oral. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Kinda inspired by Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness

Word count: 5.5k

“Give your old man a kiss before he leaves?”

The invitation shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. But it had. And Joel just grinned, lips twitching beneath his big fake beard and palms pulling you toward his body.

The kiss had had to be wholesome and quick. Before long, he’d be surrounded by a sea of eager, wide-eyed, and awe-stricken children in the middle of Jackson’s town square, and what sort of example would you be setting if you were the girl caught kissing Santa Claus?

It wouldn’t rally much confidence in Father Christmas, if either of you had had to guess. You let him go. With a soft, innocuous tug of his belt buckle and a pat on his padded belly, you’d promised to be extra good while he was gone and leave more than just milk and cookies out for him later. Joel had blinked twice, and in the glint of one look, you could tell he’d wanted to say much more.

But then Tommy, dressed as an elf and scowling like Ebenezer Scrooge, had tugged him off your porch.

“You can get those cookies later, Nick. Let’s go.”

And that had been the last you’d seen of the pair before you’d snuck off to see Maria about Joel’s secret gift.

Now, two hours later in the glow of a roaring fire and near-unbearable excitement, you were perched on the sofa. Sitting with your knees tucked underneath you and a glass of milk, a tray of cookies, and a small, rectangular box tied with a bow set beside you on the coffee table.

You really hoped Joel would like his present.

You also guessed it wouldn’t hurt that you were currently half-naked in a ruby red satin teddy for his return home.

As soon as you heard the creak of the front door, you straightened up. You watched a body shuffle in, head bowed and shaking snow off his sprayed-white locks. Joel looked perfectly ancient in his present get-up: thick black boots, velvet crimson pantsuit, chest-length beard, and lopsided hat. He looked haggard and adorable, too. You could tell by the way he kicked off his shoes and left them stranded by the door he was absolutely drained by the events of that night—dealing with every kid in town under the age of ten likely hadn’t been his first choice.

But now he was here. Joel had been so preoccupied with getting off his boots that he hadn’t even seen you on the couch, and the instant his gaze landed on you, it froze.

“Baby…” he groaned.

His whole face softened, like he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him then, and his arms stretched out for you.

He looked childlike, almost, with the way he lumbered over. His limbs were heavy, and they felt that way coming to crash over your cowered frame on the sofa. You leapt back and squealed, only to feel two big palms grab you by the hips and pin you underneath him. Joel’s breaths were warm, and his eyes were alight with rapt intrigue.

“This all for me?” he asked, sliding his hands down your thighs and in between them. He cursed feeling the heat.

You had to bite back a laugh at how silly this looked—Santa Clause, a staple of your childhood, prying your legs apart and all but drooling at the sight inside. Pawing at your legs, then at your hips, then at the band of your panties beneath the tulle hemline of your teddy. It felt fun in a depraved sort of way. You felt naughty, like you might not want to share Joel’s gift with him until after all the fun was over. But, deep down, you weren’t that cruel.

“Don’t you wanna see your gift? Have your milk and cookies?” you asked sweetly, just narrowly managing to slide an arm out from underneath Joel’s weight and pointing to the assortment of goodies on the table.

Joel looked that way briefly, but then his gaze was back on you. Its warmth was smoldering. Darkening in time.

“Later. Santa’s got a bone to pick with you first.”

You squealed again as fingers hooked in your panties.

“But— but— you’ll really like this gift, Joel. Really.”

“Yeah? Already got one for you right here, kiddo.”

In a crass, graceless sort of gesture, Joel removed one hand from you to grab his crotch, and shake it firmly—‘Got a good seven inches of this gift to share, sugar’—and from there, you had no choice but to acquiesce. If Joel really didn’t mind putting off his gift for yours, at first, that was on him. You leaned back to get comfy.

“If you insist.” The smile you flashed him was coy.

Knowing, as your underwear was slid down your legs and Joel nestled in between them on the couch. You propped your head on a pillow and watched, feeling another small wave of sick nostalgia wash over your senses; Joel was still fully dressed as Kris Kringle stripping you naked.

He’d just moved to pull off the white beard, tied snug with a string, when you reached down and stopped him.

“Leave it,” you said, voice quavering with the threat of a giggle. This was insane. “Leave the beard. Leave all of it.”

Joel flashed you a look with a brow cocked up, confused.

