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wheresarizona · 5 months ago

Text

but he’s the one I want

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch.

His brown eyes squeeze shut. “Lord help me,” he says under his breath. A second passes, and then he’s looking at you. “Fuck it—I’m already goin’ to hell.” Joel’s large palms grab your face, pulling you in to crush his lips against yours, muffling your surprised sound.

pairing: DBF!Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller/College Student f!reader (no physical descriptions)

rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate)

word count: 11.5k+

a/n: Alexa, play “But Daddy I Love Him” by Taylor Swift. I don’t know where this came from (daddy issues), but I hope you enjoy it! Reader is freshly 21 in my head, Joel is 35 (it’s months before his birthday), and Tommy is 29. Let me know what you think! Big shoutout to @devineconjuring for going on this journey with me and betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Main Masterlist

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s a Friday night; the sky is dark, but the porch light is on. You hug your jacket a little closer to your body to stave off the chill in the air as you wait outside the front door for someone to answer it. A masculine voice calls out, "Comin’!" Footsteps thud on the hardwood floor as they head your way.

Seconds later, the door is cracked open, and you’re met with the home’s owner, Joel Miller. Just the sight of him in his jeans and navy blue t-shirt has your heart rate picking up in speed, the man looking as handsome as ever.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you.

"Hey," he greets. "What are you doin' here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

University of Houston—go, Cougars!

You smile. "Three-day weekend—I have Monday off. I thought I'd surprise my dad since it's his birthday."

The confused look doesn’t disappear. "I coulda sworn he told me they were goin' to Vegas to celebrate a few days ago." ‘They’ being your father, stepmother, and your teenage half-brother.

“Well, I guess it slipped his mind to tell me they were going out of town. He must be getting forgetful in his old age.”

The relationship you have with your father is… complicated. It’s not bad by any means—you get along and love each other. He just wasn’t very present when you were growing up—he lived in Austin while you were with your mom in Houston, only seeing him a few times per year. Now that you have a car and your mom moved out of state last year with her new husband, you occasionally made the three-hour drive to your dad’s to visit and do your laundry free of charge. It was also where you now stayed on your breaks from school.

Joel opens the door a little wider and crosses his arms over his chest, your eyes moving from his face to admire the broadness in his shoulders and the muscles in his forearms. Having his full attention on you makes the nerves in your belly flutter around like a bunch of butterflies were let loose.

“He’s not much older than me,” Joel says. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you callin’ me old?”

The man in question happens to be one of your father’s best friends—or so you’ve been told. In all of the visits to your dad’s growing up, you could count the number of times you saw Joel on one hand. Over the past year that you’ve been coming to Austin regularly, you’ve had much more interaction with him, which has led to you developing a little bit of a crush. Who can blame you, though? He’s gorgeous—the chocolate-colored eyes, the hair that looks so soft, that perfect nose, and those kissable lips.

“If the shoe fits,” you reply with a shrug and a smile.

“Kids these days,” Joel grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. “Did you come by just to call me old?” he asks.

“Oh, no. I was expecting at least one person to be at my dad’s, so I didn’t bother bringing my house key. I’m here to see if you possibly have a spare I could borrow—I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number.”

Maybe he’d give it to you now…

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I don’t.”

Hot and a sweetheart—how is he single? Is he single?

You frown, feeling annoyed that you drove all this way to Austin for no reason. You should’ve called ahead, but that was your mistake, assuming your family would stay in town for your father’s birthday. “This was a waste of gas,” you muse. “Love that for me. Well, it looks like I’m heading home, or maybe I’ll get a cheap motel room. Thanks anyway, Joel. Have a nice rest of your night!” You do a little wave at him.

You start to turn, but stop when he says, “Wait,” and you face him again. He opens the door wider. “It’s too late for you to be drivin’ all that way, and there’s no reason you should pay for a motel when I’ve got a guest room you can stay in. You can get a good night's sleep and leave tomorrow mornin’ when the sun’s shinin’.”

Again, a sweetheart—why hasn’t anyone snatched him up? Or have they?

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He finally offers you a friendly smile and moves to open the door all the way. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I was feelin’ lonely anyway with Sarah gone at a sleepover. It’ll be nice to have some company that isn’t my brother.”

Lonely? Nice to have some company? That sounds pretty single to you. Your night just got a lot more interesting. “Thank you so much! I’ll do my best to be better company than your brother.”

With that, you make your way inside, toeing off your shoes next to a pair of his work boots.

“That won’t be too hard,” Joel says as he shuts the door.

You stop in the entryway because you’re not quite sure where you should be going since you've never actually been inside his house. You only know where he lives because your father once asked you to drop something off here.

“Let me get your coat and bag.” You hand him your small purse, and he moves behind you, helping as you shrug off the long jacket you’re wearing, which he hangs up on a nearby coat hook with your bag. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks, and you look at him, seeing his widened eyes staring at your body. “Were you plannin’ on goin’ out tonight?”

You glance down at your outfit, and you can understand why he’d make that assumption at the sight of the cute little black dress you’re wearing—it only reaches mid-thigh and has a V-neckline to show off your breasts.

“Not going out—it’s laundry day. I do my laundry when I come to Austin, and this was literally the last clean thing I had.” Your eyes lift to see his glued to your chest, and you think that’s an interesting development. “I have spare clothes I keep at my dad’s that I planned on changing into.”

It’s the truth, and you’re a little thankful this was your last clean outfit. You can only imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been coming over here in a ratty old T-shirt, granny panties, and your Spongebob Squarepants pajama pants.

He clears his throat and looks away. A rosy blush appears on his cheeks as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I can put my jacket back on,” you tell him, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

“No, no.” He meets your gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine—do you need to use my washer and dryer?”

“You’re already being nice, letting me stay over. I can wash my clothes at the laundromat when I get home.”

“It’s really no big deal.”

“Thank you, but I’m good.”

“Okay.” His hands go in his pockets, and he seems to get very interested in the short console table against the wall, staring at the contents lying atop it—a stack of unopened mail and what you assume are his keys and wallet.

“So, what were you doing before I interrupted your evening?”

“Oh—” He looks at you again. “—I was watchin’ a movie. Would you like to join me?”

You smile. “Sure—lead the way.”

He takes you to the living room, where a movie is paused on the television, and lets you know you can sit anywhere. Your choices are one of two armchairs and a maroon leather sofa, and you choose the sofa while he heads for the kitchen.

“Would ya like a beer?” he calls out on his way to the other room. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because a second later, he’s back at the doorway to the living room with a confused expression again. “Wait, are you old enough to drink…?”

The question makes you smile. “Yes, Joel. I’m old enough to drink.”

“Legally…?”

You giggle. “Yes. I can legally drink. You wanna card me?”

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Beer?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.” He nods.

As you sit on the couch waiting, you become very aware of the situation you’re in. You’ve spoken to Joel one-on-one a handful of times over the last year, but it always happened at a barbecue or a holiday party—places where there were other people around—you’ve never been alone with Joel. This is new territory, and you’re not entirely sure what to expect, especially considering how he was staring at your chest.

Would you fuck him if given the chance? Yes, zero hesitation. Do you think you have a chance with him? Maybe, and that thrills you. Just two things are working against you: your age and the fact he’s your father’s best friend. Those are two hurdles you’re not entirely sure how to get over, but you’re definitely game to try.

Your conversations were always friendly in the past, and you’re proud to say you’ve made him laugh a few times. You think you could possibly charm him. What you know for sure is he’ll need to be very aware that you’re interested; otherwise, he won’t even fathom trying anything with you—thank god you’re wearing this dress. Nerves are swirling in your tummy at what could happen tonight, and you’re eager to see where things go.

Joel returns with two open bottles of beer, handing you one, and you thank him as he takes a seat right next to you. He leans forward to grab the remote and hits play before sitting back and taking a drink.

He’s so close to you that you get a whiff of his cologne—it has a spiciness to it and some citrusy notes that, when combined, smell amazing. It makes you think he took a shower when he got home from work today—and, suddenly remembering he’s a contractor, you imagine him shirtless and sweaty while using a hammer. The thought causes your mouth to go dry, so you lift your bottle to your lips for a sip, focusing on the TV.

It’s easy to figure out what he’s watching when you see Josh Hartnett in clothes from the 1940s.

“Pearl Harbor?” you ask, now holding your drink on your lap, picking at the label with your fingernail.

“Yeah.” His head turns your way, his beer resting on his thigh. “Have you seen it?”

Meeting his eyes, you answer, “Oh, yeah.”

He frowns. “Because it’s a girly movie?”

“Um, kinda? The guys are pretty easy on the eyes, and the story is interesting. I wouldn't say it’s super girly. Sure, it’s a romance, but there’s so much action and drama about the war in it.”

“The back of the DVD said nothin’ about it bein’ a romance.”

“Are you enjoying it, at least?” you ask.

He sighs and looks back at the television. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then enjoy it! If anyone asks what we watched, I’ll tell them Die Hard.” You lightly pat his thigh closest to you, feeling the muscles tense under your palm.

His gaze returns to you. “You’ve seen Die Hard?”

“Yes. A few times.”

Because it’s your dad’s favorite movie.

His upper body slightly turns your way, his arm going behind you on the couch. The closeness and the attention he’s giving you make your skin heat.

“I want you to settle somethin’ my brother Tommy and I disagree on—have you met Tommy?”

“Once.” At a barbecue. He didn’t catch your attention like Joel did. “What am I settling?”

“Do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”

“What…?”

“Tommy is fuckin’ convinced that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and I say it’s just another action flick. A good one, but definitely not a Christmas movie.”

It takes you a second to process what he asked.

“I mean,” you start, “it takes place on Christmas Eve, at a Christmas party, and I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle that John McClane happened to be there to save the day. So, yeah, it’s totally a Christmas movie.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me. Just ‘cause it takes place on Christmas Eve at a Christmas party doesn’t mean it’s a Christmas movie.”

You point the neck of your beer at him. “You forgot John McClane being a Christmas miracle. Makes sense to me that it’s a Christmas movie.”

He takes a deep breath. “So, are you tellin’ me that—what the fuck is that movie called?” His eyes leave you as he thinks, trying to remember the name. “Lethal Weapon!” He looks at you again. “So, you’re tellin’ me that Lethal Weapon would also be a Christmas movie? Have you seen that one?”

Yep, with your father.

“I have, and yeah, it’s a Christmas movie. You’ve got drug dealers using a Christmas tree business as a front, Christmas is mentioned all throughout, they use a bunch of Christmas songs, and it ends at Christmas dinner. Absolutely a Christmas movie.”

“Say you’re messin’ with me, darlin’. You know what a Christmas movie is, right?

“Yeah, you’ve got the heavy hitters—It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, A Christmas Carol—then those stop-motion ones that are delightful. I’d put Die Hard and Lethal Weapon in the same category as Home Alone.”

“Why the hell do you think Home Alone is a Christmas movie?”

“It’s set during the holiday season, and there’s a ton of Christmas imagery and music. Plus, you’ve got Kevin going on a similar journey as the main character in It’s a Wonderful Life where, in the end, he realizes how much he loves and needs his family—sounds pretty Christmas-y to me.”

His jaw clenches, and it’s seconds before he inhales deeply and looks back at the TV.

“Son of a bitch,” he sighs, shaking his head. “They’re fuckin’ Christmas movies.” He takes a long drink of his beer.

You grin. “They are indeed,” you reply and pat his thigh again.

His bottle lowers, and he looks over at you. “Even though you somehow made a dumbass like Tommy make sense, you’re definitely better company than him. He’d never let me live this down.”

He’s visibly relaxed, and you have, too. The fact he’s enjoying you being there has calmed your nerves, and you’re having a great time talking to him. Plus, he’s nice to look at.

“Then it’ll be our secret,” you say. “Like how we’re totally watching Die Hard right now, and not—” Your eyes go to the TV, and they widen. “—the one sex scene in Pearl Harbor.” It’s nothing too risque and honestly kind of lame.

Joel looks, too. “They’re just rollin’ around on the ground…”

“It’s PG-13, Joel. I don’t know what you’re expecting from a movie where they can only say fuck once, and titties are prohibited.”

His head turns your way. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, and when your eyes land on his, you find that he’s smiling—your heart skips a beat.

“A good something or a bad something?”

“A good somethin’.”

You share his expression. “You’re something else, too.”

“A good somethin’ or a bad somethin’?”

“A very good something.”

His eyes darken, and suddenly, his attention returns to the movie. Joel clears his throat, then chugs the rest of his beer, leaning forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table.

When he sits back, his arm is still behind you on the top of the couch, and he scoots the tiniest bit your way to have your bodies touching.

It’s clear that there’s a shift to the energy in the room, and the tension becomes palpable—he likes you, and you think there’s a possibility he more than likes you with how close he is. The thought has your heart pounding, and you’re unsure what to do next. You’ve only been with boys your own age, and Joel is so much older and more experienced.

The panic has you blurting out, “Are you seeing anyone?” Then, backpedaling, “Not that it’s any of my business, so don’t feel obligated to answer.”

He looks at you, and you keep staring at the TV, almost wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m nosy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You only wanna know ‘cause you’re nosy?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No other reason?”

“Can’t think of any.”

“Okay—no, I’m not seein’ anyone. What about you? You got a boy back in Houston worryin’ about you?”

“Nope.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise in his voice has your head turning to see the matching expression.

“What’s so shocking about that?”

He frowns. “I beg your pardon, darlin’. It just doesn’t make much sense that someone as pretty and fun as you doesn’t have a line of boys waitin’ their turn to take you out.”

Those butterflies in your stomach are flapping around again.

“Not really.” You shrug. “Plus, the guys my age usually only want sex but aren’t very, um, giving, if you know what I mean.”

Now he looks grumpy. “Selfish boys,” he grumbles, and it makes you smile.

“So, not an issue with someone older like you. Good to know.” You squeeze his thigh and keep speaking so he can’t reply, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you single?”

For some reason, he can’t look at you now, focusing on your hand. He reaches across his body to grab yours with his larger one, staring at your fingers. He lets out a long, weary sigh, his thumb rubbing against each of your dark blue-painted fingernails.

“Women don’t particularly like that Sarah is the most important person in my life and my top priority…”

“But she’s your daughter, she should be your top priority.”

“That’s the logic, but they want me all to themselves and don’t like sharing.”

“Joel?”

His face lifts to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve dated some truly shitty women.”

He smiles. “I guess I have. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve given up on datin’. It’s just a waste of time.”

“That is such a shame.”

His dark eyes get even darker. “You’re trouble.”

“Why am I trouble?”

His eyebrow arches. “Your daddy would kill me.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second as you take in the statement—he’s into you, he’s really into you. Now, what are you going to do?

“Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask and move to put your beer on the table. When you sit back, you cuddle a little closer into his side. “You were worried about me driving home in the dark, so you offered me your guest room—we watched Die Hard, then turned in for the night. You’re a stand-up guy for keeping your friend’s daughter safe.”

His eyes move from yours to your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face—his palm is so big his fingertips almost reach the back of your head. He starts leaning in, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought that he’s going to kiss you, and you stop breathing when his lips are only a hair’s breadth away from yours.

And then he pauses.

“Tell me why you really came here tonight,” he rasps.

That confuses you, your brows pulling together, and you sit back to see his face. “I did? I needed to see if you had a spare key to my dad’s house.”

His eyes are on yours. “Bullshit—there’s no way this just happened to be the last outfit you had.” He looks directly at your tits.

“It is if you wait super last minute to do your laundry, and I told you, I have other clothes at my dad’s. Why do you think I came over here?”

His gaze goes back to yours. “With that dress you’re wearin’ and how you keep lookin’ at me, for a lot more than needin’ a key.”

“You thought I came over here to seduce you…?”

“Yeah…?”

“Wow.” You gently pat his cheek. “You think I’m way bolder than I actually am—me coming here and the outfit was not premeditated.” You shake your head.

His eyes round, and you’d think he was burned by how quickly his hand leaves you and how he moves away a little to put space between you. “Fuck, have I been readin’ this wrong?”

You scoot to have yourself against him again. “The assumption I came here specifically to seduce you was very wrong. But you’re right that I definitely want you to fuck me, Joel.”

“Shit,” he breathes out and scrubs a palm over his face. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

Turning his way, you rub your hand along his jeans-covered thigh. “No, I’m not,” you tell him. “Stop thinking, and kiss me.”

His hand lowers. “Not thinkin’ is gonna get me killed.”

“Not thinking is going to get you a blow job and pussy.” You press your palm between his legs over where you can feel he’s already hardening. “Hell, I’ll sweeten the deal—you can come anywhere you want.”

His eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you smile. His reaction makes you brave.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll go back to watching the movie and pretend nothing happened. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and we’ll go as far as you’re willing to go.” Your hand moves up to hold his cheek, and it’s a good sign when he leans into your touch as you stare into his eyes. “But I’m going to make myself crystal clear, Joel. I want you—badly. You’re beyond sexy, and the fact you’re older and have a lot more experience than me is a big turn-on. I’d love to know what good sex is like for once and maybe have you teach me some things.” You shrug your shoulder. “It’s up to you, though. Just know I’m more than willing.”

This kiss is unlike any you’ve experienced before. You’re used to overeager boys practically shoving their tongues down your throat the first chance they get, yet here’s Joel claiming your lips—you can feel his every want and his desire for you with how thoroughly he kisses you. The soft pillow of his mouth moves with yours, his scent filling your nose—hints of the beer he drank and his spicy cologne imprinting this moment in your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head goes dizzy from the arousal igniting in your belly.

Just one kiss and you know you’re ruined for anyone else.

His arms go around you, and he mouths at your chin. “Come here,” he says against your skin. “Get in my lap.”

You do as you’re told, bunching up the bottom of your dress at your waist and moving to straddle his thighs. His hands go under your clothes to grab your ass, and he’s so surprised to feel bare skin he leans back with the confused expression you’re becoming intimately familiar with.

“You really didn’t come over just to fuck me?” he asks. His palms wander, and you know he’s discovered your thong when he hooks a thumb under its stretchy waistband—they were the last clean pair of underwear you had.

“I really didn’t.” You’re curious about something. “But if I had, what are the chances that I would’ve succeeded…?”

“With this dress and a little convincin’? Pretty good.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart. I know this is a bad idea, and it’ll probably bite me in the ass later, but I’m so fuckin’ lonely, and you’re just too damn temptin’ to pass up.”

The truth is clear in his eyes and makes you kiss him—your fingers comb into the hair at the back of his head, finding it softer than you thought it’d be. It starts off slow and tender, just lips to lips, until Joel deepens it, the tip of his tongue making it past your lower lip. Hearing that he’s lonely tugs at your heart, and you want to do everything you can to make that loneliness disappear. Things start to heat up, and all you can do is follow his lead, moaning as he explores your mouth with his tongue. With his palms on your backside, he helps you rock your hips, grinding yourself against his hard cock beneath his jeans, rubbing your clit just right to fan the flames growing in your core.

When you finally need to come up for air, his hand grips your chin to turn your head as you pant, Joel kissing and nipping at your skin from the base of your neck up—tingles wash down your spine when he nibbles on your jaw. He gently bites your earlobe, and you gasp when his hot breath tickles your ear.

He huskily whispers into it, “You want me?” His hand fondles your breast.

“Yes.”

“I can touch you?”

“Anywhere.”