“You want me to eat you out as Santa Clause?” he asked.

He grinned, and you almost laughed again. His expression was still puzzled—mixed with arousal, the look suited him well—and before he could say another word, you just nodded. Shimmied your red panties the rest of the way down and kicked them off at your feet.

But when Joel reached for your legs to pull you closer to him, you slipped off the couch. Your limp, shimmering frock that barely covered the globes of your ass underneath it brushed the bare skin as you darted off.

You’d meant it to be playful. Joel couldn’t brush aside gift-giving and get his way quite that easily. You stood on your own two feet, pivoting back to face him before starting to make your way toward the stairs. You waved.

“Okay. Give me a minute. If you’re giving me my present now, I need to get the rest of yours ready. It’s…upstairs.”

Joel’s—or Santa’s—whole face dropped. He stood.

“That wasn’t the deal, kiddo. You before me.”

He was already pacing after you, slowly at first; then, when your feet reached the first step, he broke off in a run. You screamed, and tried to tear your way up the rest of the stairs, but before more than four thuds had sounded on the wood, you were being thrust back in Joel’s arms—hoisted off your feet, and carried to the living room without another breath or pause from him. You kicked your feet, pretended to be indignant, and were smiling to yourself, inwardly, the whole time. He would really be kicking himself for this later, you knew.

“Gonna be a good little girl for Santa and stay put now?” he huffed, setting you down on your feet. Rather than heading for the couch, he’d placed you on the rug by the warmth of the fireplace and the winking lights of the Christmas tree, where he knew you felt coziest. And, in the glow of both, he could drink the view in completely.

You dropped to the floor where you knew he wanted you.

Still smiling. Fighting a laugh: “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Joel laid you back. Spread your legs. Tugged your butt right where he wanted it beside the fire and slotted his torso in between your thighs. Your body was practically humming with anticipation as he brought his head lower.

The fluffy white bobble at the end of his hat swung in front of his face, preventing his mouth from sinking in.

He groaned.

“Fuckin’ kids.” He batted the thing out of his way.

“Been toyin’ with my hat and beard all goddamn night. You’d think I was a…a jungle gym to those little hellions,” Joel added with an edge of taut frustration to his voice.

You knew he’d liked the ‘hellion’ antics, whether he was willing to admit it or not. He’d pretend to be pissed at the kids for being kids, but deep down, he was always more than willing to oblige. He’d practically volunteered to take on the role of Santa before the ballot had even been cast for who’d get to play the Big Red Man for the festivities.

He was your old man. A softie at heart.

Hard in other places, but that was just how you liked it.

He spread your legs with both of his hands and practically moaned at what lay before him now.

You were wet. Glistening. In the light of the fireplace and the evergreen behind him, he could see it all too clearly: how pretty and slick and shiny you were along your slit. You’d been patient awaiting his return, and he could tell. Though you were dripping nectar through your folds, you hadn’t smeared one drop with your fingers—you sat like a gleaming, unwrapped present for the man to devour.

And maybe it felt wrong, all swollen and stiff beneath his costume pants and his hair dusted white to make him look even older than he was—about 1,700 years, give or take, instead of fifty-nine—but the look in his eyes said he wanted it all. He felt raw, and needy, and debased.

You liked seeing Joel this way. You liked feeling wrong.

It was what most of Jackson thought of you, anyway. What had taken Tommy, Maria, and the closest of your friends the longest time to accept, nearly all of your neighbors still thought was pretty strange: how Joel was decades your senior and you two were dating—happily. What they were liable to think when the news of you trying for a baby spread in town was anyone’s guess.

Joel seemed to forget all that as his head sank lower. He forked two of his big, meaty fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ and pushed your folds apart in just the way you liked, and he breathed out slow, warm puffs of air over your cunt. You shuddered, and you waited for his tongue.

“Baby…” he trailed off again.

“Yeah?” Your voice was tight.

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m…probably gonna need to take off the beard.”

You breathed out a soft, reflexive laugh, and you didn’t protest. Joel tugged down the big, white, wiry clump of hair from his face and let his other, shorter one surface.

This one wasn’t white, but it was a handsome black and grey, with a lot more of a silver sheen to its these days. You smiled as Joel drew closer, and that smile only faltered a little as the man kissed your inner thigh.

He did the same to the other leg. He dragged his mouth down the skin toward your center and let his lips part a little. He kissed you again, this time at the top of your mound. It made an extra low, almost lewd sort of sound. He rubbed his nose against your lower belly, and the contrast of the weathered texture to your own was stark.

Joel was old. He looked it even more with his hair painted white and his mouth hovering over your slit.

“She been good this year?” he hummed, peering up.

Before you could answer, Joel’s tongue slid out, and he drew a fat, wet line over the seam of your pussy. Your hips jolted in response, and his free hand held you down.

“She tastes good,” he went on in the most casual tone.

Then, without further warning, his jaw slackened some more and he started lapping at the tender flesh beneath it. He dragged his tongue through the thick, stringy mess and closed his eyes, like he was savoring the taste. His lips curled, and he kissed you again—this time, it closed around your clit, and he suckled you gently. With the first wet pop and a sickening squelch from his mouth, your eyes nearly rolled back in your head; Joel’s opened again as he flashed you a shit-eating grin between your legs.

“She’s been real good for me this year, hasn’t she, hon?” And he squeezed your leg to indicate he wanted a reply.

You tried to answer, but it came out garbled and weak:

“So good, daddy. So— so—”

Oh.

Joel’s fingers moved from their forked position to push his index inside your weeping hole. At the same time, the tip of his tongue flicked delicately against your clit. The two parts of him moved in tandem, and from the feeling of both, you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a cry. Your hand reached down to grab his hair, but all it could find was that goddamn Santa hat. Joel snickered.

With his lips, tongue, and finger still working your needy cunt, he couldn’t help but smile as you cast the hat aside

“Damn thing,” you cursed, fingers lacing through his hair.

“Language, young lady,” Joel murmured.

Like he was one to talk.

You made a fist with the chalky white locks and rutted your hips the tiniest bit, too flush with pleasure to give a single fuck what words came out of your mouth, and from the way Joel grinned and slid a second finger inside, you had only to guess he didn’t mind either.

He could pretend, though. He licked a little harder, then:

“She’s gonna be sweet for her old man, isn’t she?”

“Y— yes, she is.”

“Nice and polite before she gets this cock?”

“I promise.”

Appearing satisfied with this response, or else simply wanting to bring you to the edge and make you cum on his tongue, Joel wedged his fingers even deeper, then curled them. He brushed the soft, fleshy wall in a beckoning motion and, at the same time, sucked your nub between his lips. He felt you tense, heard you moan, and likely sensed there was no better time for his tongue to dart out again. Just as he released your clit from its airtight kiss, he was back licking circles on the tender, swollen thing, eyes flitting up to yours to hold their gaze.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

When his fingers curled another time, you cried out.

Your brain was on the fritz; your heels were digging in the rug, stomach tight as it had ever been, and your hands seemed to move with a mind of their own. One was gripping Joel’s hair, giving you leverage to cant your hips against his face, and the other was palming your breast through the thin lace fabric of your teddy. You craved stimulation—couldn’t breathe without the feel of something on you, and in you, as you were about to cum.

Joel nodded his soft approval. He watched you fondle yourself and seemed enthralled, even from where he lay.

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself while daddy licks your pussy. Lemme see how good she’s feelin’, sweetheart.”

His words were all the propulsion you needed and more. You pinched your nipple through the fabric, whined at the pleasure wrought by your fingers and by Joel’s simultaneously, and felt an even deeper twist in your gut. You grip constricted in his hair; you didn’t need to speak.

“She’s right there, isn’t she? I know that feels nice, baby,” Joel groaned, voice low, “Gonna cum for daddy now?”

You whined. You gripped tighter. Your body needed this.

“C’mon, hon. Let me have it. Cum on daddy’s tongue.”

Two more strokes of his tongue, a gentle thrust of his fingers, and the brush of your own touch across taut, pebbled flesh was enough. The next second had you clamping down on Joel’s hand and giving him all you possibly could, lips parted and spilling a feverish, shrill whine while your orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled into the rug, and Joel pressed your hips down as his tongue fucked you through it. He licked and sucked and coaxed your needy walls again and again; he felt you tremble, and he let your wet essence soak him through.

By the time you were done, his face was glistening.

He lifted his head from between your legs, gaze wild and lips shiny with your full release. He licked them, elated.

“All good, hon?”

“Amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath and pet his hair. Joel smiled.