“I need you to be a good girl and tell me when you do and don’t like things—understand?”

“Yes.��

“Good girl,” he purrs.

The way those two words make your cunt clench has you moaning, ”Fuck.”

He easily unzips the back of your dress, tugging the garment up and over your head, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. You’re sitting astride his lap, the dark pools of his eyes taking in your mostly naked body, his big hands massaging your bra-covered breasts. It’s surprising that being under his gaze, you don’t immediately feel self-conscious, and you think that has to do with how he’s looking at you—the desire and appreciation clear as he admires you.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, nodding towards what he’s touching.

“Yes.”

He sits up straighter, and it’s quick work for him to get your bra off, it landing on top of your dress. He’s focused on your tits, holding them in his palms, weighing them. He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and the sudden shock of pleasure has your breath catching in your throat, your fingers grabbing handfuls of his shirt for something to hold onto. When he grazes his teeth over the stiff bud, your entire body shivers—your panties have a wet spot from your pussy leaking your arousal for him. He gives your other breast the same attention, leaving your skin shiny from spit when he comes off of it with a wet pop to look at you.

“Lie down on the couch, baby.” He pats the empty seat next to him. “Your head all the way at the other end.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You scramble out of his lap, the couch’s leather creaking as you crawl over to where he instructed and sit back on your elbows to see what’s happening. Joel grunts as he gets up to stand, watching in interest when he squeezes the noticeable bulge at the front of his jeans. His arm goes behind his head to grab his shirt, pulling it up and off of his body to bare his torso.

At seeing so much of his golden skin, your jaw goes slack—his freckled chest is so broad, tapering down to his trim waist, his abs showing a little bit of muscle definition you think is from doing manual labor and not working out. Your eyes fixate on the happy trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Sure could get used to you lookin’ at me like that.”

That has your attention snapping up to his face, where you find him smirking, and you close your mouth.

“Sorry,” you apologize, your eyes darting away from him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about the shape I’m in.”

You look at him again. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re in great shape and so hot—you’re really down to fuck me?” You point at yourself.

He kneels on the sofa by your feet, his hand on the back of it to steady himself.

“Darlin’, if I didn’t know your daddy, and you were a stranger I met in a bar, I’d bring you home in a heartbeat. I feel like a real lucky son of a bitch that someone as young and pretty as you has any interest in an old guy like me.” He lifts one of your legs and gently kisses the inside of your ankle, the sweetness of it making you melt a little.

“Oh, I’m very interested in you.”

“Is that so?” he asks and spreads open your legs. He crawls over you, and you lie back, Joel nestling his hips between your thighs for you to feel how hard he is as he dips his head, kissing up the column of your throat—the nerves in your stomach flutter wildly.

“Yes,” you whisper and need to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso to press your palms against the warm skin on his shoulders—his body shudders, a rumbling groan coming from his chest.

You squeak in surprise when his lips are suddenly on yours, kissing you hard.

He takes over all of your senses—he’s all you see, he’s all you feel, he’s all you taste, he’s all you hear, he’s all you smell. It’s him, and him alone—his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his weight on top of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, moaning as he takes over your very world, reveling in this feeling of being wanted.

His lips leave yours, both of you breathing a little heavier. His teeth gently sink into your chin before kissing along the underside of your jaw.

He speaks into your skin, his words muffled, “I’m very interested in you, too. I shouldn’t be, but I am.” His mouth ends up at your ear, and he quietly asks, “Can I eat your pussy?”

“Oh.” The question surprises you. “I’m usually the one who asks. Do you want me to blow you first?” There was always a quid pro quo when it came to oral.

His head lifts to look you in the eye.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?”

“You’ve been with some truly shitty boys.”

It makes you laugh, and he smiles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” you reply.

“It should always be ladies first—may I?”

What a gentleman.

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” he says and pecks you on the lips.

He doesn’t immediately move off of you, and it catches you off guard. Instead, his mouth blazes a trail, kissing down your body—your neck, your chest, and your belly. This is when your self-consciousness rears its ugly head. Joel is getting up close and personal with your imperfections—your scars, stretch marks, cellulite, all those little details you normally kept hidden in the safety of dark rooms or under shirts when you hooked up with someone. Now, you’re basically naked, the lamp is on, and he can see it all, which makes you feel uneasy.

He kisses just above your belly button, then below it, going lower and lower until he places one last kiss on your panties, over your mound. He sits up on his knees, tracing the lines and curves of your thighs and hips with his large palms while he drinks you in as you lie there—you have to fight the urge to cover yourself, unable to meet his gaze.

The silence is broken when Joel speaks. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your eyes seek out his face where you don’t find any deception, but you have to ask, “Really?”

“Really.” He nods. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His attention goes to the apex of your thighs, and the pink of his tongue swipes along his bottom lip as if he’s imagining how you’ll taste. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the visible damp spot on your underwear, his other hand squeezing his cock that’s straining in his jeans.

“I bet you have the prettiest pussy, too,” he says, and gets his fingers under the elastic waistband on your panties, pulling them down and off your legs, the air cool against your now bared skin. He shuffles back a little, then bends forward, spreading your lips open with two fingers as his face hovers over it. You think your heart might beat out of your chest with how fast it’s thudding, your skin feeling so hot. “I fuckin’ knew it, such a pretty pussy,” Joel murmurs. He circles your clit with his thumb, and the pleasure has every muscle in your body tensing and your eyes closing. “You’re gonna taste so good.”

He loudly groans as he drags the flat of his tongue along your cunt, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Oh, god,” you moan, your body squirming at how good it feels.

Joel has to pin down your hips with an arm across them to keep you still, his face buried in your pussy. He goes straight to the source, lapping at your entrance to taste your arousal while the tip of his perfect nose rubs against your bundle of nerves, his facial hair prickling your skin.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re fucked.

It’s not even a minute in, and you can already feel your orgasm taking shape low in your belly, the muscles beginning to wind up. If you thought the first kiss ruined you, you know you’re ruined by how eagerly he’s eating you out—who knew this could be so good? You have to wonder how you’ll ever be able to fool around with anyone else when Joel is all you’ll be able to think about or compare it to—this is the only moment doubt invades your mind. You feel like this is all a mistake, but it’s quickly squashed by how unbelievably horny and curious you are.

His mouth lifts, and you whine at its loss. “Gimme a second,” he pants. “I gotta see how tight you are.” That’s when one of his thick fingers presses to your soaked opening, and he slowly starts to push it inside.

The slight stretch makes you gasp his name, your fingers clawing at the sofa’s maroon leather.

“Christ,” Joel says. “You’re squeezin’ me. With how fuckin’ tight you are, I’d think this is your first time.”

You sit back up on your elbows and open your eyes to look at him.

“You just have massive fingers, and it’s been a while.”

His gaze meets yours as he smirks. “Well, I’m gonna loosen you up with my massive fingers, and I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. His head dips, flicking his tongue side-to-side against your clit when you feel the sudden pressure of his second digit pushing into you—there’s even more of a stretch and the delicious feeling of being full. You fall back on the couch, tangling your fingers into the brown waves of hair on his head, moans falling unbidden from your lips. His digits crook as they pump in and out of you, sliding along your upper wall when they press into something that elicits white-hot pleasure, making you keen and wiggle under the hold he has on your lower half.

Yeah, you’re totally and completely fucked.

He’s relentless with his mouth and fingers as you careen toward your end, free-falling in the throes of pleasure. He’s really going to get you off, and you think you might be in love with him. Is that crazy? Falling for the guy you absolutely should not fall for—that you can’t even have any kind of future with—because it’d ruin both of your lives, especially his.

Why does that make you want him more?

You definitely understand now why Eve ate the forbidden fruit—the temptation leads to such sweet gratification when you give in.

He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, sweeping his tongue around it, and you can hear the wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into your cunt. Your thighs are trembling—you’re so close, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re coming with an unintelligible cry. Your body seizes up, euphoria exploding out from your center, radiating to your fingers and toes. Joel removes his digits, his tongue taking their place to catch every bit of your slick he can get, groaning as he lets no drop go to waste.

You’ve never come so hard, feeling a little floaty as you ride out your high, your chest heaving heavy breaths. With how shaky your arms and legs are, you’d think you were out in the freezing cold.

Joel’s mouth comes off of you and he sits up, rubbing his hands along the outside of your legs.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says. “Was it good?”

“Was it good?” you parrot back at him and push yourself up into a sitting position. “It was more than good, Joel—oh my god, it was amazing.”

The bottom half of his face glistens in the lamplight, his shiny lips turning up in a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You still wanna fuck?”

“I think I will die if you don’t fuck me.”

He chuckles, and that’s all the answer he needs. He’s off the couch instantly, and you watch as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt and gets his jeans undone, shoving them and his boxers down his legs so fast it makes you giggle. He’s balancing on one foot, peeling off his sock, and you finally get a good look at his dick—it’s hard and bobbing between his legs, the tip flushed red and shiny from precum, and your eyes round at how big he is.

“Second thoughts?” he asks, taking off his other sock.

Your gaze rises to his, seeing he’s frowning. “No.” You shake your head. “It’s more, ‘I sure hope that thing fits inside me.’”

He crookedly smiles, his chest puffing up a little. “It’ll fit—I promise.” And he has the audacity to wink at you.

Just as quickly as he got off the sofa, he’s getting back on it, kneeling in the space between your spread thighs. His attention is on your pussy, rubbing the tip of himself against your swollen clit and through your wetness. Nerves swirl in your belly, along with arousal, his free hand giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before he’s spitting on his fingers and slicking up his cock. He notches himself at your entrance, and your heart is in your throat as you hold your breath.

“Just relax, baby,” he says. “You can take me.”

He slowly starts feeding his hard length into you, making you gasp when the fat head breaches your slick cunt, your eyes squeezing shut, your fingers digging into the couch’s leather cushions. A groan rumbles from his throat, and you answer with a drawn-out moan as he burrows his thick cock deep inside you, your tight walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. Full doesn’t even begin to describe how stuffed you are—he’s hot inside you, almost searing, and you can feel him pulsing. He bottoms out and goes completely still, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasps. “You okay?” His thumbs stroke circles on your skin.

“Yes.” It comes out as more of a squeak. “I just need a second.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Darlin’, baby, and now sweetheart when his dick is inside you? Is he trying to make you fall in love with him?

He bends at the waist, one hand on the couch holding up his weight while the other massages your breast, his lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the sparks of pleasure going straight to your pussy. Your fingers wind up in his hair; what he’s doing to you has you whimpering at how good it feels and only makes you wetter where you’re joined. He pulls each of your legs up to rest on his ribs while his mouth moves higher, kissing your sternum and up the arch of your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you squirm underneath him.

His hands end up on either side of your head, his lips leaving behind a wet streak of kisses along the hinge of your jaw to finally ghost over yours—you can feel his breaths and smell your musk. He’s so close it wouldn’t take much more for your mouths to meet.

His nose nudges yours. “Need more time?” he whispers.

Enough has passed that you don’t feel as overwhelmed. You slide your palms up his back to his shoulders.

“No,” you answer just as quietly. “You can move.”

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in as his mouth claims yours, muffling your sounds when he sets up a rhythm of long, hard strokes. You’re gone—all rational thoughts go out the window, and the only thing you can think about is how his cock is moving in and out of you. It’s so distracting you’re having trouble kissing Joel back because your brain keeps screaming, ‘so big, so full, so good.’

You’re feverishly clutching at his shoulder blades, your nails leaving crescent moon imprints and scratches you’re sure will bleed on his golden skin, Joel moaning into your mouth. It surprises you when you feel the familiar tension of another orgasm making itself known deep in your core, the pressure rising with each thrust, the angle of them causing him to slide against spots you never knew existed, and you don’t ever want this to end.

His lips leave yours, pressing his forehead to your cheek. He’s breathing hard, sweat beginning to bead on his skin as he keeps the same pace.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this pussy. Just wanna stay inside it until my dick is all it knows.”

Your legs are quivering, your body is burning up, and you can’t get enough of how fucking good this feels. One time—one time—and you’re addicted, you’re drunk on the pleasure and will do anything—anything—for this to happen again.

“It’s yours,” you gasp. “Oh, god, it’s yours!”

His lips move to your ear, huskily asking, “It’s mine, baby? Your pussy is mine? I’m fuckin’ ya that good?”

You’re so out of it and lost in the lust you start babbling, “Yes, it’s yours—fuck, ruin me,” you whine.

“That’s what you want, for me to ruin your perfect little pussy?”

“Please—make me feel it. Make me ache to have your cock inside me again. Make me yours.”

He growls, and you think you’ve said the wrong thing because he’s immediately pulling out, your eyes springing open in time to see him sit up on his knees.

His big hands grab hold of your waist. “Flip,” is all he says, and you find yourself getting manhandled onto your front, Joel tugging you up onto your hands and knees. He wastes no time sheathing himself back inside you, pushing in so deep that your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl.

Joel’s hips are flush against your ass, the full length of him seated all the way inside of you—you can’t think, your mouth open in a silent cry. He’s filling you to the absolute brim, and it becomes evident your cup has truly runneth over.

He was right, though. It did fit.

A shuddery breath escapes you. He only allows you a moment to get used to the new fullness before he’s pulling out until just the tip of him remains and snapping his hips forward hard enough it knocks the air from your lungs—this is how you learn what it’s like to really be fucked, and fucked good.

His fingers dig into the skin on your waist, pulling you back as he thrusts forward at a pace that has you lightheaded, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids each time he presses against that heavenly spot inside you.

Warmth grows in your belly, the sounds from the TV overshadowed by the filthy cacophony of skin hitting skin and the audible wetness of his cock working in and out of your used cunt—he’s grunting with each stroke, your moans stuttering from the onslaught.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust.

It’s a struggle to gather your thoughts and form a response with how good he’s fucking you.

A palm lands on the side of your ass in a loud smack, the sweet sting causing you to clench around him and whimper.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he says. “Is this what you wanted?”

All you can gasp out is a single word. “Yes!”

“Am I fuckin’ you good?”

“Yes!”

He’s pounding into you at a near-brutal pace, the fire inside you only getting hotter as each second passes.

“Look at me,” he orders.

It takes everything in you to turn your head and look over your shoulder. Joel is a sight to behold—a flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, the sweat on his skin making it glisten under the lamp’s light, and his hair sticking wetly to his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed over, his jaw clenched.

He slows, his gaze on yours.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The moment your answer leaves your lips, he’s blanketing your back, holding himself up with a hand on the couch, the other going under you to palm your breast and tweak your stiff nipple with his fingers.

He lightly bites your earlobe, his facial hair scratching your cheek when he kisses it.

“I’m gonna make you come,” he says through heavy breaths. “Then I’m gonna fuck you full of me—you want that?”

A shiver moves through you, and you gulp.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His hand smooths down your front over your stomach to between your legs, where he starts circling your clit with two fingers. It’s like a live wire along your spine, electricity sparking in your core—that added to the sensations of his cock splitting you open and pushing in and out of you has you rocketing toward your release.

“You gonna come for me?” His hot breaths fan over your ear. “You gonna let me feel you come all over my cock? Come on, let me have it—come for me.”

Joel’s bent over you, fucking into you harder and faster, his fingers deliciously swirling around your throbbing bud as he grunts in your ear with every thrust, all of it driving you higher and higher to your end.

You’re so worked up that it doesn’t take much to have you falling over the edge—the muscles in your belly pull tight, your orgasm ripping through you, gasping Joel’s name. He sucks in a breath when your pussy clamps down on him, then loudly groans, continuing to fuck you through your high, and doesn’t stop—his fingers keep up their assault on your clit, and his hips snap into you in quick, short bursts that extend your high. You come, and come, and come to the point your arms give out, and your body shakes and twitches from all of the pleasure coursing through it.

When you think you can’t take any more, relief washes over you that Joel follows suit. With one last thrust, he buries himself all the way to the hilt inside you as he falls forward, his front framing your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. He comes with a dirty, rumbling groan—you feel his dick thicken and pulse, hot spurts of his spend filling you. He grinds his hips, fucking it as deep as it will go, then stills.

The movie’s ending credits are playing, hearing the music and your and Joel’s ragged breaths as you both come down. He’s at the same awkward angle as you, with your hips up and your faces down—his sweaty chest is pressed to your back, your bodies sticking together everywhere they touch. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with how your limbs tremble, you’re not entirely sure you can even move.

You asked him to ruin you, and oh boy, did he deliver—you’re absolutely, positively ruined. It kills you that after whatever this night is, you’ll have to go back to subpar sex with guys who couldn’t find the clit if they were given a map and detailed directions. This is the second time tonight that you fear you’ve made a grave mistake hooking up with Joel, and the post-sex clarity is not helping the situation at all.

What were you thinking?

That’s easy; you weren’t. Or, at the very least, you weren’t thinking with your brain. Your pussy took the lead on this one, and it looks like she’s gotten you into a bit of a situation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Joel’s arm wraps around your middle, and he turns you two onto your sides, the couch just barely wide enough to fit you both.

“Tha’s better,” Joel slurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. His hand over your stomach feels around until he finds your smaller one, lacing your fingers together and holding it to your chest—oh, he’s cuddling with you. It’s unexpected and nice. You close your eyes and enjoy this taste of intimacy.

Many minutes pass before he mumbles something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry,” you start and are immediately embarrassed by how hoarse and scratchy your voice sounds from all the sounds you made tonight. You clear your throat and try again, “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

He turns his face so it’s out of your hair.

“I asked if you wanna stay over,” he says.

You smile. “Are you getting forgetful, Joel? You said I could stay over when I got here.”

“Fuckin’ smartass,” he grumbles, and you giggle. “What I meant was, do you wanna stay in my room? With me,” he clarifies.

“Only if you’re okay that I sleep naked—I’m not wearing my dress to bed.”

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d be naked.” He kisses your shoulder. “But if you’re more comfortable wearin’ somethin’, I can get you one of my t-shirts—it’s no big deal.”

“It baffles me that you’re single.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you’re incredibly sweet, amazing in bed, a great father, very handsome, hardworking, and just an all-around catch. If I had the opportunity, and you know, there wasn’t the elephant in the room—” The fact he’s much older than you and one of your dad’s best friends. “—I’d date you in a heartbeat. If you ever give dating a shot again, you’re going to make one lucky woman very happy.”

“Fuck,” Joel groans, letting go of your hand to press his palm to his face. “What the hell am I doin’?”

That makes your stomach drop, and you frown—he’s regretting everything, and you can’t blame him. The post-sex clarity is a real bitch sometimes.

“Stressing for no reason,” you reply. You’re pretty sure you can walk, so you get up from the sofa, ignoring how wobbly your legs feel and his come leaking down your thigh. “Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask, looking toward the floor for your clothes. “You let me stay the night ‘cause you were worried about me driving home in the dark.” You carefully bend down to pick up your thong, followed by your bra and dress. “We watched Die Hard,” you continue, straightening to stand. “Then turned in for the night to our respective bedrooms. You’re a real stand-up guy for caring so much about your friend’s daughter’s safety.”

You can’t even look at him, focusing instead on the TV where the Pearl Harbor DVD’s menu is on screen.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Tryin’ to pretend nothin’ happened.”

“You clearly wish nothing happened, so nothing happened—where’s the bathroom?” You need to clean up, and you’re tempted to just leave altogether.

“Up the stairs, second door on the right—when the hell did I say I wished nothin’ happened?”

“You didn’t have to. Your ‘what the hell am I doin’?’ was enough for me to get it.” You hug your clothes closer to your body. “Anyways, thanks for tonight. I think I’m just gonna use the bathroom and get out of here. I don’t want you to worry, so I’ll stay at that cheap motel by the highway.” The sign said it was twenty-something dollars a night, and you can swing that. You start heading toward the stairs.

“Hey, stop.” You don’t. You keep walking, willing the unshed tears in your eyes not to fall.

Why are you so upset? You’re well aware that this can only be a one-time thing. It was something fun and sexy where you got to fuck the older, unattainable guy you’ve been crushing on for a while. It wasn’t anything serious, and couldn’t be anything serious, because there’s no future for you two together. Not when he’s a good friend of your father’s. That kills any chance of having a relationship with Joel.

What hurts is he regrets it and wishes it never happened—you’re a mistake, and who wants to be someone’s mistake?

His heavy footsteps sound behind you. “Darlin’, stop,” he says again, and you continue ignoring him. Fingers latch around your bicep and lightly tug. “Please, stop for a second. Talk to me.” Finally, you do as he’s requested, standing still in front of the staircase. He turns you to look at him in his big brown eyes, his hands holding your arms.

“I don’t wish nothin’ happened,” he says. “You were talkin’ about how if things were different, you’d date me, but since they are the way they are, you won’t. I was thinkin’ to myself ‘what the hell am I doin’ wishin’ you’d change your mind,’ when I know it’s for the best.”

“Oh—really?”

Hope swells in your chest, butterflies fluttering around in your tummy.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Tell me you want nothin’ more to do with me, and I’ll grab you a towel and some of my clothes so you can wash up and retire to the guest room unless you’re truly set on stayin’ in a motel. In that case, I’ll pay for your room somewhere safer and much nicer, so I know you’ll be okay. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and I’ll take you up to my bedroom so we can shower, either together or separately, whatever you’re comfortable with. Then we can get into my bed where we can talk and figure things out.”

It sounds like he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, either, and that makes you so happy you let your clothes fall to the floor to throw your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. Joel groans, his arm sliding behind your back, hugging you closer to him, his other hand cradling your cheek. Suddenly, he’s backing you up until your heels hit the first step, and he guides you to sit on a higher one, Joel kneeling on a lower stair to be at the right height that his hips slot between your thighs when he lays you back. He licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

With how good he made you feel tonight, how wanted, you need more of him. There’s a looming fear in the back of your mind that this is too good to be true—that you’ll never be with him like this again, which makes you desperate for him. Your hand snakes its way between your bodies, taking his half-hard cock into your palm, slowly stroking it—a low rumble comes from the back of Joel’s throat. He gets his hand to the juncture of your thighs, sliding his fingers through the puffy lips of your sex, gathering your arousal and his come on his fingertips to rub at your swollen clit.

“You’re mine,” he says into your lips.

“I’m yours,” you answer.

This is how you end up fucking on the stairs, Joel thrusting into you at a pace that has your toes curled and your fingers gripping his ass—your spine tingles from his mouth exploring your neck, mapping out the spots that make you gasp and moan, and you’re in heaven.

A door slams shut on the other side of the railing, and your eyes fly open.

“Hey, Asshole!” a man calls.

Joel’s hand covers your mouth, and you watch the intruder walk through the dining room to the kitchen without seeing you.

“I brought over pizza so you can stop bein’ a sad and lonely sonofabitch!”

Joel immediately pulls out and gets off you, using his strength to help you flip over. “Upstairs,” he whispers, tapping you on the hip, and you go as quickly and quietly as you can with Joel following.

You make it to the second-story landing, and he grabs your hand, tugging you all the way down the hall into what you know is his bedroom by how it smells like him. He closes the door and locks it before beelining to his dresser, roughly pulling out one drawer from which he grabs a burgundy t-shirt, then another that he gets a pair of stretchy gray sweatpants.

“Is this a dress?!” Is yelled from downstairs. “Do you have a girl over?! Who’d wanna fuck your sorry ass?!”

Surprisingly, the clothes in Joel’s hands are not for him; he shoves them into your arms and ushers you over to his bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” he says, flicking on the light, the fan automatically turning on. “It’s Tommy. Stay in here, and I’ll kick him out.” Obnoxiously loud footsteps are coming up the stairs, and he has to take a deep breath, his eyes to the sky like he’s praying God will smite his brother right this second. “Lord, give me strength,” he breathes.

“Where would you even meet a girl?!” Tommy asks from the hallway. “All you do is work—you never go out.”

Joel pecks you on the lips. “I’ll be right back—stay in here,” he tells you again, and this time, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

There’s banging on the bedroom door, and your ears perk up as you put on the clothes.

“Go home, Tommy,” he says.

“Not until I know who this pretty dress belongs to.”

“Give me that—it’s none of your fuckin’ business. Leave.”

“Come on, Joel—we know the same people. Did you finally give in to Nikki? She’s wanted to go out with you for a long fuckin’ time.”

“No, and it’s still none of your fuckin’ business who I have in the house I pay for. So, get goin’, or I’m gonna make you go.”

“You can be a real dick, Joel. Why are you bein’ so fuckin’ secretive?”

“Do I ask about who you take home from the bar?”

“No, but—”

“Exactly,” Joel interrupts. “I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you what I do in mine, so leave, Tommy—I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“With how fuckin’ grouchy you are, I don’t think you got laid at all—I’m gonna get goin’ ‘cause you clearly need the company of a woman. Bye, mystery woman with the pretty dress hidin’ in Joel’s bathroom!” he yells. “Hopefully you can cheer this fucker up! Enjoy the pizza!”

It goes quiet, and you think Joel left the room, too. You can’t go anywhere, so you decide to take in your surroundings—the bathroom is cleaner than you’d expect from a single man, you have to put the toilet seat down when you pee, and as you’re washing your hands, you notice there’s only one toothbrush in a cup.

You know you shouldn’t snoop, but you pull open the medicine cabinet and find an extra tube of toothpaste, some Tylenol, Ibuprofen, a thing of pain relief cream, then a shelf with a few medicine bottles that intrigues you—prescription pain pills, antidepressants, and heartburn medication. No red flags, but you’re a little worried about how much pain he’s in. You close the cabinet, and soft knocking on the bathroom door makes you jump.

“You can come out,” Joel’s muffled voice says. “He’s gone.”

Walking over to the door, you open it, Joel leaning against the doorframe in a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants he must’ve put on before talking to Tommy.

He sighs. “So, that was my brother.”

“Seems nice—if I remember correctly, he’s younger, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains how annoying he is.”

He smiles, and an amused huff leaves him. “Yeah, he’s annoyin’ alright.”

“We have the house to ourselves?”

“We do—I walked him out myself.”

You grin. “Wonderful.” You grab a fistful of his shirt. “Because I think you said something about us showering together, and I’d like to do that right now, then go eat pizza—I’ve somehow worked up an appetite,” you tell him and pull him forward; he happily comes your way with a smirk.

“Worked up an appetite, huh?” he asks, his eyes on your mouth.

“Yes. No clue how.”

He closes the distance, his lips almost touching yours, when he replies, “Let me remind you how,” and kisses you.

An hour later, you’re walking down the stairs clean and in your borrowed clothes.

“Can we eat then go to bed?” you ask, through a yawn. “I had classes today, and that long ass drive, plus all the sex. I’m so damn tired.”

Joel’s behind you in just his sweatpants.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, too. That sounds good to me.”

The only lights on downstairs are the lamps in the living room. You walk into the dark kitchen, Joel flipping on the light as he follows, and you head for the stove where the pizza is, popping open the box to see it’s pepperoni.

“I’ll grab us some plates,” Joel says, rubbing your upper arms. He kisses the top of your head before stepping over to a cabinet.

Turning around, you’re about to ask Joel where the cups are when the dining room light comes on, Tommy standing by the switch. You gasp in shock; Joel’s immediate reaction is to grab a knife from the knife block and get between you and the unwanted visitor—it takes him a second to recognize it’s his brother.

“Goddammit, Tommy!” Joel shouts and slams the butcher knife onto the countertop. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?!”

“No,” his brother answers, shaking his head, and he looks a little too amused. “But you sure the hell are! Her?!” He points at you and has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, god, Joel,” he says through his glee and grabs the back of a chair, his other hand on his chest as he chuckles. “Her daddy is gonna kill you—you’re fucked!”

Joel sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, perching a palm on his hip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he says. “I’m a dead man walking.”

“You are!” Tommy calms down, and his shit-eating grin annoys you. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he asks. “I mean, I know what you were thinkin’. I just can’t get over you not only robbin’ the fuckin’ cradle, but bangin’ your best buddy’s daughter. How long has whatever this is—” He gestures at you both. “—been goin’ on?”

“It just happened tonight—I don’t need you lecturin’ me on right and wrong. I know it’s a fucked up situation.”

A fucked up situation? Ouch. The comment has you crossing your arms over your chest, staring at the floor.

“Fucked up is right, and I’ve got no fuckin’ idea how you’re gonna get out of it. Her daddy finds out about this, and he’s gonna shoot you deader than dead.”

“I told you I didn’t want you lecturin’ me.”

Tommy puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m not lecturin’. I’m just statin’ the facts. I wanna make sure you know this thing between you two could get you killed. You’ve got a daughter, Joel—what would you do in this situation?”

“Woah,” you interrupt, moving to stand beside Joel—Tommy’s comment about Sarah is a fucking nuke you need to try and hopefully defuse. “First of all, I just want to point out that I am a consenting adult and can fuck whoever I want. Second, I need to set the record straight and say that my dad isn’t going to kill anyone. He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out, but he isn’t going to commit murder because, truth be told, he’s never given a fuck about my life choices. I’d also like to add that this is kinda his fault for not having me visit more often because now Joel and I are pretty much strangers, and this whole thing isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“It’s still pretty bad, honey,” Tommy replies, his attention turning to you, smiling.

“Maybe, but it’s also nobody’s business who I fuck.”

“Sure, but this person you fucked is one of your daddy’s best friends whose—no offense—way too old for you.”

“Why does everyone keep callin’ me old?” Joel grumbles.

Tommy looks at his brother. “‘Cause you are, you old man.” He suddenly looks like he just realized something. “Wait a goddamn minute,” Tommy says. “Joel, are you havin’ a midlife crisis? You’re around the age people have those, right? It’d make sense why you’d risk your life to fuck her.”

“Get out, Tommy,” Joel replies, pointing toward the front door. “I’ve had enough of you.”

His younger brother pouts. “‘Cause I called you old?”

“Out.”

“Fine.” He slowly starts walking toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “I’ll get out of your hair so the two of you can enjoy the rest of your night. Bye!”

The door loudly closes as he leaves.

Well, you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen now. Between the comment about Sarah and the other things that had been said, you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel ends this. You might as well cut your losses and get it over with to save yourself from more heartbreak.

Your eyes are on the ground, the first tear falling down your cheek. “After all that, I know whatever this is is probably over,” you quietly say. “But is there a chance I can still sleep in your bed with you tonight? And if you’re willing, have you hold me?”

He turns and pulls you into his arms.

“Yeah, you can sleep with me,” he answers and kisses your hair. “But I’m gonna need you to stop.”

You lean back to look at him with watery eyes. “Stop what?”

A sad smile is on his lips. “Jumpin’ to conclusions without talkin’ to me. You’ve already got one foot out the door, and I haven’t even opened it.”

“It’s just everything Tommy said.”

He lightly squeezes your biceps. “Tommy was bein’ a little shit. You were right when you said this isn’t as bad as it sounds, but you gotta be honest with me about somethin’.”

“What?” you ask.

His hands come up to hold your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that have fallen. “Are you positive your daddy won’t kill me? I’ve got Sarah to think about, and even though I like you a lot, I’m not gonna risk dyin’ to be happy.”

The sweetest man and the best father.

You think about it for a second, and the sad truth is you can’t imagine your dad killing anyone for you—he doesn’t love you that much. He doesn’t love you to the same degree that Joel loves Sarah. With how easily Joel grabbed a knife to protect you, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d kill for his daughter without hesitation.

“He’ll be pissed off, but he isn’t going to kill you. We also don’t need to tell him anything unless this turns into something. We can keep it to ourselves for now.”

He hums in agreement. “You know, if you wanted, you could start comin’ here to do your laundry...”

You smile. “How will you explain that to Sarah?”

“That I’m helpin’ you out, which is true. Plus, I’ve got the guest room.”

“Uh huh, the guest room that I’ll sleep in?”

“Yes.” He nods.

“Alone?”

“I sleepwalk.”

You snort. “Stop it.” You playfully push his chest. “Sarah is not gonna believe you sleepwalked into the guest room.”

He snatches your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. “Who said anythin’ about Sarah knowin’ I’m in the guest room, or you bein’ in my room for that matter, while she’s sleepin’? There are also nights like tonight she spends with friends.”

“You really want me to hang out here?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have company that isn’t Tommy.”

“I believe that. As long as I’m not a bother, I’ll do my laundry here.”

He smiles. “Not a bother, and you can wash your clothes tomorrow and stay another night. You could even stay over Sunday, too, since you have Monday off—you’re more than welcome.”

You loop your arms around his neck. “Yes, Joel. I will spend my long weekend with you.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours. “Good.”

Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #wheresarizona writes #joel miller fanfiction

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ozzgin · 5 months ago

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It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.

#mermaid x reader #merman x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia #monster fic #monster imagine #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere monster

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flimsy-roost · 2 years ago

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I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

#actually autistic #autistic #audhd #neurodivergent #nd #long post #actuallyautistic

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endearng · 6 months ago

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Stranger Danger

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: The power goes out. You and your daughter leave your apartment to find some light. Luckily, a stranger floods your being with it. WC: 2.1k Warnings: reader is scared of the dark; light mentions to stranger danger; it's a meet cute (guilty). Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I couldn't sleep so I decided to finish and post this one. I hope you guys enjoy it. Totally planning on a sequel for these three. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

Spencer Reid was the most unnoticed and absent tenant of his building. His apartment was almost eerily quiet during most of the time, because of two main reasons. One, he was out of town often because of his job, of course, and, two, he didn't do much when he was there. He was a man who kept to himself whose idea of fun consisted of reading classic Literature. And don't take it the wrong way; not being around much didn't mean that he disliked his place, it was quite the opposite. He thoroughly enjoyed having a space to call his own, to organize, to cramp up the areas just the way he liked it. It gave him a sense of comfort, even though it felt lonely more often than not.

One of his neighbors had a child, he could tell that much because of the noises he would hear when he was around — while playing or the whining when she wanted something, after all, that's how kids usually behave. Spencer didn't mind them, of course, he was away for most of the time, so it wouldn't be rational to be bothered by a child acting like one. It was like being annoyed by an adult acting out, which did happen, but adults were supposed to be more self-aware than kids.

Although fairly acquainted with the routine of the family by putting pieces together from time to time (something his brain couldn't help but do, almost automatically), he had never seen their faces. He knew their voices and could even tell their footsteps apart. Sometimes, he would think about them. How did their day go, if everything was alright, if they ever addressed uncomfortable topics, if they ever had problems like his own frequently faced after they discovered about his mother's condition. He was acutely aware of the fact that those thoughts were the results of some sort of projection, almost like those neighbors were his personal novel to read and he longed to relate to its characters, because so much of his childhood had been ripped from him in ways he worried he could never recover from and terribly soon — he didn't remember ever knowing the sense of a loving, ordinary family like they apparently did and lived.

Today was a day off. He sat on his balcony, the summer breeze kissing his skin and messing up his hair, writing a letter to his mother. He tried his best to remain true to the commitment of making her a part of his life as a way to ease the guilt and sadness that gnawed at him for not being capable of caring for her properly by himself. He dearly missed Diana, he was his mother, after all. The only one who stood by him, even if not at her best, the only family he had left.

Satisfied with his writing, he finished the letter with a promise that he'd visit her soon. As he was folding the paper to put it inside the envelope, everything went black. The light left completely and, for a moment, he thought he had fainted because of the suddenness of it. That's when he heard the shrieking coming from the apartment next door and with a small chuckle, he deduced it was a power outage.

"Oookay, we don't need to panic, Oli, right? The light will be back in a few moments," he heard from the balcony next to his. It was the mother's voice, surely.

"Mommy, 'm scared," the little girl, Olivia, cried.

"I know, baby, but mommy is right here," was the answer provided, followed by the sound of a loud and exaggerated kiss. He heard the little girl giggle. "That's better, sweetie. Come on, let's talk. How are you feeling?"

"'m scared, but happy that you're here, mommy," she said.

"I'm happy to be with you, too, my girl," the woman cooed.

Spencer all but listened to the sweet interaction close to him. Unbeknownst to the woman, he held it even closer to his heart. It was one of the purest forms of love he had ever witnessed and he was grateful for them both during that time.

You, on the other hand, felt panic rising in your chest as the minutes passed and the dark still engulfed you, your little girl's voice the only comfort soothing you from time to time. Olivia was really scared of the dark, so as time went by, you tried to assure her that there was nothing to be scared of, and even if she was, she shouldn't feel embarrassed, that it was okay to express those feelings and that you were there for her. You were glad that she trusted you enough to believe those empty words, because you were terrified of the dark.

It all started as a kid. Not knowing what could be lurking in the shadows absolutely freaked you out and admiting it out loud was mortifying, so you did your best to hide it. If your daughter's reaction was anything to go by, you were doing a good job, so you relished on that.

Right now, it was becoming more and more difficult to play the part of the brave, fearless mother. So you started singing, soon enough followed by your daughter.

Super trouper lights are gonna blind me

But I won't feel blue like I always do

'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you

Olivia giggled. It was one of her favorite songs, you had introduced it to her when she was too shy before one of her recitals. She had only memorized the chorus, of course. You were forever thankful for having that song engraved in your memory, because now the footage you had from said recital had Olivia showing all her moves looking right at you, basically all of the time.

"Oli, what do you think of going to the lobby? Maybe we could find some friends there." You suggested, which made Spencer's interest rise. Could it be a chance for him to finally address faces to the family he almost felt a part of?

For someone so bright, he truly didn't know if he was overstepping or being obsessive, it just made sense to him. Like aforementioned, he felt like it was a novel.

He heard little hands clapping excitedly and heard the next door opening and then closing right after. He used the time to think if he was behaving like the creeps he profiled for a living, but decided to give himself some credit by realizing he didn't mean to do no harm, he was just curious.

As time went by, the lobby soon became crowded with people and basically everyone had a flashlight on. It made Spencer laugh internally. He searched the area for a woman and a little kid, but no success. The room was so packed it almost felt suffocating and for a moment he felt ridiculous for considering searching a room for someone whose face he wasn't familiar with. What was he thinking? His mother always said that his job should stay out of his personal life and he had yet to learn that. So, he decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air.

What he didn't expect was to find a woman and a little girl sitting on the benches just outside the apartment complex. Their voices sounded exactly like the ones he had been noticing for some time now. He froze, unable to look away from them.

The girl had her mother's features. They were so scarily alike that it felt like he was watching the same person during different periods of her life, but simultaneously, as if he was on some sort of time travel.

He was ripped out of his daydreams when the little girl came running towards him, "Look, mommy! He has a letter! You send them to grandpa!"