“Wanna go upstairs? Be a little comfier in the bed, I bet,” he offered, slowly starting to rise, before wincing. Then when his knees audibly cracked, “Your old man needs it.”

You had no doubt about that. You sat up and smiled, and let him lift you to your feet along with him. Another snap.

“Aw, hell,” Joel hissed, shaking his head.

You wrapped an arm around his waist before pacing another step. He leaned a little into you, though not too much, and you couldn’t help but flash him an arch look.

“Did your wishlist include new kneecaps, by chance?”

“No ma’am. Just stronger hands to spank with.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, grinning down at you.

You would’ve returned with something equally cheeky and light, had you not remembered that thing close by.

“Wait, wait—your present!”

Joel eyed the square box as you retrieved it. His eyes flashed with curiosity before you reappeared under his arm and helped him start up the stairs. He walked, and let out a soft groan, and when you’d made it halfway up, he shook his head at you again. It was slow but emphatic

“Gotta finish your gift first, sweetheart,” he murmured.

And, try as you might to get an inch of give after that, you sensed fighting Joel’s generosity was futile by then. You knew him well enough to guess that he’d only be satisfied receiving his present once yours had been properly secured with another orgasm, and his spend dribbled in big, thick rivers down the insides of your legs.

You heaved a sigh and smiled, walking slowly with him.

Joel, if you only knew.

Despite his best efforts, the man still couldn’t work out how he’d ever gotten so lucky to find something like this—someone like you. As his hips worked their way up to a near-desperate pace, bordering on frenzied as he fucked into you, Joel decided that he wouldn’t bother guessing.

He’d accept this for what it was: a gift he didn’t deserve.

The two of you hadn’t even gotten around to the business of unwrapping your presents yet, and Joel already knew that he had it all just looking down at you.

With your back arched and your hands making fists in the sheets beside your head, wet and glistening cunt accepting each one of his thrusts and squeezing him tight on every stroke, Joel had to steel himself just feeling how good you were, knowing how well you fit him in every way, and sensing this was as close to replete happiness as he’d ever get. He couldn’t ask for more.

Even without a baby, he knew things would be okay.

The two of you had been trying for months now, wholly without success of yet. There had been the night he’d bought a blue pill and fucked you four times in one day, and you’d told him at the end of it all that your period was late. But then you’d bled the next morning, and your hopes, for the present moment, had been dashed away.

No pregnancy hopes since then had amounted to anything else, and at length, you’d agreed not to let it get your spirits down—or try not to, anyway. You’d fuck as often as you could, but you wouldn’t let the thought of wanting a baby make the process less fun for you now.

That didn’t mean Joel couldn’t remind you every now and then what you were hoping the endgame would be.

Presently, he leaned over your prone body on the bed and pressed his lips to your ear. He ground his hips against your ass so his cock wedged itself all the way in to the hilt, and when the tip was just threatening to graze the edge of your cervix, he dropped a kiss on your cheek.

“Want me to put a baby right here?” He spoke gently.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and your head reared back to fall against his shoulder. Joel took this as his opportunity to start peppering more kisses. He knew how much you liked the dirty talk while he was deep inside, talking about how much he wanted to blow his load and knock you up. It was a melting point for you both, and he sensed that you wouldn’t last long after it.

He had your head tilted to his, your lips spilling moan after moan as his dick plunged further inside and your eyes struggling to stay open. They flitted between his, and they gave him a hopeful look. You managed a smile.

“Right…right there, daddy,” you whimpered out.

Another sound escaped your mouth and flooded his, and Joel couldn’t help it: he kissed you, and he fucked in deeper. He couldn’t have wanted this more if he tried.

His forehead was slick with sweat, as was yours. Your bodies were grinding together—Joel’s soft, warm belly filling the concave space where your spine curved down, and he rutted repeatedly into you, like an animal in heat.

His face was right beside yours as his teeth gritted out:

“My sweet girl want a baby in her for Christmas, that it?”

Again, you whined and rolled your hips against his, nodding your head, and the look in your eyes was wild.

“Baby—please. Please fuck your baby in me, Joel.”

Joel could do more than that. Much more. Ask him for twins, triplets, or however many kids you could’ve wanted, and he would’ve given it to you then.

He wished it were that simple, and he could’ve knocked you up and made you happy a long time ago, but sadly, that hadn’t been in the cards for you two. Joel shortly brushed that thought away, not wanting to lose his momentum or delay the oncoming orgasm about to rattle your body underneath him. He kissed your shoulder this time, thrusting with his stiff, wet cock in just the way you liked, and in seconds, he got what he wanted—what you needed, clearly, as your muscles seized and your lips let out a sharp, shrill cry in response.

Joel held you to him as long as he could. He felt you melt into the bed and only held your body tighter, rutting his hips at their relentless pace to keep your pleasure alive. He heard you whine, tell him to cum inside me, daddy, please, and from that point on, he sensed he’d have to slow a little. It couldn’t be helped. When he came, he had to pin you down and fill you completely—take his time working his spend inside your needy, pulsing cunt, and when he was done, just keep you there. Let you feel him. It was a satisfaction unlike any other for you both, and it was one he’d come to love these last few months. He stilled inside you, feeling his cum coating every inch of your walls around him, and he grinned. You let out a sigh.

“So I…I made the ‘Nice’ list, Mr. Clause?” you panted.

Joel’s head dropped to yours in a short, rumbling laugh.

His dick twitched inside you, and his belly growled a bit. He definitely should’ve taken you up on those cookies.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we’re square,” he breathed back.

How long you laid like that was anyone’s guess. Joel didn’t bother keeping track of the seconds or the minutes spent splayed out over your body; he only sensed when he was starting to go soft and you wriggled your hips underneath. He shifted and let you flip around.

His cock now completely out and a smile touching your lips as you turned to face him, your gaze flitted to his.

“Can you go get me one of your shirts, please?”

You were also both stark naked, thanks to the lightning-quick stripdown you’d both done the second you’d made it to the bedroom. Though Joel was sleepy, he knew the routine: get you a shirt, get him a clean pair of boxers, and get the two of you off to sleep. It’d been a long day.

“Yes, dear,” he answered dutifully.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before rising. He padded his slow, heavy feet over to the dresser at the opposite end of the room, and he opened the top drawer.

“Second one, please. With the flannels,” you called out.

Okay.

Joel snagged a pair of underwear for himself, then went to the next drawer to get you a flannel to wear, since the scorching heat of your house evidently wasn’t enough to keep you warm. He smiled to himself, about to crack a wiseass comment about you being cold-blooded or something, when the man was obliged to stop. He took one look inside, dropped his boxers, and paused a spell.

When Joel started again, it wasn’t to speak—he just turned and lifted the first thing he saw in the drawer.

“Wha—oh, shoot. I was supposed to wrap that,” you said swiftly, wincing as he held it. Still smiling at him, though.

“Seems a little small to be a gift for me, don’t you think?”

In his grasp was a miniature onesie. Beneath it, in the drawer you’d directed him to, there had been at least four more just like it. All soft, pastel-colored, and small.

Your smile stretched even wider as you shook your head.

“It’s from Maria and Tommy. More of a…future present, for the two of us,” you shrugged, pushing to sit up in bed.

Joel eyed you a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say.

On your face, he saw hope and excitement etched bright. Like you were fine to keep waiting on this ‘future,’ no matter the duration. One glimpse of that and Joel felt a lump the size of his fist in his throat. He walked over.

And it had to be the last thing you wanted to see, surely—him setting the onesie down, dropping beside you in bed, then fumbling gracelessly, uselessly, to hold you.

Feeling every bit the remorseful, too-old man who couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wanted it, too.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he blurted out, unthinking. He pulled you to his chest; within his own, his heart was pounding, “I know…I know it’s taking us awhile. That’s my fault—”

“Joel.”

“My cum’s as old as dust and that’s probably why—”

“You don’t—”

“—you aren’t pregnant yet. I know it’s frustrating for—”

“Seriously, Joel—”

“—you to deal with. All of that disappointment, I mean—”

“JOEL.”

“What?”

His pulse was still thudding away. You blinked once.

Then, in a slow but deliberate path, your gaze trailed over to the nightstand. Joel’s followed after in similar fashion.

“You still haven’t opened your present,” you said. Stern.

It wasn’t the tone Joel had been expecting to hear at all.

And when you handed him the box, he felt his blood pressure spike. Absently, he thought that couldn’t be safe for a man his age. He couldn’t even tell what it held, and still, the prospect of it had him anxious beyond words. He turned it over; something rattled inside.