Although very embarrassed by your daughter's sudden run, you jumped on your feet to catch up with her. You didn't know that man, so it only made sense to be very alert and to keep your child away from him. As you neared the two of them, you placed your hands on Oli's shoulders, who was standing in front of him, you took in his appearance. He was tall, a little lanky and had long-ish hair, cut just around his shoulders. He had dress pants and a shirt loosely buttoned up as well. His eyes were searching your face, as if he was scanning you as well. The poor lighting didn’t help either of you, but you two were almost touching with your eyes, if such a thing were possible, from how much you were looking, almost admiring each other.

Amid his thoughts from earlier, he didn't even realize he was still holding the letter he had written that afternoon.

"Hi," you greeted, a little awkwardly, "I'm sorry. She’s still learning about stranger danger. Or bothering people." You chuckled, nervously.

What the hell have you just said?

"Actually, stranger danger did the most harm to this country in terms of crimes like that. I remember them coming to my classroom. It was Officer Friendly with stranger danger coloring books. Taught a whole generation about a scary man in a trench coat, hiding behind a tree. Then we learned that strangers are only a fraction of the offenders out there." He rambled.

What the hell has he just said?

You knitted your eyebrows together, perceiving his comment as peculiar, to say the least. "Well, yeah."

"Sorry about that. I tend to ramble about some topics. I'm not a creep, I swear. I work with the FBI, I know it can be odd to start a conversation like that. Well, your daughter did," he chuckled, albeit tensely, "My name's Spencer. Spencer Reid. I live in this building. Third floor."

You laughed a little over his rambling, relief flooding your body once you realized that he was just a regular guy. A regular guy that worked for the FBI. You told him your name and Olivia's as he offered you a friendly handshake, "Me and Olivia live there, too."

"MOMMY!" Olivia shouted, sounding exasperated and thrilled at the same time. "He is the ghost neighbor!"

"Ghost neighbor?" He asked, shocked and a little humored.

You laughed at your daughter and the confusion adorning his beautiful features. "Oli, don't scream. We already talked about it," you addressed your daughter, firmly but gently. Spencer was in awe. "It's just an inside joke between the kids. You're almost never home and every once in a while they hear some sounds coming from your apartment. They say a ghost lives there. They even put up some decorations on your front door on Halloween, but I decided to remove it in case it bothered you."

Olivia laughed like someone had spilled a funny secret and Spencer quickly joined her. You chuckled, even though you were more puzzled than anything by the fact that your daughter had approached, so confidently, a stranger. It made you both terrified and happy. Terrified because he could be a weirdo. Happy because she was able to come out of her shell. Even happier to see her coming out of her shell with a nice stranger.

"It’s alright. I wouldn’t have minded. I love Halloween.” He said, addressing you. You could tell then that, at least, he wasn’t someone bitter. “Sorry to disappoint, Miss Olivia. It's just me moving some chairs every now and then. But I won't tell if you won't."

"I won't!" She squealed, and Spencer smiled. You couldn't draw your eyes away from their exchange. Olivia balled her small fists on your skirt, pulling you out of your reverie, so you crouched down at her height. She whispered something in your ear. Spencer watched, curiously, as you nodded at her.

"She said you need a pinky promise." You told him once you were standing again. Spencer gladly crouched and stuck out his pinky towards Olivia, who intertwined her own with his.

"Now we can't tell anybody." He said, with a genuine smile on her face.

"Mommy, you hafta promise it too." Olivia said, grabbing your hand and pulling your pinky toward Spencer's hand, linking them together. You felt the heat rising to your face.

The power came back. Suddenly, your pinky was linked to a very handsome man who you had just met because of your one-of-a-kind daughter. It made you nervous, because the light highlighting his beautiful features in all the right places made you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. By looking at him alone, you thought of words related to the light four times. As he looked back at you with a gorgeous smile on his face, you finally understood why people associate light with feelings.

divider by @cafekitsune <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x singlemom!reader #singlemom!reader

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notjustjavierpena · 3 months ago

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Applied Physics pt. i

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Long awaited smutty piece with a planned sequel. I hope you enjoy, ya filthy animal 💅🎀💖

Summary: It’s the 60s, you’re three weeks behind on a deadline, and your professor, Doctor Reed Richards, makes you face the consequences.

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, science talk, Reed has powers, dub con, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, implied dacryphilia, dirty talking, sub drop, aftercare, stern Reed 🥵

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/161199763

Applied Physics

Dr. Reed N. Richards always wears a tweed jacket with elbow patches that show off his broad shoulders and give him an irresistible swagger. He teaches physics at your college part-time - when he is not out saving the world - and he is equally terrifying as he is warm, a combination of traits that you have learned can actually coexist but only after meeting him.

You have been wanting him since he walked into the classroom that morning many months ago, carrying a black leather binder seemingly filled with little to nothing since everything appears to be stored in his brain.

He has standards, you find, and traditional ways of doing things that somehow emphasize his love for the delicacy of science. For instance, he only grades papers with a fountain pen and therefore expects every assignment to be handwritten instead of done on a typewriter which is tedious and difficult for those who don’t possess a steady hand. The scary part of him comes out when he says he simply won’t grade the papers that aren’t turned in as he wants them to be. The warm part shows itself when he later makes a self-deprecating joke about knocking over whiskey during his grading.

The idea of the paper smelling like his cologne or even, if you are lucky, has a stain of his favorite liquor, makes you hand in each assignment whilst the ink is still drying on the paper. Perhaps you will be the first one to receive notes and feedback from him if you turn in your work before its deadline.

You imagine him hunched over a desk, pen barely able to fit in his rough hand. He wears something casual, maybe even has taken off that jacket, scratching his beard and sipping his drink whilst smiling to himself as he reads words that come from your mind. Your mind makes him smile to himself, makes him single you out from the rest of your class because you are special and he knows this. It’s the image you imagine the first time you come whilst thinking about him, shower head between your thighs and legs against the tiled wall in the shared bathroom at the boarding house you reside in.

When you do finally get your first essay back from him, you read all the comments in the margins during your lunch. You lick a drop of juice from an apple away from your lower lip as your eyes skim over a scribbled good or well done, trying to find an excuse to read more into the way he looks at you when you talk during class. You made him laugh once, that must mean something, right? He clearly has your sense of humor, the same ways of applying theory and reasoning.

You know that it is hardly rational what you are doing, projecting all these things onto him when, in reality, you only know of him what you have seen during his lectures and office hours. Yet you have found yourself noticing the way he smiles faintly when you correct one of your fellow students during group work, and it has spurred you on to become even more insufferable to your classmates only to get his attention. His approval too, if you are lucky.

Yet despite all this, here you are with an assignment running three weeks late, your procrastination having reached its limits and your excuses to your professor wearing thin. It’s a challenging state to be in when you’re so used to ranking your popularity with Dr. Richards higher than everyone else on this course. Sure, his attention is nice when it is rooted in praise but you don’t know if the kind that will follow this lecture, the deadline you’d agreed upon for your paper being yesterday, is the kind that will satisfy something in you like the small smiles have.

You keep bouncing your leg beneath your desk as you wait for Dr. Richards to enter the lecture hall with that cool aura about him and let the fast-paced lecture begin. If anyone sees you, they will recognize it as an itching to suck up to him once more but in reality, it is the first time you’ve been in the room with a nervous tic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets as he finally arrives and you find yourself jolting with nerves at the fact that he is finally here and inevitable doom is just around the corner. It doesn’t make it better that his brown eyes sweep over the crowd in a hurry until he spots you, his gaze full of concentration until he gains eye contact with you for less than a second. You sit up straighter at the way he measures you and the subconscious movement of your leg stills completely. Frustratingly, the man keeps talking as if nothing happened.

After several attempts to regain your composure, you realize that you have completely missed his introduction to today’s lecture and while trying to ignore the thrill that is simmering beneath your anxiety, you scramble to start taking notes. It’s not to show him that you can go back to being his favorite student but rather a necessity to keep yourself from being three weeks further behind.

You power through the lecture even with your fuzzy mind, scribbling things down and making sure to appreciate the privilege it is to be taught by one of the greatest minds to ever live. This is even if he, multiple times, falls into the usual pattern of diving headfirst into multi-layered explanations of different phenomena and concepts, droning on as if none of you and the rest of your classmates exist to him anymore.

You pretend to keep up when he does this but even you must admit that he loses you. However, you know for a fact that it is not out of disinterest that you stop listening but rather your mind focusing on something else when his words become too difficult to follow. Instead, you end up mapping out the length of his gorgeous neck, the beauty spot where his collar ends. It is enough to leave your mouth dry, but not enough to drag your mind off the scolding you’ll get soon.

When the lecture comes to an end, you have psyched yourself enough to stupidly get up and try to follow the rest of the students out. They trickle out hurriedly though and you find yourself at the back of the school of people heading for the door.

“Hold it right there,” Reed’s voice travels through the room and hits you right in the back, making you falter in your step. Your last name rolls off his tongue with the same kind of confidence and composure that you’d tried to conjure up just an hour ago.

“Sir, I was just—“ you rest your hand on the doorknob to signal that you are leaving but you know already that you have lost the fight to exit the room.

You hear it before you see it; the faint and strange rustling of fabric as something wooshes closer. Suddenly, your teacher’s stretched-out arm moves past you like you have seen it do on television and then his hand attached to said arm splays flat on the door. He closes it with a soft click while you hold your breath.

Slowly, it retracts back to normal and you follow it with your eyes by glancing over your shoulder. Time stands still for a moment at the sight because while Reed Richards has stretched his body multiple times in the past, without much thought behind it and much to his students' shock, he never puts anyone in the position to experience it firsthand.

“Sir, I—“

“Come here,” he says quietly.

You grab the strap of your bag tightly and make your way to the desk where he sits. You decide to beat him to his reprimand, talking even if your voice shakes at his disapproving stare, “I’m sorry I missed this week’s deadline.”

“This week? Try the last three,” he calmly corrects you, “You have done your research on force, impact, and energy transfer in non-elastic collisions, have you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ve still not turned anything in? Why?”

“I've been overwhelmed with coursework and–” You trail off when he raises a brow. He is still sitting down but even so, you feel like you are shrinking underneath his authority. You find it hard to believe that anything out your mouth right now will be taken seriously when you have let him down three times already but you try to reassure him anyway, “It won’t happen again, I promise,”

“No, it won’t,” he agrees as he pushes himself to stand. He drags the chair away from the table as if he thinks it is in his way, “You’re brighter than most, so I don’t believe I need to remind you what happens if you keep slacking.”

“No, sir, I’m aware.”

“I mean, we’ve already moved way past force dynamics and energy exchange on this year’s curriculum, so you’re wasting my time,” he goes on with an annoyed sigh that tells you he has better things to do, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” you stare at the flooring.

“Come closer,” he orders calmly. He lets his gaze flick down to your hand clutching your bag of books, “Take out your book on core concepts.”

You follow his eyes and pull out the right book before gently letting the strap of your bag slide off your shoulder until the bag hits the floor with a soft thud. Something tells you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Place it on the desk and find the pages on Newton’s Laws,” he continues and your heart slams against your ribs at the thought of an impromptu pop quiz instead of a handed-in paper. Yes, you know these pages but in the presence of him, you’re not so sure.

Behind you, Reed has shrugged off his jacket while you were flipping through the book. He folds it neatly and hangs it over the back of the chair he was displeased with a moment ago, making sure not to crease the fabric. Then he reaches for the sleeves of the white shirt that he is wearing and rolls them up to his elbows, revealing the slightly visible veins of his forearms. Your head swims and you subtly press your thighs together, images of what you’d like him to do to you flooding your mind.

“Bend over,” he says suddenly, murmuring it almost as if he knows he shouldn’t have said it.

Your eyes widen and you glance in the door’s direction. There are so many people on the outside of this room right now but the chances of someone walking in are slim since lectures are rarely started at this hour of the afternoon, “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to understand anything. I want you to put your palms on either side of the book and bend over,” he elaborates and clearly notices your hesitation, the direction of your eyes. His arm stretches out in front of you again, snaking its way past the rows of chairs until it reaches the door once more. He locks it, the soft click of it mixing with your unsteady breathing, and then he pulls down the curtain in the window at the top.

When the arm smoothly retracts once more, you naturally think it will stop at his side but instead, you feel his palm on the back of your neck. His other hand joins to lay on the small of your back and then he pushes down gently to maneuver you into the position that he wants.

You exhale shakily as you place your hands on the desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips as a way to ground yourself in a moment so electric. Your body is way ahead of you, reacting to the anticipation of his next move by making a dull ache settle right between your legs. Your clit throbs, your walls flutter.

“Your paper was supposed to use Newton’s Laws as a foundation, let me make sure you know them properly,” Reed says simply while removing his hand from your lower back. His other hand, the one on the back of your neck, slips down your spine to take the previous one’s spot, leaving fire in its wake, “Recite them.”

You swallow thickly, “Newton’s First Law states that a body at rest—”

Smack.

A loud gasp leaves you at the surprise of Reed’s free hand coming down on your backside, heat spreading out underneath the fabric of your skirt where it has struck you. Your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief at what he has just done, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eyes on the book,” he commands sternly, curling his fingers slightly into the hem of your shirt, “Go on. Newton’s First Law.”

You count three whole breaths before you will yourself to face forward again, looking down at the text in front of you and trying to regain your ability to read. You swallow the lump in your throat, the letters jumbled on the page, “Uhh…”

“Concentrate,” he adds and gives you another blow, one that makes you jolt forward on the desk and send the book almost over the edge. You frantically reach for it, noticing the way your heart leaps into your throat when you consider what would have happened if it had fallen off.

You drag the book back down and try to act cool but your voice tells on you as you start to read out loud, “A-a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion—”

He spanks you again and elicits another gasp but you seem to have expected it since you don’t go flying forward. This is even if his palm leaves behind a much more painful sting this time and makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Until…” He sounds impatient.

You act immediately like a dog who is learning about action and consequences, “Until acted upon by an external force.”

“Good girl,” he praises and you don’t know why the softness of his voice makes you tear up. His broad palm traces over the spot that is warming up already and you make a show out of sighing with content.

However, the soothing touch is short-lived and you start struggling just slightly as Reed’s hand descends until he can grab the hem of your pencil skirt and roughly tug it up. He settles it just above the plumpness of your ass, swatting you to make you focus and stop squirming.

“I’m not going to fuck you so stop moving around,” he scolds and surprises you with yet another smack. It feels different now that each slap is skin-on-skin contact, sounds different too as the noise echoes through the empty lecture hall. You whine in slight disappointment, even if you have inappropriately imagined his cock in you during circumstances so different so many times.

“Second Law,” he murmurs, occupied briefly by the bruise forming on your cheek and scraping his nails across it.

“W-what?” You let out a whimper, your thighs pressing together to soothe your pulsing clit. In theory, you know what he has said but it just isn’t registering since your mind is occupied by you knowing exactly what you will be doing back home if he won’t touch you. In fact, a thrill goes through you at the thought of another blow to recall in your bed with your hand stuffed into your underwear.

“Newton’s Second Law,” he repeats with a smaller swat following. You suck in a breath to calm yourself.

“Newton’s Second Law states that the net force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration,” you say somewhat confidently, a sense of calm settling over you as you finally feel like you are getting a handle on the situation.

“Apply it to the situation you’re in right now,” he tests you. You feel your face grow hot and hesitation seizes you for a second. It takes a moment too long for him and a much sharper smack lands right on the jiggliest part of your ass, the sharpness of the pain making you moan for the first time and the noise of the blow bouncing off the walls. You almost even swear in your professor’s presence, and you would have if it weren’t for the way tears in your eyes take off the edge.

“You’ll get one more if you don’t open your mouth soon,” he adds. You’re just about to speak, about to follow orders, when he takes a step closer and presses his cock into your hip. You freeze at the size of him, a sound that can only be described as pathetic leaving you. Reed huffs out a chuckle and smacks you once more albeit slightly less maliciously.

“Y–you’re applying a force to me. Your hand is the mass and the acceleration is essentially the swing of your arm. The shorter the time and the greater the velocity of the impact, the bigger the force I feel,” you try not to hiccup through the whole explanation but the words take a longer time to come to you and your backside is hypersensitive, warm, and sore. Your pulse rings in your ears too, and you swear you can almost taste the adrenaline in your mouth from how it is coursing through your body. It might just be salt from your tears though which you realize will simply give you an excuse as to why you stayed behind after class. If you really try, you might be able to conjure up an act of a student who got some terrible feedback.

“Still with me?” You hear him ask, feel him soothe your burning flesh. You wonder if his palm is imprinted on your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble with a sniffle, your palms sticking to the desk from how clammy they have become.

“Speak up,” he corrects you and his palm leaves you long enough for you to start anticipating another strike. No hands on your body makes it harder to abstain from feeling his hard cock resting against your hip, the heaviness of it making you even wetter and oh God, aching to be filled.

“Yes, sir,” you enunciate without coming off as bratty. The next strike doesn’t come and relief washes over you, allowing you to relish in the cool air brushing your tingling and bruised skin.

“Last but not least. Newton’s Third Law?”

“F-for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” you say and rest your forehead on the book that has absorbed a few teardrops, He doesn't give you praise or a soothing touch. It bewilders you, makes you question if your scatterbrained state has accidentally made you say something that is wrong. You go quiet except for your rapid breathing as you go over your answer in your head but nothing comes to mi–

The sudden smack instantly makes you realize where you went wrong, landing across the exact spot that’s already stinging and causing you to hiss and whine through your teeth. Quickly, you scramble to relate Newton to what Reed is doing to you, “If… if you strike me, my body exerts a force back on your hand.”

“Mhm, good,” he hums while your head swims, “And I bet you’re feeling that force right now.”

“It hurts,” you whimper feebly and turn your head to the side. Yes, it’s the truth but your body can’t tell if it’s supposed to register this as pain or pleasure, the sensations overlapping intensely.

“That’s part of the lesson,” Reed’s hand returns in a gentle touch, his large palm settling carefully over the same spot he has just mercilessly spanked, “Why does it hurt?”

You wish he’d move his hand down between your legs and make you come when he realizes how soaked-through your panties are, “B-because when you spank me your hand transfers kinetic energy into my skin. The force and the friction cause heat to build. The tissues and blood vessels react, and it—”

“Gives you that glow. Precisely,” he finishes your sentence and curls his hand around your hip firmly. He sounds enthralled by his work, “And I respond with arousal, meaning it makes me so goddamn hard. Now, hold still. These last three are for the three missed deadlines.”

You know he means business when his finger slips underneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down just enough to settle them underneath the globes of your ass without exposing your needy cunt, the elastic of them digging slightly into sore skin. His other hand lifts and you brace yourself even if you know that any human can suffer through even uncontrollable pain if they know there’s an end to it.

The first of three strikes lands right on the curve of your backside, harder than any of the several ones before it and making your entire body seize up. He isn’t playing around this time, your skin immediately blooming with newfound heat and fiery pain. It makes you moan out loud and squeeze your eyes shut until fireworks go off behind your eyelids.

“Count,” he says calmly.

“O-one,” you manage to say in a voice that makes it sound like an apology instead.

The second one makes it feel like there’s a clap of thunder going through your bones. You jolt forward on the desk enough to finally send the damn book flying off the edge to the floor. Reed tightens his grip on your hip to steady you, dragging you back to him again as if to remind you that despite everything he’s got you.