‘Go on, Joel.’ Your voice coaxed him gentler then.

And he did, though his fingers trembled some.

The weight in his grip could’ve been an ounce, a pound, or a ton, and his hands would’ve shaken all the same. Joel felt a current pulse through him as he slid the lid off.

Then he just stared.

His eyes widened.

“That’s…”

“Exactly what I have been trying to give you all night!” You laughed. The sound was light, not derisive or cruel.

When he looked up to you, your cheeks were as full and high as he’d seen them all day—you were smiling so big.

That made him think that this wasn’t a joke. Or a dream.

Surely his brain couldn’t have contrived both the most perfect, blinding smile on your face and a slim, white, pink-capped little stick with a ‘+’ on the screen at once.

It still hadn’t hit him completely, though, so he blinked.

“Really?” His voice was hoarse. Vacillating.

“Really.” Yours was more certain. Happy.

And, while the truth of it was slow to seep in, Joel knew he couldn’t waste another moment. He didn’t think—just pulled you in and squeezed you to him as tight as a vice. He couldn’t think—the rush of his blood in his ears and the puffs of your breath and the clatter of that positive pregnancy test in its box, discarded, were all too much.

As soon as he squeezed, your next breath was a sob.

“I meant to tell you, Joel. I meant to. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your confession came out muffled against his chest, though Joel heard it all with total clarity. In a blink, he had you drawn back a little, just so he could hold your face and search your gaze with his own in a wide look.

Before he could even speak, he saw the tears welling up, as if coming from nowhere. You were still trying to smile.

“It’s been weeks. Since…since my period. I just—” With a wince that could’ve shredded Joel’s insides in two, you went on, “—I couldn’t stand disappointing you again.”

The same way he’d felt. Why you couldn’t tell him.

“Baby, hey, no— no. No, no, no. Please don’t say that.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own emotions at bay.

“After the last time, and the— and the way you looked so happy at the thought of being a dad, I…I…had to be sure. Maria got me a test, and we triple-checked.” You sniffled.

Moving to wipe at tears as if any of this was your fault. Joel’s thumbs only grew more fervent in their path to smear the moisture away, and his head kept shaking back and forth—‘No, sweetheart, that’s not on you. Don’t even think that. Come here.’—as he tried to be a comfort. He couldn’t be happier. He hoped you were too. While tears engulfed his hands, he hoped you would be.

Even if his bones were old and his knees were weaker than he wanted them to be; even if you couldn’t count on two hands how many years stretched out between you and the decades made it seem like forever to the people in town. Even if this baby was the first, and last, you had.

Joel just wanted you happy.

It was all he could ask to have.

“We’re gonna be parents,” you said, half in awe.

You blinked harder and more tears slid down, but the look behind them was brighter. Your eyes were on his.

“We’re gonna be parents,” Joel repeated, “You and me.”

Then he pinched your puffy, wet cheeks, pictured a baby that looked the tiniest bit like you, and he had to lean in. He kissed slower than he meant to—had to savor you.

A baby.

His baby.

Your eyes were a little wider when he pulled away.

“Happy with your present, daddy?” you teased.

Joel blinked, and he thought of the dozen-odd boxes he had laid out under the tree downstairs—all for you to unwrap in the morning—and he realized then that you had him soundly beat in the gift department that year. Though none of what he’d bought could even hope to hold a candle to what you’d given him tonight, there were still ways to try and make it up. Say thank you.

“I love my present. And I love you.” Joel answered softly.

And just as you smiled, were about to slide back under the covers and tell him you loved him just as much, he grabbed your ankle. Started to lower himself after you.

Your eyes widened more.

“Joel Miller.”

His smirk widened right back.

“One more present before bed?”

You might’ve rolled your eyes, but you let him climb over you just the same. You felt his weight shift over yours, sensed a familiar stir in the depths of your body, and peered up to meet a matching smile you knew you’d find.

Joel was beaming from ear to ear like this was the luckiest day he’d lived to see. Like he couldn’t wait to show how glad he was to be a dad—over and over again.

“Just wanna make sure we made it…stick, y’know?”

He was grinning now. Gently laying you down.

You sighed, smiled, and spread your legs.

“Too late. You’re stuck with me, Miller.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

“What?”

“Stuck.”