“Two,” you say shakily, “I’m sorry, Professor Richards.”

He rubs the spot to soothe your burning flesh and by now, a part of you wants to crawl into his lap and be held. He coos softly at you and gently squeezes the roundness of your ass, making you bite down on your bottom lip and exhale a needy whine through your nose.

“No need to bring me apologies,” he tells you, “We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson. Last one.”

He lets you wait for the final smack, but when his hand lands on your skin, a sharp cry rips from your throat. Tears start flowing freely from your eyes now - even if you’re still not fully crying as emotions have not caught up with you yet - but it’s not solely from the pain, but also from the swirl of adrenaline and arousal that tightens below your belly button. You wonder if you should reach up to wipe your eyes but you can’t make yourself let go of the desk underneath you, clutching it in an iron grip because of how wobbly your legs are.

“Three,” you hiccup as Reed loosens his grip on you. You feel the ache of your behind with every heartbeat and want to sob now that it is over. You’re hyper-aware of what is happening in your body which is the adrenaline starting to crash, and the emotions, coming in like a wave, are just about to overwhelm you when—

“Sit up on the desk for me,” Reed says gently.

“But the book,” you glance toward the textbook that you sent flying not long ago. It is a silly thing to cling onto but there’s an emotional wavering in your voice as you say it which Reed seems to catch onto.

“Leave it,” he murmurs, an order but not like the previous ones, “Sit. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

The task seems impossible. You barely manage to push yourself fully upright, your shaking legs nearly not able to hold you up, and when you turn around to lift yourself onto the desk, you feel the edge dig into your sore behind in a way that forces a hiss out of you. A tear that you have no control over rolls slowly down your cheek.

“Easy,” Reed is beside you, catching onto your motive when you get ready to jump up onto the surface in a hurry due to his earlier lack of patience. He has previously had a hovering hand nearby but now, he grabs a hold of you to still you, “Do it carefully.”

When you’re finally perched on the desk, you’re not sure if the calming cool sensation of the wood beneath your thighs outweighs the pressure against your smarting skin. What you are sure of though is the storm of emotions inside your chest, a raging one made up of an overwhelming mix of new pain, embarrassment, and vulnerability, all of which makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

“I’m okay,” you lie but you hear yourself and know it isn’t very convincing. He gives you a raised eyebrow.

“Seems like you’re experiencing what is known as a drop. Come on, deep breaths,” he guides you gently when he spots the way your bottom lip wobbles, “If you have to cry, let it out. No one’s going to see you.”

From his words, you realize that your breathing has become unsteady and hitched in very little time. Your shoulders shake and your chest has a ball of unleashed feelings in it that nearly makes you feel sick. It unravels when the tears that you hoped would subside resurface at the permission to let them flow. You feel them brimming at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” you say shakily when they finally spill over even if the tension in your torso slowly ebbs away as you let go.

“You’re alright. Just breathe for me,” he says softly. He brings his hands to your thighs and rubs them in an attempt to soothe and ground you, “Slow and steady in through the nose and out the mouth. Right now, you don’t have to do anything but calm down, and then I can take a look at you.”

The room around you seems distant as you try to breathe more steadily but you’re lightheaded, feeling almost as if you’re wrapped in a woolen, fuzzy blanket that blocks everything out besides him. You aren’t sure if it is the adrenaline crash anymore or the way that your whole body is so tightly wound for pleasure that won’t come but you crave his touch, crave him taking care of you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over, drowning out the static in your ears, “No more crying, sweet angel. I’d rather not see you leave here like this.”

The nickname makes you snap out of it. Angel? Did he just call you an angel? Your tears go on hold when you continuously blink up at him from your seat on the desk, pawing at his chest without knowing what to do with all your longing. He makes you feel all the things you have felt since you met him all at once now, a dizzying flurry of thoughts and feelings.

“That’s better,” he smiles genuinely for the first time and you melt right then and there. He looks so damn handsome when he does it that you go ridiculously doe-eyed at the sight.

“Thank you,” you mumble while playing with the buttons on his white shirt. The butterflies in your belly have nearly made the pulsing ache of your backside disappear.

“Stand up,” he says and removes your hands from his chest which you probably make a much bigger deal out of than him, “I need to take a look at you.”

You stand on wobbly legs. Slowly and carefully, he skims his fingers over the inflamed skin and notes out loud that it is warm. It’s not a soothing caress for the sake of tenderness, but rather a deliberate check-in to take note of how much damage he’s done. He works methodically, like a man who daily works with scientific research and experiments, going over each part of you while humming at his discoveries.

“Right. Cool compress when you get home for the swelling, ten-fifteen minutes on and off. Frozen peas will do,” he instructs in the exact same tone as when he gives out science homework, “The skin is still intact but you’ll be sore if you don’t treat yourself with a little kindness. Lotion if it is too much to bear and loose clothing. Not a pencil skirt like this one, we clear?”

You nod with the hint of a pout.

“And,” he adds and grabs lightly at your chin, his tone suddenly playful, “Try not to miss any more deadlines.”

It’s a joke, you realize, something to lighten the atmosphere in the lecture hall and you barely register it from the way his fingers hold your head in place. Despite your watery eyes and racing heartbeat, you huff out a little laugh.

“There we go,” he coos at the sound of your chuckle, “Not so gloomy anymore.”

With gentle hands, he reaches just below your hips to pull your underwear up over the curve of your ass again, careful not to let the waistband tug at the sensitive skin. He does the same with your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs until you look decent once more.

Your lips part slightly as your eyes slide up to look at his face, feeling dumbstruck by his brown intelligent eyes and his aquiline nose straight out of the statues from Ancient Rome. You admire the column of his neck, the mentioned beauty mark just above his collar, and the dip that you want to kiss.

After a moment, you realize that you have gone quiet and when you look back at his eyes, you are dizzyingly meeting his suddenly intense gaze. It is as if he has calculated that you are back with him, lingering with desire albeit still a little shaken by your tears. His eyes are burning into yours and you can feel the restraint behind them. It is as if you can sense the electricity in the air, the warmth that prickles in your cheeks, and the heat that radiates from him.

Without a word, he reaches to tuck your shirt into your skirt until it hugs your figure tightly, a fashion choice different from how you had arrived in his classroom earlier. The dominance of styling your clothes as he prefers it makes you press your thighs together, the dull ache returning between your legs.

“I’ve noticed, seen it all. That’s why I did it,” he says cryptically as he stuffs your shirt down at the back, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine until heat racks up it.

“Noticed what?” You ask foolishly but had you stopped to think, you would have figured it out already.

“All the energy you’ve put into getting me to notice you and getting my undivided attention. Congratulations, you’ve finally got it,” he clarifies and lets both his hands rest on the small of your back for the briefest of moments. When he lets go of you, you follow his touch by leaning in to close the distance with a kiss.

He places a hand on your chest, holding you back just when you are pressing the ghost of a kiss to his lips. He has given you so much by now. Why not this? A ball of frustration settles in your chest and comes out as a little whine of impatience, “Why can’t we?”

He doesn’t pull away, simply speaks less than an inch from your face so you can feel his breath on your mouth, “Because you need to learn restraint, sweet angel. I can’t have you missing your deadlines three weeks in a row - or at all really - due to some little crush.”

You want to defend yourself, say that it has nothing to do with him but deep down, you know it would be a lie straight to his face. So instead, you swallow thickly, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

“And you will have me,” he kisses you so softly that you want to sink to your knees, “Just not until I say so, and certainly not before you’ve been a good girl and turned in that paper.”

“Sir,” you try one last time.

“I’ll teach you to be patient, to have restraint,” he tells you and makes you realize your attempt was to no avail, “Whether you like it or not.”

You give in, buzzing with the need for more, “I can turn my paper in on Monday. Would that suffice?”

“I’ll hold you to that, but no late nights and last-minute scrambling. If I find you’ve rushed through it…” he lets the sentence drift off, letting your imagination figure out the consequence, “And it best be your best work yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you reluctantly pull back when nothing seems to work, “Whatever you want.”

“Hand it to me during office hours before class,” he instructs to which you nod.

“But what now?” You ask with a tiny impatient noise, letting him know just how much you’ve got against his reluctance to touch you.

His hand flexes by his side, “Now you go home. You lock your door and you touch that pretty thing between your thighs just how you like it most. I want you to come for me until you’re hoarse. Three times for three weeks but no more than that, not until we see each other again.”

It is Wednesday and you won’t see him until Monday. How on Earth are you going to survive on only three orgasms after this? Your mind races with protests but you don’t get to voice your concern about the limit he has set because he has already stepped back to pick up his jacket from his desk chair.

You decide to circle the table to pick up your book and stuff it into your bag. Behind you, Reed’s eyes are definitely on you as you lean forward with a hand on the desk. He is fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and putting on his tweed jacket, trying to come off as if letting you have a private moment to compose yourself.

“Monday,” he reminds you when you stand upright again. His arm stretches out between the rows of chairs and tables once more so he can unlock the door for you.

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently.

You swing your bag over your shoulder and then you leave.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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1nthedarknessofthenight · 10 days ago

Text

﴾ lunaris

pairing: werewolf!changbin x f!reader

genre: one-shot, supernatural au, smut

word count: 12,4K

warnings: dom!changbin & sub!reader ⋆ stalking! ⋆ obsessive behavior ⋆ possessiveness ⋆ manipulation ⋆ manhandling! ⋆ size kink! ⋆ small!dry humping ⋆ breeding kink! ⋆ knotting! ⋆ monster cock! (yup) ⋆ biting! ⋆ marking ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ squirting! ⋆ fingering (f.receiving) ⋆ mating press!position ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: you are not alone — from the moment you decided to live in the small house at the edge of a lake, a dark, looming phantom, seemed to follow you wherever you go and you cannot do anything other than to wait and see, what it wants from you…

main masterlist

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Realization. It came over you suddenly, in the middle of the day — sharp and bright. There was this feeling, following you everywhere, finding you in every corner of your new home. You had ignored as best you could, but those invisible pairs of eyes made every hair on your body stand. At first you thought it was just your mind playing thick’s on you. A new place, a new era of your life had begun the moment you settled into this house…all alone. Only with your own thoughts — or so you believed. Until those things, gifts started appearing on your doorstep.

You can still remember the first day you, when moved into your new home — a cabin, surrounded with nothing, but threes and the wilderness. You contemplated if you wanted to take the risk of buying this suspiciously beautiful house in the middle of nothingness, considering that you are a young woman and would be all alone in such dangerous era. However the childhood dream of owning such a home in your adulteress won over any gut feeling in you. The only thing that calmed you a little was the lake surrounding you, but the almost sinister feeling of the forest stretching behind your house, still gives you goosebumps.

It is just, because you were alone, nothing more — just the instinct of being alerted at all times, as you can never know what might be lurking for you outside. You so hoped that this instinct wouldn’t just be an intuition in disguise…

The first few months were taking a toll on you. This seemingly small cabin was in reality too big for just you, making you spend a lot of time at making it seem smaller by buying useless things to fill in the open spaces of your home. The heat of the nearing summer left you almost suffocating, deciding to not leave your window open even a creak, leaving you spending a dozens of restless nights. You can’t lie that you didn’t think you maybe made a mistake, but the more time you spend outside on the small pier on the lake, the more it helped you get use to this new place.

You sometimes do miss the noises of the city — the cars honking, crowds of people loudly talking, but at the end of the day your mind would always seem to wander off, dreaming of something quieter. Life brings you something new in the change of the old and even if it firstly hurts or doesn’t feel right, it will all come together at the end. You do think a lot, or atleast since the time you moved, it was just you now. It helped you grow in some way, over come your fears, but you just couldn’t ignore it anymore. The first couple of times it happened were subtle, but the small hints told you that you are not as alone as you thought your were.

You still remember it, like it was yesterday, the first night you spend in your new home — staring at the clock on your nightstand and counting every minute. Time went by so slow compared to what you now can call your past and you so tried to ignore the window facing you. No curtains put, letting you see and hear the slightly swinging trees of the forest and wind softly whistling outside. Since then you have become so highly aware of everything. Your senses had hightened, it was like you could hear everything around you, see the unimaginable or was it just paranoia? Was the sense of something watching you just your own mind playing tricks on you?

That answer circled your mind every night and every day you spent outside. The first thing that happened that left you freezing in your spot was, when you were at your work. As your teeth hit the metal utensil, staring out the window to the starting rain, you suddenly remembered about your clothes that have been left outside to dry, only realizing that after your hard day of work you will have to do it all over again. However that didn’t happen…When you came home, water still falling from the sky, you quite not in some much hurry came to pick up your propably, completely soiled clothes. Shoes digging in the mud, you stood there in the rain for a moment, eyes strained to the clothesline only to find it empty. Your exhausted self thought that maybe the wind maybe swept it away, in frustration rushing up to the small steps leading to your home to atleast put your things away, before going on a search, only for you to stop dead in your tracks.

Something in that moment — the sudden rush of warmth going over you, made you shake. Somehow your clothes have been put neatly on to the front porch swing and even in the dark you couldn’t see a single wrinkle in sight. You knew that it should have been the first sign that something was here with you, but you chose to ignore it, even if your hands shook, when you pick up your clothes, before rushing inside. You can’t lie that you didn’t sleep that night, you can’t lie that this small thing scared you. But was it? You are certain that it wasn’t yourself, but what would you even say if you told someone? Someone came to my house to pick your laundry so it wouldn’t get ruined from the rain? It was somehow a kind gesture, but it also made shivers go down your spine. Maybe you were blind, maybe someone was living somewhere near you — neighbor perhaps, whom you still had the chance to meet.

It was this…something so subtle, till it wasn’t. You could feel it creeping up on you. What exactly? You are not so sure, maybe your situation and these small things that kept on on adding up, made you a little too paranoid. Every small creak of your wooden home or even the sound of the trees bending against the wind — everything that happened made you so highly aware, however you weren’t quick enough to catch it. The problem is that you didn’t even know what you were searching for. It could be anything and nothing at the same time, but you swear it had to be something…

When summer came, so did its heat. Sweat making your skin slick and hot to the touch. You hadn’t been so happy to have a lake outside of your home until now. You were aware that maybe swimming in said water wasn’t the safest, but it didn’t make you not atleast dip your feet in it. The change of temperature made you shiver, sighing softly as you closed your eyes. The sounds around you for once were peaceful, basking in the singing of birds and the soft air blowing across your heated skin. With your back layed on the pier, eyes closed, you almost slipped into unconsciousness, but then you hear a sound that cut into the blissful rhythm of your relaxing.

Your eyes opened then, staring up in the sky through your sun glasses, your ears almost twitching, when you heard leaves rustling. You didn’t move, didn’t even want to look, in fear it would ruin your sweet and quiet moment. You could tell it came from the shore, a little distance from your layed out body and you did almost let it fly over your head, when your eyes flutter. However, just when your eyes closed slightly, looking down the length of your body, you saw a shadow moving in the distance. The sight made you jump, blinking rapidly, though now it was gone and the only thing left was the sound of something hitting the surface of the water.

You didn’t wait even a second there, not so curious to even look back, pulling your legs out of the water like you were scared that it had already reached you. You ran back to your house with your heart racing, ears still ringing and at that moment the thought of it being an animal all along became the most logical thing.

However there was this one night that you can’t seem to get out of your head — it felt you so frightened and so confused that you believed it must be something out of this world, something that doesn’t have an easy explanation. You had already been ready to fall asleep before it happened. Eyes blinking slowly, tearing up a little from the light of your open laptop, voices of the actors becoming meer whisper as you fight the argue to fall asleep. You didn’t know at that time, why exactly you didn’t let yourself, it was like your own body already knew to rather stay on high alert.

A loud explosion coming from the movie playing on the small screen made you jump wildly, your already almost empty snack falling down your bed. Your body jerking, you already turn to your side to picked up, eyes trailing over the room to search, but your stare stops right on the other. Cold sweat pricks on your body, stilling in fear that makes its way up your throat till it choked out every last breath left in you. You don’t blink — can’t and you thought that if you would it would disappear. Glaring back at you, right outside your bedroom window were sets of glowing eyes, black mass of a silhouette. Of what? You couldn’t make out, but it made you gasp sharply.

The sound you made, which shouldn’t have been heard given to your movie playing in the background and the thick wooden walls of your home, alerted the thing staring at you, like it was till now completely unaware of your frightened gaze. With a blink of an eye you saw it disappear behind your window, but you didn’t miss the loud steps that it took, heavy and fast. Something possessed you there, maybe your own idiocy, because you rushed to your window to open it, lips parting to call out to it. You wanted to know it was real, not just your imagination or a demon haunting you, but only crickets and the soft sounds of outside were heard. Goosebumps appeared on your skin and not so much from the cold air of the outside, as your stare trailed all over the trees, searching. You didn’t even hear those heavy footsteps in the distance, head lowering in defeat and exhaustion only to come across smeared dirt right under your window. You couldn’t make out the stops left behind — human or an animal? But at that moment it felt like the beginning of something and somehow you let it happened…

Windows that you didn’t remember closing, when you left home for work, the flowers you have put outside watered and trimmed, that feeling of something watching you even at day, increasing more at night — the flowers on your doorsteps….You couldn’t stomach it anymore. You didn’t know if you should be frightened to death, but it never seemed like that it wanted to hurt you. It made you go to the nearby diner in your town to ask the local people, if they maybe knew of someone living in the woods, but they all told you the same — no one lives there other than you. Maybe it was your look of distress then, your hope crushed, leaving you at your starting point, but the lovely, old lady you have been talking to pulled you closer to her again to whisper in your ear. There was this saying that a creature lives in the woods, young people bored and curious searched for it, but never found anything. Such a serious tone and such a strange omen of sorts. The small warning made you frown. Every town has its own legend and you never considered your self a believer of something beyond imaginary, but the words made you shiver. However the thing you saw that night and those gifts maybe just be a two different things…or were they?

That conversation stuck with you. You considered calling the police, but what would you even tell them? Something is doing your chores for you? Takes care of you? They wouldn’t help you. You tried to pull yourself away from it and like it knew the gifts became bigger, more bold. Those flowers, which you always accepted held something so dear that you still couldn’t quite see, only feel and your romantically deprived self pulled them closer to your chest to lay a kiss upon them with your heart. You hated yourself that you couldn’t pull away, it almost became like some sort of routine. Was it an admirer? It should scare you more than it does, but the fear of unknown is more than enough. Your stupid self accepted each and every one of those gifts and with doing so, it only seemed to grow closer.

It is closer — closer than you think.

────

Even if you tried, you couldn’t lie to yourself — you were not alone. Yet for the sake of your own inner peace, you longed for someone to talk to you. Until now, you had only yourself and this thing haunting you, but oddly it also helped you understand yourself more. You became proud of yourself and what you had accomplished so far, almost giddy when you called your old friends to come visit you and your new home. You knew you needed to see the better side of everything that had happened — to find some light in it, but it was so difficult, when you could feel its claws digging into the back of your head. Maybe it was something attached to the house long before you arrived. Maybe you just have to live with, till the time comes for you to understand.

Your fingers press at your temple. Your skin hot, slightly slick, a small smile on your lips as your eyes trail over the room. The glass in your hand is half empty, only taking small, short sips, already feeling good enough to know not to spoil it. Your muscles feel not so tense anymore, your mind empty. Your friends sitting across from you on your small couch laugh, the sound mixing in with the soft music you have put on, your playlist already replaced by unknown songs from how much time has passed by.

Your friend — long, dark hair, sitting at the corner of your sofa drowns down her drink, before catching your lingering gaze. “It’s really nice here, Y/N.” She compliments, beaming almost as she rolls her head to look around the room. The words make the other two stop their conversation to nod softly, also glancing at their surroundings like they didn’t notice it before. Your friend smacks her lips together, lipstick already gone and transferred onto the empty glass in her hands. “And the lake—“ She says dreamily and you smile at her tone, which reminded you of yourself, when you first come across this place.

“Thank you.” You voice is little rough, only now realizing you haven’t talk much since they arrived, throat and mouth a little dry from the alcohol.

“Don’t you get bored though…” Wonders your friend, tucking piece of her brown hair behind her ear.

The question leads your mind to wonder a little. “Not really.” You say firstly, shaking your head. “I mean — there are a lot of things I’m still working on –“ You laugh a little, smoothing down your slightly sweaty hairline.

Your friend cuts you off, shaking her head and sitting up a little straighter. “No, I mean — you are here all alone, it must be scary…” She trails off and your smile slightly falls at her words.

You hope your eyes don’t give away how much you agree with her, though there wasn’t a time you felt any danger…just this presence. “Yeah, sometimes…” You say, voice quiet, tapping your fingers on the glass of your drink. The small silence makes you a little fidgety, pushing your drink to your lips to keep yourself occupied. You don’t even fully take a sip, just wetting your lips as your eyes look up to their faces which clearly show the need for you to continue. “At first it was scary, I couldn’t even sleep — you know, new place, new bed.” You exhale, quite shakily, but you do put back a smile on your face. “But I got used to it…yeah.”

Your gaze falls from them to the vase on your table and the expression, which just faintly flashes across your face isn’t missed. “What are those?” You want to say the obvious — flowers, but not just any kind. You put them there the moment you opened your front door in the morning. It was the first thing on your mind, when you woke up. It truly started to become some sorts of habit, ritual…

“Oh…someone gave them to me.” You say and you wished you had something more to say other than someone, considering the excitement radiating from your friends.

“Tell us more–“ Pleads your curly haired friend, putting her glass on the table to firstly look closely to the different kinds of colors in the vase, before looking up at you with sparks in her eyes.

You almost choke on your own spit. You so wished to know — to know everything about what is happening around you. You also wished to tell them the whole truth, which is small, but it certainly would only raise concern and you don’t want that. It would only make you feel that also. “Well, I don’t — I don’t know, who it is actually.” Your laugh is short and dry, as well as their faces. “Someone just leaves them at my door.” You shrug and your vision travels to your other friend, who leans closer to you to trail her green eyes on your figure.

“Really?” Her eyebrow is raised, slight bite in her tone and you don’t answer firstly as you are puzzled by her small attitude. She tilts her head, eyes forming into slits. “Are you making it up?” She asks you and even with the smirk on her face you could tell it wasn’t so lighthearted as it should seem like.

“W-why–“ You stutter in confusion, looking at her. “Why would I?”

She shrugs at that, body relaxed, but that can’t be said the same for the sudden shift in the air. “I mean, every time we ask you if you have someone you get so offensive and like — you want us to get off your back with this and know you are actually happy when this someone gives you flowers.” Looking at the others, you do too and only your curly haired friend matches your own expression, whispering your friend’s name in a small warning.

You are not surprised that your other friend nods her head in agreement with the words — like usual the two stick together, just like the first time you met them, but you just didn’t expect to be told this. They all knew — they know you long enough and like true friends they wouldn’t talk about this, considering how hard these things are for you. “I am not making it up and what do you mean by that?” You sound maybe too upset, but it is so typical of her to talk and just talk, sometimes you wish for her to just shut up. The alcohol in your system doesn’t help you calm down, though you don’t feel like drinking this problem away. “My world doesn’t circle around men, okay? And you know how hard it is for me to find somebody–“

“Okay, I get!” Her voice is high enough to ring in the room, putting her hands up and you are so upset by the way this small, what should be happy gathering turned into. “Just like — nobody lives here other than you and you are telling me that somebody magically appeared out of nowhere?” Yes.

“I mean she has a point.” Says the brunette next to you, agreeing.

“Are you guys serious?” Your curly haired friend is shocked just as you are, but you on the other hand become speechless a little. They know this topic is something you don’t like to talk about rather alone fight over and just the tone of hers rises the question if she truly likes you or not. She is acting just like the men that have came into your live — not interested, just passing by and pointing at the things you should work on, make them different. Your older friend talks for you for a little, voice mixing together and you can feel the tension slowly eating you up, till it implodes with your friend waving her hands in the air.

“No–“ Now, she is trying to look like the victim of this argument as she didn’t started it in the first place, flashing her eyes back to your tense figure. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s just — it is okay not to have someone, you don’t have to lie–“

“Lie? I didn’t even–“

“But you do kind of need a boyfriend–“

“Yeah, you are a little pent up girl.”

“Pent up?” You raise your voice at that and you laugh inside at how ridiculous this whole situation is, but considering the timing, the fact this wasn’t the first time she started an argument over something, you have the whole right to be upset. “What’s gotten into you? I invite you here, in my house I bought with my own money and the biggest thing that concerns you is a man–“

Your own outburst surprises you slightly, but the look on her face only angers you more, there is no regret. Shaking your head at her, you feel small betrayal and the feelings bubbling in you burst at that moment. Putting your glass on the table, it almost breaks from hard you set it, standing up on your feet and only your true friend comes to catch you before you disappear. “Y/N, come on…” You can tell just how much it upset her also and you have never been more greatful to have her, but right now you just wouldn’t be able to sit back down and ignore what happened.

Everything that has been gathering up in you, pressing on your shoulders takes you to the front door. “I will be right back.” Something about the outside calls out to you and your shiver just at the thought of getting fresh air into your lungs.

“Y/N, where are you going?” The voice is in the distance already as you open the door to your front porch. “Hey!”

You don’t hear anything after that, when you slam the door shut and you almost regret storming off like this, but should you? There have been so many times, when you thought about ending things with these two and maybe this was just the cherry on top. Atleast you now knows, that you have at least one person, who sees you and doesn’t look down on you or tries to crack you open like a shell. Her words sting a little too much and you feel like you lied even to yourself there. You blame it on the colder air, when your eyes water. The tears are more from anger than anything, but you do wonder now — were you really just making it up? You look down at your feet, standing just at the spot where those flowers were put for you just few hours ago. You sigh at yourself, before walking down the small steps of your porch.

You don’t even look back, your feet moving on their own, walking into the direction of the edge of the forest. You do wish that there would be someone, who would understand you — not a friend, but a lover. Someone, who wouldn’t give up on you and wait for you. Someone, who would understand your feelings and know about your struggle to show an emotion, which you are so afraid of. However you have been so alone for so long you don’t know even know, what would you do if someone like this would show up. Maybe you would try to pull away at first, see if they truly like you and not just the thought of you. See if they truly want to get to know you, get to learn about your likes and dislikes and just be there for you. Just maybe someone who would take care of you at your hardest moments…

The sounds of the branches and dirt cracking under your feet is rhythmical, lips parting and closing, talking to yourself in complete silence what felt like just a moment. Your inner monologue is cut off, when you accidentally lose your footing on the moist surface, saving yourself from a nasty fall just in time. Your hands fly to the tree next to you, wood digging into the palms of your hands and you curse a little at your own clumsiness. Just then you look up from the ground, eyes trailing back only to see nothing…nothing, but the forest.

For how long have you been walking around? You just now realized how quiet it all was. Nothing, but the swinging trees and the moon shinning down on you. You lean away from the tree, gaze still on the direction, which you think you came from, only to realize you, that in your small unconsciousness you did not walk in a straight line. You let your own body guide you, mind too occupied and the fear rising in you slowly closes its hands on your throat. A shaky sigh leaves you at that and you fight the obvious — you are completely lost. You have never been so deep in the woods before and all that anger and sadness in you is replaced with nothing, but panic.

The wind blows through your hair, rustling them. The soft strands kiss your cold bitten cheeks, lips parting in silent sighs. Your hand is placed over your chest, fingers expanding in what seems like a hope to warm your self up or more like to calm your racing heart. The concerned and scared look is bright on your features, but it doesn’t hide the natural spark and beauty your eyes have. With each blink of an eye, your eyelashes flutter over your cheek bones and at that moment, it was like, he was seeing you for the first time.

Snap! The sound alerts you, so loud and so close. Your whole body freezes at that moment, pressing yourself back into the tree in hopes that you would disappear into it. You don’t breathe, not turning to the direction. You want to think that it was nothing, just the nature of the forest, but then you feel it — the eyes on you, its presence. Your mouth opens, but no sound is let out. You can feel it like it was right next to you, never till now you haven’t felt it so greatly. You couldn’t — you can’t right now, you truly feel it. It didn’t came from your imagination, it came from the direction right behind you.

Your lungs fight for breath, eyes staring wildly in fear right before you and you don’t hear anything other than the sound of your own heart in your ears. No other twig snaps, but you know it is there, here with you. The more seconds past by, the more feel the unbreakable pressure on the back of your head, the unknown thing behind you like calling to you, telling you to turn around and see. You don’t know if you want to, you can’t run, because you don’t know where to go to and even if you did something told you couldn’t outrun this fate of yours. You do not want to, but you need to — you need to know.

Your eyes fill with tears of fright, your anger still lingering in you, but now it is only anger at how foolish you were. Your body shakes, head twitching as you slowly turn your head to finally lay your eyes upon it behind you. It was something about the way you just knew it had to be it, the reason for the weight on your shoulders, the reason you felt so look after, while also so alone — the reason for your nightmares. Tears escape your eyes as they widened at the sight, nausea filling your body, shivers going down your spine.

You for a moment stand there, absolutely unmoving, because you didn’t know if your mind is still playing tricks on you. You wished so — because those bright, piercing, yellow eyes of the creature, almost make you fall down to your knees. Standing before you, so close and unmoving, just like you, was a wolf, but not like an other. You have never see an animal so big before, it seemed like it could reach to your collarbones and you can’t help, but let out the little noise of fear from the back of your throat. Its fur was dark as the night and if it weren’t for the moon only its eyes would gave away its presence.

Your sound of horror seems to alert it, eyes till now unblinking, ears twitching at your whimper. That only makes you realize that it was real — you are lost in the forest, with no sense of direction, unarmed and all alone, with this creature before you, which seem like anything, but an ordinary wolf. You know you shouldn’t move, can’t even, but when it showed how much it knew of your presence, your own body moved on its own. Your human instinct told you to run and so you did.

Your ears started to ring from the moment your legs started to move, your frozen muscles screaming at your pace, which you didn’t even know you were capable of. You drink up loudly the air swishing around you. The fact you couldn’t hear anything other than yourself only made the terror in your body rise. You don’t turn around, you don’t want to know, how far away or how close it is to you. Your small pathetic sob echoes around you, because you just knew you will not be fast enough to out run it, let alone fight it, if it comes to it. You pass trees, never ending, everything to you seemed the same and after a moment you just run, nothing more, just so you could get away from it. However a simple mistake — small, not calculated step leads to you falling.

You cry out, your uncovered knees burning as they scrape on the ground. Your legs shake, just your hands now holding you up from falling into complete exhaustion. Gasping for air, your whole body screams, the lack of oxygen making you feel so empty and weak. The alcohol which you consumed makes your head spin, turning to your side and you shake your head in denial, when you see it standing right behind you. You are speechless by how you didn’t hear it until now. The wolf doesn’t even breath heavily like you and you cower in fear from how massive it looked in your position.

The disgusting feeling of the truth that you are nothing, but its prey makes you see black spot in your blurry vision, watching it stalk to you with no fight left in you. You can’t believe yourself that you are giving up just like that, but you now know you could never out run it — you can do nothing, but watch it walk into the stream of light coming from between the trees. The wolf’s fur almost glistens in the light, but it isn’t the thing that catches your attention. In its mouth, so delicately and carefully grasped between its sharp teeth, are flowers…

They held the same colors, which you recognize way quicker than you imagine, while being in this situation. Something washes over you, confusion mostly, but then it fades into something warmer. Warm — its gaze is soft, not alerting, but you do push your legs to your chest in terror, when it lowers its head. Your eyebrows furrowed a little, tears suddenly slowing to a stop, only their residue drying on your cheeks. The wolf’s jaw unhinges, putting down those flowers before you, without taking its yellow eyes away from you. Just now, just before you had turned your head till you for the first time look upon it, you suddenly remembered the fact you knew it has to be it.

It doesn’t come closer to you then, instead it turns back around, you watching it closely as it stalks to a tree. Should you run? Something tells you not to at this moment and your own body betrays yet again. Your eyes flicker back to the flowers and you wondered if it already had them, when you saw it for the first time. The air around you seem to change — not so thick and hard for you to breathe, glancing at it once more just as it disappears behind the tree. The way it looked at you, its presence and way of acting — why are you thinking like this? Your chest tightens even more, the last tears left in you escaping as you watch it come back from behind the tree, but what appears leaves you in a state of complete shock.

Wolf no longer, not an animal, but a silhouette of a man stands there, his head turning to look at you, a familiar reflection in his eyes. Your back straightens, disbelief and confusion striking you. You firstly think it’s the trick of an eye — imagination, no you cannot be in denial any longer. The man, who just moments ago was an animal walks out of the shadows and your lips part, when your eyes land on his face. Eyes, so dark yet filled with so much light, masked a little, with the way his dark hair falls into them, plump lips parted in, what seem like a mimicking of your own shock. His body holds the same amount of muscle as his other form and you shake your head at this reality of seeing a man and wolf all together.

His hand outstretches to you, in what seems like a calm demeanor, but how can you be calm? You still can’t fully grasp it, the truth so bitter and obvious, but you can’t just accept what your eyes saw. This isn’t possible, anything…With your inner battle, panic fills you, when the man walks closers to you and with all your strength left in you, you stand up on your wobbly feet. “No, don’t-“ His voice makes goosebumps rise on your skin, but you don’t listen, already moving to run yet again.

However even against this man it is no use. You don’t even fully take two full steps before you feel his touch. His arms come to wrap around your body, squeezing you enough for you not to move even an inch. You freeze, gasping in shock, eyes falling down on his arms. No sign of strain in his muscles, even when you start to twitch and fight against him. “Get off me!” Your voice is scratchy and weak. You can feel his chest rising against your back, his breath fanning over your naked shoulder. It is him — how? His presence so familiar, but so new. “Please…” You whisper, head hanging low and your small tone of voice makes him momentarily freeze, before releasing you from his grip.

You instantly jump away from him, turning back to fully get a look at him. He gazes at you so softly that air gets stuck in your dry throat. “I am not going to hurt you.” You almost shudder, when he puts his hands up yet again. His eyes — just with his eyes he pleads for you not to run away again, though you do back away from him enough till your back meets a tree.

It’s so quiet around you — too quiet for you to escape your reality. The rumors, once a fairytail, now turns into nightmare and the truth. A creature in the woods…it was all him. All those times you felt something watching you, it was him all along. Wolf, a man all together, standing right before you, gazing at you with so much softness that it scared you more than anything. “You – you…You are–“ How hard can it be to say the truth, when are already accepting it? “It was all you.” You shake your head, lip quivering.

Something like a regret, small shame flashes in his eyes at your tone and if it weren’t for your panicking, you would think it was all fake . “Yes…” He says.

“You are a…” You can’t even say it, because it would only make it real, though how long can you hide from this, when it is right infront of you. Your eyes close in small defeat, opening them again and this small move of yours makes him take a step closer to you. “No, don’t come any closer!” Your tone is weak, only filled with fear and not enough anger and strength.

“Please–“ His tone is soft and his demeanor makes you think more about your own. “Don’t be scared, I would never hurt you-“

The words sound so truthful, yet you don’t find yourself fully believing them. You don’t know his intentions, only acting upon, what he has done so far. “You…” His name is still unknown, but now atleast you can put a face to all of those things that happened. You want to believe him and you do a little, but you just can’t accept that he is the thing that has been haunting you — taking care of you. Your eyes trail over him thankfully, few beats passing as you watch each other. “If you don’t want to hurt me then why didn’t you atleast not once come to me, told me that it was you. I would–“

“You would have run away.” He says and the words make your lips fall shut. Was he watching you for that long to know how would you react? Or is just your human nature and his not so — you probably would respond like any other person, but yet you stand here talking to him. A werewolf…He wondered, played this exact scenario in his head multiple times, but it would always end up the same. He knew you would be like this — staring at him, seeing him for what he truly is..

From the first time he saw you, he knew, he wouldn’t be able to just let you go. Something about you was so different — different from the people haunting him. You can understand — you will. His human side, almost forgotten, awoken by the first sight of you. He didn’t know how to act and what to do, only acting on what his heart was telling him and he never intended to hurt you nor scare you. However now, the look on your face, so distant, almost like you aren’t here with him at all, probably fighting your own inner battle, makes his chest tighten. The sigh that leaves him makes you look at him again, eyes glistening in the cursed light of the moon. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t come to you, because of the moon.” The response makes your face soften, gaze just lightly glancing up in the sky. “It ties me together, it controls my human and animal nature. Only at night I can roam freely like this and if I did come to you at day, I would only grow weaker. If a give up on the moon in change of the sun, I will no longer be myself…” Your frown is deep on your features, but he can see your tense shoulders slightly slumping, body softening at his quiet tone. “I never imagined myself being like everybody else — I despise it–“ His voice turns bitter, as the memories of the people searching for him find him and you do not need an explanation to it — you understand. “From the moment I first saw you…you. You made me feel more than animal and for once I long for walking in the sun again…”

Those words — so softly spoken, so lovingly…Do you really make him feel like this? Did just your presence make him want to change his nature? Just because of you? Every time you felt him, the memories of his presence at night makes you realize that maybe he truly wasn’t trying to make you feel scared. He wanted you…to feel safe, he wanted to be there with you, he just didn’t know how. He did those things to make you feel aware of him to make you notice him like he did to you. “Those things–“ Gifts. “What did they mean?” You ask him, but you already know, you already understand.

“Did you like them?” The sudden sweet tone, mixed with what seems like innocent excitement, confuses you a little, but your expression doesn’t stop him for continuing. “Sorry, my courting skill are not that good–“

“Courting?” The meaning of this word is foreign on your tongue and you are completely speechless at this confession. You knew that it had to mean something — even your friends thought this was it, but actually hearing it being confirmed is another thing. “You call that courting…I was — I am…you are not-“

Your stumbling over your words leads him to come closer to you and for the first time you don’t pull away. “Y/N.” Your lips fall apart at the sound of your name, surprised by him knowing it, but you should have known better. Your stuttering is silenced, when he is suddenly right infront of you, till you can feel is warm breath mixing with yours.

“What do you want?” You whisper in the air between you two and you can’t stop yourself from not becoming breathless at his presence. You naturally corner at the close proximity, knees buckling under you as he leans over your body.

He tilts his head at that question and he wonders why to use this type of words, when it is so obvious. “What do I want?” He repeats, looking down at you. You can’t look away from his eyes, lost in his irises and dilated pupils. Was it really that hard for you to find somebody that would take care of you? He will give it to you. His fingers touch your cheek, stained with your tears and you gasp at the unexpected contact. “Don’t be scared of me, I am real…”

“That’s the thing that scares me…” His fingers trail over the traces your tears have left and you feel the warmth of his skin radiating, just from his finger tips. The cold you feel screams for his warmth, that is what you would like to tell yourself, when your eyes flutter closed. You can’t remember the time you felt like this, did you ever? Something about him is just so soothing, melting on your tongue and your heart skips a beat, when he places his palm on the side of your face. “What is your name?” You wonder out loud, eyes opening and unmoving from his.

“Changbin.”

There is subtle smile on his pink lips from the way you let him touch you and he has to fight back his own shiver of pleasure. “How long have you been here?” You ask more. Maybe because you can feel where this is leading. Were you trying to prevent it? No…you are too smitten by his nature.

“Long time, not particularly staying at one place, till you got here…” You silently gasp, when his thumb catches over your cupid’s bow. You don’t know what is happening to you right now. You are turning into nothing, but a puddle by just few small, little, sweet words and actions — however it is real, all of it. You don’t even know him, but he does know you enough it seems. The attraction you feel for him should be normal, but not the way you so openly let him touch you like this. He really is a magical creature. “You were like a breath of fresh air. I could feel your kindness, I could see how much fight and passion you hold…I apologize for scaring you, I just — I was scared just like you…”

You already know, you already understood, but it doesn’t make you not want to hear him say it. “Why?” You breath out, your small word being traced with his finger.

“Because I–“ He leans just a little closer, stopping himself from, what he wanted the most. His other hand falls next to your head, caging you in and galloping you with his body. “I wanted you to see me, not like that but like this…”

“Why?”

Your question is not answered from his lips. His hand leaves you only to trail over your cold arm, goosebumps only defining from his touch. Changbin hand wraps around your wrist, not too tight, like he wanted you to know that you could stop him any time, but to his delight you don’t. You let him take your hand, placing it over his chest, pushing hard enough for you to feel his racing heart. “Because of this…” Your hand trembles under his, melting at his words and you just can’t help it, but feel him. Never once in your life you had someone talking to you like this. You shouldn’t — he watched you, stalked you, but his sincere voice, made you believe that what he is saying is coming from the heart.

His hand leaves yours, but you don’t move it away. He places his both hands on either side of your face, making you glance back into his eyes. “You are so beautiful.” He whispers so sweetly, closing your eyes for a split moment, completely missing how his eyes turned dark.

“Changbin…” You whispered his name for the first time, mind fuzzy from him alone.

The darkness of his gaze sends shivers down your spine — so predatory, it only makes you remember who and what is holding you. “You didn’t throw away a single thing I gave you.” He states it more than questions it and the look he gives you next…you can’t quite place it. “I know you feel it too.” You are so ashamed that you do.

Your mouth opens in response, when he leans closer to you, till you can feel your lips grazing over his, your every word bouncing off his skin. “This is too much for me.” Your body tells you both otherwise.

“Then let me handle it…” Changbin mumbles over your lips. He wets his with his tongue, the smooth muscle touching your lips so quickly you gasp in shock. “Stop me if you don’t want it…” ‘You want it’, screams a voice in your head.

You don’t say anything back, any response silenced by yourself and his lips pressing to yours. It is softer than you expected, just subtle innocent kiss, till it quickly turns into something, filled with border line hunger. His tongue swipes over your lips, your gasp only letting him in, making you silently whimper into his mouth. The grip on your hips isn’t missed, so hard, that you almost jump at the sensation. He squishes your skin between his fingers, making the material of your dress bunch up. You can’t seem to keep up with his pace, he kissed you with so much passion and want that was held back for way too long. You are now meer puppet in his greedy hands.

Your hands come to his shoulders, squeezing at the hard muscle. His teeth wrap around your bottom lip, softly tugging at it, till it’s red and puffy. “You taste better than I imagined.” Your mind is empty, letting him trail his kisses to your cheek, your jaw, before they go lower to your neck. He is making you feel like a completely different person. You would have thought that you can fight your own desire and needs just fine, but the heat rising between your thighs says otherwise.

Your lips still tingle, tasting your mixed spit and you have to wonder if he isn’t an enchanter instead. His lips wrap around the thin skin of your neck, sucking so harshly you can’t do anything, but to take it. Teeth pricking on you next, saliva dripping from his mouth like an hungry animal tasting your flesh. “Changbin–“ It is so quiet you don’t even hear it yourself, it is like his name is the only thing you have ever known. Just like he wanted…

He releases your skin with a pop, hair framing his dark hooded eyes that pierce through yours. “Yes?” He is breathing hard, chest rising heavily.

“Don’t stop.”

Something comes over him at your words of consent, making him grab at your waist, before you are being lifted off your feet, with such an ease it leaves you gasping for air. Your feet dangle in the air for a moment, before he lowers you to the forest’s ground. Changbin’s hand gripped at your thigh, pressing into his, till he unexpectedly slides his leg between your open ones. The move makes your shake, back arching a little at the sensation of the coldness under you. It doesn’t even make you shiver, because he presses his chest to yours, till your breaths turn into one.

He kisses you again, full with teeth and tongue, huffing through his nose, when he gets the first whiff of your arousal. His hands roam freely and boldly over you — your legs, pushing your dress up, making it pool to your hips, your soft stomach, your chest, fingers caging in your erected nipples. You moan softly, your sound being swallowed hungrily by his mouth as he rolls your buds between his fingers. It sends electricity through you, legs closing, hips shifting, till you can feel his thigh pressing into your center.

Changbin pulls away from you at that, watching you closely, before he manhandles you to his liking. Your legs untangle themselves from his, him holding them tightly in his grasp, before he pulls you closer to him. Your bottom half lifts a little from his sheer strength, gasping when your dripping cunt meets his covered cock. “Feel that?” Leaning back over you, he moves his hips against yours and your mouth hangs open at the feeling of him against you. You feel so dirty, laying down here in the forest with a man who just moments ago revealed his true nature. With his arms on either side of your head, he is in a good enough of distance away from you to see the expression on your face, cock twitching at the sweet frown on your pretty face. “This is what you do to me…look at me–“ You don’t hear him. Mouth opened in small sounds of pleasure, completely fucked out just from the small, delicious rolls of his hips. You hear him hissing a little, when your leg drew to wrap itself around his waist, before there is a hand on your jaw. “I want you to look at me.” The hard pull at your head makes you look up at him finally, eyes glistening at the possessive look in his eyes. “There — so pretty, pretty only for me.”

You moan softly, already drunk. Changbin traces his hand over your exposed thigh, eyes leaving yours to your barely covered pussy and he can’t help it, but breathe your scent in from the sight. So fucking sweet — he is loosing his mind already from how you are letting him do these things to you. Your skin so soft, cold, replaced now by the heat coming from him. He watches you twitch against him, when his fingers touch the band of your underwear. “Want me here, huh?” He is cocky now, completely opposite to the sweet man minutes ago and it gives you a whiplash.

You only blink at him, eyes going to the amused smile on his lips. You can’t even think about how much his behavior changed, because he suddenly cups you into his hand. “F-fuck–“ You gasp in the silence of the night, hips jumping into his hand, mewling, when his index and ring finger press at you through your underwear. The material is already ruined, soaked through and melting into a perfect mold of your spasming cunt, while he slowly yet roughly trails his fingers through your covered folds.

“Fuck, you are already soaked, baby-“ Changbin watches your chest rise wildly with his every move, licking his lips at the feel of your slick coating him. You are a mess. You look at him through your eyelashes, whimpering at his every move. You feel hot all over, so needy, that you found yourself humping his hand. You have never seen yourself like this before, face flushing in small embarrassment, but that only makes his cock swell.

You feel him push your underwear to the side, the elastic springing lightly back and that makes him release a small sound of frustration. Your sound gets caught in your throat, when he tears the material, shredding it into pieces, before throwing it away like it this small piece of clothing was offending him. “Please!” You gasp, hands digging into the ground beneath you. You don’t recognize your voice even, but your behavior doesn’t seem to surprise him.

“Ah – so needy, already. I thought you wanted to take this slow–“

“I–I do, but…just touch me, please.” You whisper back, sitting up a little on your elbows to gaze at him, while he traces shapes on your inner thigh. “I want it-“

Changbin hums lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest, almost like a purr. “What do you want?” You bite at your lip, holding your tongue for a moment, but you can’t control your desire anymore.

“You.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes almost rolling back into his skull. The first dip into your wetness makes you both moan, fingers spreading your lips open to touch your most sensitive parts. Your mind keeps swirling, falling back, till your head meets the ground. “Yes, look at you…so so so pretty–“ Whimpering, his other hand comes to your lower tummy to stop you from moving. He doesn’t let you move, but your legs close a little, when he presses onto your clit.

“S-so pretty – ah!” You repeat lowly, completely delirious. You tremble a little, when he flicks your bud, teasing you into a mess that you already are. He doesn’t stay at one place too long — from swirling tight, slow circles on your pulsing clit, he moves away to spread his fingers over you, till the tips of his fingers touch your entrance.

Changbin doesn’t hold himself back too much, enjoying the way your face turns into desperation brought him way too much joy. Just moments ago you seemed so sure of yourself that you wouldn’t let him break you, but here you were whimpering by his every touch. He dips his middle finger just a little inside you, breathing through his nose at how your cunt already tries to suck him in. He wonders what you will look like, when he finally fucks you onto his cock, how he will mold you onto him, perfectly ruining you for any other. There will never be no other — he will make sure of that.

Just his finger prying at you is enough for you to feel a slight strech, humming in pleasure, when he finally sinks it into your heat. Your gummy walls squeeze him tight, eyebrows furrowing, when he immediately curls his single finger. He can see it on your face — how much more you want, even if your body is already shaking, just by a single finger, but now he has to think — who is he to not give you the pleasure you deserve? “Oh–“ His ring finger joins his middle one, not even giving you a second to breathe as he already curls them inside leaking pussy.

He moves his fingers slowly, tips of them trailing deeply over your upper walls. You can feel his covered cock pressing onto your thigh and you swear you can feel it twitch, with the sharp moan you give him next. “Come on, baby…give it to me…” You whole body trembles, upper back lifting of the ground, when you suddenly feel him touching the one part in you that makes you see stars. There is suddenly a smile on his face, watching your pretty eyes widened, lips parting in silent moan, when he presses harder over the one gummy spot. “There?” He rumbles lowly and you don’t even have to answer him giving the look of bliss on your face.

His fingers suddenly still, as he moves to lay back next to you. He still presses onto your spot however, other fingers on you like hooking onto you. His lips found your collarbone, laying a kiss on your skin, so sweet and so opposite to the way he suddenly starts to move his hand. “Oh, fuck!” You almost squeal at the unexpected move, breathing turning into series of gasp as he starts to finger your cunt, each pump of his fingers pushing harshly into your spot.

“That’s it–“ Changbin’s words of encouragement are mumbled into your skin, eyes on the sight of his digits disappearing into you. He scissors them, curls them — he does everything and that sends you hurling into your peak way too quick than you anticipated. Your fingers were never long enough to reach that delicious spot inside you perfectly, always too impatient to build up the orgasm you only wished of having. He does things to your body, it seems like he knows it better than you do, because you can already feel your juices coating your inner thighs. The nasty, borderline filthy noises coming from between your legs make you flustered, almost wanting to jump away from such pleasure, but he doesn’t let you. His grip is tight onto you, mouthing, nibbling at you with his teeth and you can’t do anything but succumb to him.

Your hands rest on his arms, fingers digging into his muscles that ripple under your touch. With him hovering over you like this, you can clearly see how much bigger he is compare to you — it was almost like he was becoming bigger and bigger. He huffs, growls into you, unoccupied hand traveling to your breast and squeezing instantly at the flesh. “I’m–“ You gasp out, hands fumbling furiously over him, shaking in his hold. Your nipple digs into his palm, him squeezing you so tight that the material separating you from feeling yourselves flesh to flesh, almost rips.

His head rolls back, eyes wildly staring at your cunt hungrily sucking his fingers in, before landing on yours. He can feel how your walls start to clench, his palm pressing down on your neglected clit. You can’t even look at him fully, eyes brimming with small tears and he nearly coos at you. His inner–self tears at the insides of his chest at the sight of you, already so fucked out just by this simple touch…Your tummy rumbles at his nonstoping pace, becoming quiet, mouth opening and closing as you feel the first sparks of your orgasm, till it is suddenly ripped away from you.

Gasping, you cry out, when he pulls his now slicked fingers away from you. Confusion and frustration fills you, legs immediately closing to relieve yourself of the ache. You almost want to cry, looking up at him with big eyes that only make him more amused. However there isn’t much amusement in his dark gaze, both of you watching yourselves closely, while he fully comes to settle between your legs. “I want you to come on my cock-“ You sharply inhale at those vile words, eyes falling onto his hands, while they fumble with his pants.

You are already out of your mind, just one thing left in your thoughts as you see him pull his clothes off. Cold air kisses your slick, making you momentarily shiver, lips coating with spit that pools inside your mouth. You didn’t accept the thing that comes next. You already felt it grazing over you, but that only gave you an idea on what he must be like — however, the sheer weight of it, springing free from his hiding makes you stop breathing. His cock, so thick and delicious with red, angry tip leaking pre cum makes you tightened around nothing. Your mouth opens in small shock, trailing your eyes down the length of if, till it falls to the base and when he just barely moves closer to you, it makes you realize that just maybe you won’t be able to take it.

Changbin set his cock over your lower half, letting you feel each and every inch, his tip meeting your belly button and you can’t help, but stutter over the sight. “Too big–“ You say, eyes staring at his anatomy, thick veins curving around his whole length. His fingers would never be able to fully prepare you for his size and you feel nerves creeping up on you.

He click his tongue at your words, eyes not showing any concern, only desire. Pressing just a little harder down on his cock, he groans at the sight. “Gonna be all the way inside your tummy.” He grips at the base of his thick cock, the small pouch filled with his hot cum hot, tip leaking cum all over your skin already. “You can take it–“ You lightly whimper, breathing hard. “Gonna breed this little pussy of yours.” Your mouth opens even more in shock at that, biting down on your lower lip.

With big eyes you watch his face for a moment. “I can’t–“ Your voice is small, looking like a small lamb before a wolf — which he is.

He taunts you a little, shaking his head. “You can – look.” Your gaze falls down the length of your body again, before it watches how he moves his thick cock, while he lowers it enough till it meets your clit. You mewl, when he slaps it over you, wet sounds flowing around you in the darkness of the night. Your ruined orgasm still didn’t leave you, the simple slap making your back arch a little. Changbin only hums back, smearing himself in your wetness.

You taste blood on your tongue from how much you are bitting down on your lower lip, feeling every single inch of his massive cock. He fucks into his fist, tip hitting your clit each time. He wants you to say it — he wants you to give yourself to him more and more, until he is the only thing you can ever think of. You naturally want to move away from him, already knowing he will stretch you pass your limits, but you can’t stop the single word falling from your lips. “Please–“ You mumble, hand reaching to his shoulder. “Please, please–“

Fuck, you are really a thing to die for. His cock twitches by your needy tone, already to desperate himself not to push his cock to your entrance. His eyes caught the sight of his cum leaking into you, cunt clenching over his spillage and he just can’t wait any longer. His tip plops into you with no warning, the thickness making you sob out a little. “Fuck, so tight-“ You look absolutely wrecked already, chest covered in thin layer of sweat, lips nicely flushed and bitten. You look good enough to devour.

Just the tip of his cock sends sparks of delight through your body, frowning in pleasure. You try to breathe through it, feeling the slight sting in you, but your own body surprises by how much you begged for more. Your hips lift off the ground, only making him sink more into you and you just realize how much more you will have to take. Your move makes Changbin release a low, long sound that almost makes you cower. It rumbles inside his chest and you can’t even think about how much of a mistake that was to do, because right after that half of his cock slides into your warmth.

Your choked sound mixes with his, grabbing tightly at his big arms. “Don’t do that–“ He can feel his control over his body fading and just as much as he wants to fuck you, he would die on the spot if he would hurt you. Though that doesn’t seem likely, when you start to roll your hips into his. “So fucking needy–“ He is already almost at your cervix, sighing at how you can feel each of his vein pulsating against you.

“C-Changbin.” You say his name like a mantra and when you look at him then with big, glassy eyes, he cannot stop himself.

All the way to the brim, to the thick base holding his hot cum is suddenly inside you. You yelp — whiny sounds falling from your mouth. His whole cock stretches you so much, you can’t hold it anymore. Your whole body stills, legs locking around his. The small kiss of the soft hair at his pubic bone on your bundle of nerves sends you over the edge. Tears stream down your cheeks, shaking under him. His whole face changes then, eyes wide and staring at you in awe that almost would be sweet if it weren’t for the fact his cock is all the way in your tummy.

Your sudden orgasm is sharp, juices coating both of you and when it slowly fades you can’t even be embarrassed, because he starts to slide his cock from your warmth, till it fills you up again with a harsh smack! His hands travel to the front of your dress, not stopping the smooth moves of his hips, even when he rips the soft, flowy material. “Look at that–“ You babble, goosebumps appearing on the new uncovered skin of your tits. “So soft.” Changbin grabs a handful of you, before deciding to let your breast freely bounce in the air from his thrusts.

You can feel him all the way to your throat, never feeling unful as he picks up speed. “Too much–“ You are a whimpering mess under him, each sharp thrust only making you get a feel of the full pouch under his cock. The sounds that leave him are animalistic — so raw and loud. Leaning back over you it only makes him go deeper in you, making your legs push forward, till they rest over his lower back.

He doesn’t even let you be in your own world, he wants you to look at him — he wants you to see, who is doing this to you. “You are taking me so good, bunny–“ The nickname goes to your head a little more than it should and even in your state you realize how much he is getting off on the fact that your body is so small compare to his. You shiver harshly, when he suddenly swipes his hot tongue over your cheek, while his lips go to meet your ear. “Can you feel that?” His hand falls over your soft tummy, pressing down onto it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Gonna breed this little pussy – gonna make you mine and only mine-“

His thighs meets the back of yours so loudly it echoes around you, the squelching of your cunt and both of your moans mixing into symphony of pleasure. You should be concerned by the possessiveness of his actions and words, but you are too drunk on him to even care. With each pump of his cock, each sharp thrust, he can feel his cock right under his hand, the cum at the base of his cock teasing your entrance. “W-what–“ Your hooded eyes snap open, when his hips come to roll against yours, slowly realizing what he wants to do — he wants you take all of him.

Your small noise, makes him pull his head away from your shoulder, shushing you softly. “It’s okay, baby — you can take it.” You shake your head a little, spit flowing down your cheek only to realize it wasn’t even yours. “Just a little more, you are doing so good to me–“ The thick base pushes into you more and more and you yelp a little at the small pain. Changbin kisses you softly then, smoothing down your hair, stopping his abuse at your poor, puffy cunt, only for him to grasp your legs, maneuvering them so they are on each of his shoulders.

That position makes it easier for him and less painful for you, but it still makes you whimper pathetically. “Please–“ You are pleading again. His knot is so big it makes you see spot before your very eyes, both of you stilling for a moment, when it finally plops into you.

You can’t breathe — your ears ringing and you are thankful for the soft kisses on your cheek to distract you. Your knees lock around his neck, turning your head to him in small disbelief. Changbin leans to kiss you deeply, mumbling small, sweet nothings to you, letting your body relax a little. The feeling is different to anything you have ever felt before — with your walls sucking him in, it seems like you are milking him dry. Only the feel of his already leaking cock sends you into brink of overstimulation. “You did so good–“ Your lip is again pulled by his teeth, letting his tongue roam freely inside your mouth, distracting you long enough, until you again feel your neediness come back to you.

The response of your body makes him move a little, humping into you only, so his knot doesn’t leave you. He hits something inside you, your clit burning a little, with his pubic bone sliding over yours. Cursing, you feel him sit back a little on his knees to roll his hips sharper into yours. He is mesmerized by you — your flushed, hot skin, teary, pleading eyes and soft tits jiggling with his every move. “Ohhh–“ Your eyes close, back arching a little, because you can’t move much, with his body lying on top of yours.

His slow, yet deep thrusts make you turn into jelly, body slumping, mouth opening and letting drool roll down the side of your face. His face turns into big grin, breathing heavily with you, feeling his cock jump with his each one of his thrust. He wants it to take — fuck, he wants to turn you into this mess every day. Your body relaxes so much that you don’t even make a sound, when he starts to slide his cock in and out of your stretched out hole, his thick base sinking into you, with so much ease now.

His head rolls back at the sensation, eyes looking up to the sky, reflecting the light of the moon. He can feel himself losing over his other self, his moves becoming more and more erratic that it makes you slide down the cold ground. Your gaze travels to the length of his neck, watching his throat bob, veins pushing against the thin skin. Your soft whimpers turn into whines, feeling the delicious sensation of your second peak. The sounds leaving you make him turn his gaze back to you and you fight the argue to gasp at the state of him. His once dark eyes are now yellow and bright, mouth open, small pointy teeth blinking teasingly at you, spit coating his lips and rolling all the way down his chin. “I’m close-“ You whisper, eyes wide and unblinking from his.

You are too pretty like this — too hard not to just sink his teeth into you. His own legs start to spasm, his rough, deep thrusts going out of rhythm, feeling the heat slowly filling his stomach. His lips are onto yours again and you barely call it a kiss as you both only gasp into each other’s mouths. “Yes–“ He picks up his speed, chasing both of your highs. “Come for me, pretty girl–“

It is such a delicious burn, such a nice pressure, when he unexpectedly sinks his teeth into your shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, it only sends sheer pleasure down your spine, the spot tingling with each swipe of his tongue on the sensitive skin, tasting small specks of your blood. Your nails scratch at his still covered back, while your cunt clenches hard around his cock. He can’t move from the way you squeeze him, the tightness sending him over the edge just as he pushes his knot back into you. Your orgasm hits you so hard, that you only see white for a moment, juices squirting out of you, coating you both. You feel him still, head falling to your shoulder, body weight pressing onto yours. You feel and hear him take in your natural scent, while he cums inside you. The fullness you feel is so much — his cock swells more and more, feeling every pump his cum coming out of his cock. The hot liquid fills you to the brim, a low growl coming from the deepest parts of his chest.

He doesn’t make a move to pull out, feeling his cum leak all the way to your tummy. It is so much that with his hand still pressing down on you, it leaks out of you, coating you both in sticky residue. Changbin watches your face of complete euphoria, the feeling of you milking him dry sending shivers down his spine. He waited so long — too long to have you like this and he is sure, he will never let you out of sight again. Not, when you take him so good, not when you have become such a precious little thing for him. It is just like he wanted — you under him, with him buried inside of you, full of his cum from his still hard cock, his knot still full and ready for you to take more. And with the way you accepted him already as he is — like the thing you were, you had no clue, what have gotten yourself into…he just can’t wait to have you again and again.

Every day and every night, till you will be his forever.

519 notes · View notes

absdollievu · 11 days ago

Text

Come Stay Awhile

Olderrich!abby x babysitter!reader

Warnings: abby is in her early 30’s, reader in in her late 20’s

The rain had started just as you turned up the long, winding driveway, the heavy drops tapping against your windshield as you squinted through the gathering gray. You’d seen pictures of the house online — it was part of the job offer — but pictures hadn’t done it justice.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a mansion.

Wide, tall, and built in clean modern lines, with sharp stone paths cutting through immaculately trimmed gardens. You swallowed hard and parked by the front steps, nerves chewing at your stomach.

You were just the babysitter. Nothing more.

Right?

The door swung open before you could even knock.

There she was — Abby Anderson herself.

Early 30s, taller than you remembered from the interview, broad shoulders filling the doorway like a wall you wouldn’t mind running into. She wore a loose black sweatshirt and joggers, her hair pulled into a low bun, a pen tucked behind her ear like she’d been signing important papers and forgot about it.

“Hey,” she said simply, voice low and casual, but her eyes were sharp. “You found it.”

You managed a smile, feeling a little like a lost cat she was about to shoo off her porch.

“Yeah. Thanks for…uh, hiring me.”

She stepped aside and gestured you in with a quick flick of her hand. “Come on. You’ll get soaked.”

The entrance smelled like lemon cleaner and new wood. Everything gleamed: dark floors, wide staircases, tall glass windows.

You stood there dripping water onto an expensive rug and feeling about two inches tall.

Abby shut the door behind you and tilted her head slightly. “You bring your stuff?”

You nodded and jerked a thumb toward your beat-up car. “Yeah. It’s, uh, not much.”

“Good.” She grabbed a set of keys from the little table by the door and tossed them to you.

You almost dropped them.

“I’ll show you where you’re staying,” Abby said, like it was no big deal.

Like you weren’t about to live inside her literal palace.

⸻

The guest house was somehow even nicer than any apartment you’d ever lived in.

It was detached from the main building, had its own kitchen, a little patio, even a washer and dryer. Abby helped you carry your stuff inside — three trips, even though you insisted she didn’t have to.

The whole time, you tried not to stare.

At the way her forearms flexed when she lifted.

At the little frown she got when she was concentrating. At how young she really looked when she wasn’t all buttoned-up in work clothes.

By the time you finished unloading, your nerves had cooled a little. Abby leaned against the doorframe with a bottle of water in her hand, surveying your sad little pile of belongings.

“You’ll fit in,” she said with a smirk.

You laughed, grateful she didn’t seem to mind how out of place you were.

⸻

Weeks passed.

You fell into a rhythm: school drop-offs, play dates, dinner prep.

Her kid was easy — smart, funny, quick to latch onto you like you were the coolest person alive. Abby kept her distance at first, always polite but busy. Always somewhere else.

But sometimes, you caught her watching.

At breakfast, when you made her daughter laugh so hard milk came out her nose.

At bedtime, when you sang low to get her kid to sleep.

At the kitchen table, when you doodled silly comics on homework papers.

Those moments were fleeting. Always broken by a phone call, a meeting, a door shutting upstairs.

Until that one night.

⸻

It had been a long day.

Soccer practice. Science fair projects. Grocery runs.

You were dead on your feet, tying your shoes by the door, about to head back to the guesthouse.

“You want a drink?” Abby’s voice came from behind you.

You froze — laces half-tied, one foot still raised.

Slowly, you turned.

She was leaning against the kitchen island, holding two glasses — whiskey already poured.

Her hair was down for once, messy from running her hands through it. Her sweatshirt sleeves were pushed up, veins standing out against her forearms.

She looked… normal. Soft. Tired in a way that made your chest ache.

You hesitated. You weren’t sure why.

It was just a drink.

Right?

Your heart thudded. You smiled, small and unsure but real.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love one.”

Abby’s mouth twitched like she wanted to smile too — but didn’t let herself.

You crossed the kitchen and took the glass from her, fingertips brushing hers for half a second longer than necessary. Neither of you pulled away first.

It was quiet.

The house hummed around you.

The storm still whispered against the windows.

For the first time since you arrived, you realized you weren’t scared of Abby anymore.

Not even a little.

You were scared of yourself — of how easy it was becoming to want her.

And across the countertop, Abby was realizing it too.

The way her throat bobbed when she swallowed.

The way her gaze kept dropping to your mouth when you talked about nothing and everything over the next few hours.

The way she leaned in when you laughed, like she couldn’t help it.

Something shifted that night — quiet, seismic, undeniable.

Neither of you said anything.

But when you said goodnight, Abby’s hand lingered on the edge of your sleeve, as if she almost reached for you.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

⸻

From that night on, everything between you and Abby changed.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Sweetly.

And maybe — if you were both brave enough — it wouldn’t stop.

⸻

After that night, Abby didn’t start showing up at your door with flowers or make grand gestures.

No — it was quieter than that.

It was the way she lingered at the doorway after you put her daughter to bed, sitting at the kitchen island while you finished cleaning up.

It was the way she started asking about your day — not the polite “how was it” of a boss, but the genuine curiosity of someone who wanted to know you.

It was the way she smiled now — small, almost shy, not the tight professional one she used to give.

The slowest burn you’d ever lived through.

And you?

You started finding reasons to stay a little longer after your shifts.

You laughed at her dry jokes until your insides hurt.

You kept catching yourself looking at her — at the crinkle of her eyes when she laughed, the way she always absentmindedly cracked her knuckles when she was thinking.

You were screwed. Completely, irrevocably screwed.

⸻

It was almost two months later, on another rainy night, that it all came to a head.

You were curled up on the couch in Abby’s massive living room — her daughter already fast asleep upstairs — flipping through some mindless movie on TV. Abby wandered in, holding two beers.

“You look dead,” she said with a small smirk, dropping onto the other end of the couch.

“Feel dead,” you mumbled, gratefully accepting the beer.

You sat there in silence for a while, the muted light of the TV flickering across the room.

You could feel her across the couch — the warmth of her body, the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

Half an hour passed.

Maybe more.

You didn’t know anymore, the beer softening the edges of the world.

At some point — you didn’t even realize when — you shifted sideways, curling your knees up and resting your head against the back of the couch. Facing her. Watching her.

She was already looking at you.

Something pulled taut between you.

Tight. Breathless. Dangerous.

Abby set her beer down with a quiet clink.

Her hand flexed against her thigh like she was fighting herself.

And then — her voice, low and rough:

“You’re good with her.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Your daughter?”

Abby gave the smallest nod.

“You’re good…with me too.”

Your heart stopped.

Dead quiet.

You opened your mouth, searching for something to say, but Abby was already moving — slow, careful, deliberate.

She shifted closer.

Not much — just a few inches.

“You make this place feel like home,” she said, voice raw.

Your chest ached so hard it hurt.

Without thinking — without giving yourself time to doubt — you closed the distance.

Leaning in.

You stopped a breath away, giving her a chance to pull back.

She didn’t.

Instead, Abby’s hand came up — rough fingers curling behind your neck — and she kissed you.

⸻

It wasn’t a soft kiss.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was starving.

Years of loneliness and longing crashing all at once.

A kiss that said I didn’t think I’d ever have this.

A kiss that said I’m scared to want you but I do anyway.

You gasped against her mouth, and she swallowed it hungrily, her other hand gripping your hip like she was terrified you’d slip away.

You didn’t.

You stayed.

Pressed closer.

Kissed her back like you’d been waiting for this exact moment since the second you stepped onto her front porch.

⸻

Later, much later, you lay tangled together on the couch.

Her sweatshirt smelled like clean laundry and rain.

Her fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along your spine.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

You didn’t need to.

Because sometimes, when something breaks open inside you — something heavy and beautiful — you don’t rush to fill the silence.

You let it bloom.

And lying there against her chest, you knew:

this was just the beginning.

⸻

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temis-de-leon · 1 month ago

Text

MC injures their knee

Characters: gn!MC and Demon Brothers

Main Masterlist

Anon request: I'm very curious as to how the demon brothers would handle an MC / Y/N that accidentally injured their knee and can't move their leg for a while as a result. Like, everything was fine and dandy, the day was going well! But as they were walking from one area to the other, suddenly they turned too quickly, or perhaps they awkwardly shifted their weight in a moment of absentmindedness - and now their kneecap is out of the socket. Content one moment, distressed the next once they realize what happened. They scream so loudly from the pain that you can hear it outside the House of Lamentation, immediately making any noise go quiet. Even once they (very carefully) get it back in place and the pain starts to subside, they're shaking and in tears, completely unable to walk on that side. They're gonna be out of commission for a few days, may or may not have permanent damage in the area, but it slowly gets better over time. It's okay if you don't wanna do this one, btw! This is just based on something that happened to me earlier this week, gotta love Funky Joint Syndrome (hEDS) :')

A/N: I wrote this three different times, and on every occasion, I found myself unable to not write the little intro at the beginning. Even when you already put the context, anon. I hope you enjoy it and you're feeling better after all this time! Sorry for taking so long! <3

I like to think this would happen one of those days when the House of Lamentation is half empty because the universe likes to be that awful most of the time.

You’re almost thankful that, for once, you can finally run around your home with no demons trailing behind you. Sure, you love the brothers, but their demand for your attention can get suffocating sometimes.

And this specific day, each one of them is doing their own thing in separate places. Lucifer is at the castle, Mammon at the casino, Asmo is at a party, and Beel is running laps around the house. With the rest of the brothers rotting away in their rooms, it is safe to say you have all the house to yourself.

You take advantage of the situation by admiring the architecture, the oil paintings, the details in the staircase windows and the statues. You feel dumb at the beginning, but how could you live in a mansion without even attempting to appreciate its… unique beauty?

Murder house aesthetic, right?

The problem comes when you accidentally trip while stepping on the curled corner of one of the carpets.

The movement awkwardly twists your leg and makes your patella sit on the side instead of the front, where it’s supposed to be. Your joint locks itself, unnaturally bulgy, and sends waves of pain through all your nervous system.

You aren’t sure what noise the brothers heard first, either your fall or your cries, but they are all there with you in mere seconds. And those who are out of the house are on their way the moment they receive the informative message.

Thankfully, Lucifer managed to stop Diavolo and Barbatos from coming with him.

And despite Beel being the closest, the first one to return is Mammon.

Asmo takes a little longer because the tears are blurring his vision.

But back to the incident.

Satan manages to pop your patella back into position with magic while Levi and Belphie comfort you, and in the back of your mind, the commotion makes you feel a tiny bit embarrassed.

It hurts like hell, yes, but you don’t want the whole house to think you’re dying. Last time that happened, you, at least, went with a fight, but this time, you just tripped. And they’re taking it like your leg’s going to be amputated.

On the other hand, though, despite being overbearing, they take incredible care of you.

Since Beel is already used to it thanks to Belphie, he offers to take you anywhere, even if it’s within walking distance. It doesn’t matter if it’s a piggyback ride or a princess carry; whatever makes you feel more comfortable and painless, he will do.

Lucifer lets you skip classes for the necessary recovery period, not even contemplating the idea of seeing you walk up so many stairs and then stay sit and still for hours on end. If you try to act tough for the sake of being a responsible student, he may order the older twin to keep guard outside your bedroom door. He’s making sure you rest.

Satan understands Lucifer’s approach and, surprise surprise, is on board with it; but rather than making sure you stay in the house, he guarantees you don’t feel the need to leave at all. He will offer his notes and tutor you on what you don’t understand, laying down beside you in bed with books and papers scattered around you.

Levi, on the other hand, is set on keeping you entertained, and understanding that it is better if you don’t move for a while, he brings his games and manga to your room. It’s almost too much and proves to be unnecessary because you end up spending the days marathoning The Tale of the Seven Lords yet again and talking about it nonstop afterwards.

Asmo is more of a self-care type of guy and wants you to know that. He understands how you could prefer rotting away in bed while sick or injured, but you should really take care of your body! Each morning, he marches straight to your room after finishing his own routine (because you have to see him at his best) and applies himself every ointment your beautiful face could need to stay the same. If you let him, and he’ll promise he’ll be careful, he’ll even massage some anti-inflammatory cream in the injured area.

Mammon becomes your favourite errand boy, leaving the house in search of every craving you may have, even if it’s stupid. Sure, he’ll complain, but that’s part of his charm. He wouldn’t be putting on his boots if it really bothered him, right? No matter the cost, he’ll pay for it; unless it’s expensive, in which case Lucifer may add an involuntary contribution (wink wink).

And while all of this is taking place, Belphie is peacefully sleeping right next to you, hidden under the blankets and blissfully unaware of all the noise. He offers cuddles, comfort, warmth and good dreams, and if your knee is feeling especially painful, he may even let you hold onto his tail like a plushie.

If there’s a bad part to any of this, it’s that now they won’t let you out of their sight for even a minute.

What did you expect?

You got hurt in the comfort of your own house!

While they were away!!

Clearly, they need to stay closer.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

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justabeewithapen · 15 days ago

Note

What do you think would('ve) happen if, like, Doey and the other toys/experiments (Lucas and Bella included) got out of the facility? How would they react? Obviously, they'd enjoy the freedom, but what else?

Text under the read more!

Phew! Sorry this took me so long to get to, but hopefully it was worth it! Someone else also sent an ask talking about how Bella and Lucas could have survived the HOJ (which I accidentally deleted due to lag while deleting spam TwT) so this is for both of you!!

The first thing on everyone's mind after escaping would be food, food and drinks of any kind. Playtime Co. controlled most of the toys via starvation, and the food they did get was really low quality junk. Doey is more than familiar with crawling through vents, and what is that Walmart employee really going to do about him. While grabbing most anything in reach, there was definitely a preference towards junk food, they're all still kids and chips and soda are like ambrosia and they're going to eat until they throw up, and then they'll probably eat more after XD

After they finish gorging themselves I think they'd probably hide? Try and find somewhere to hide out either just in the woods or if they can locate an abandoned building. Anything to stay out of the weather and away from people, especially that last bit. None of them want anything to do with people, interactions would be rare and as short as they possibly can manage (they're all very scared of being dragged back). Getting Lucas and Bella's collars off is one of those rare people interactions, that poor employee who had Doey's stalker form looming over them while they tried to turn off a shock collar attached to a stuffed animal (who was also alive). Like, the second they left the store that dude 100% fainted BAHAHAHA. Doey's main focus is on himself, Bella, and Lucas, though I think it'd make sense for them to pick up a squad on the way out. Most toys were enjoying the carnage to some degree (or being torn apart in it) and most of the mini toys couldn't do much even after getting out of the building, these three were just lucky. There is no way in hell any of them would be willing to go back into the building, as much as they wish certain friends were here, it's just too much risk.

Honestly even after escaping I think they'd still be stuck in survival mode, scared of being dragged back at any moment and living in a world that is so new and scary. Most don't have very strong memories of being human, everything is new and to them, anything new is dangerous. They'd settle into a routine eventually I imagine... I believe in them :] Also for funsies! The Bron's name is Brandy, he remembers the most about being human (though not his own name as Brandy was a name he took after being a toy) and is in charge when it comes to figuring out new stuff. He is also the oldest of the group! The Daddy Long Leg is Dill, he also doesn't remember his real name. Dill and Doey are the main ones who do any sneaking that needs to be done, Dill is small and flexible, Doey is large and flexible. Finally there is the Catbee Amelia, who the only thing she remembers is her name. One of her antenna snapped off before meeting Doey and gang and she was the leader of her little squad, though I think she enjoys being able to take a backseat nowadays.

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pellucid-constellations · 4 months ago

Text

Trial and Error (7)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: Hi it's been a while for this series! Next chapter goes crazy I'll tell you that much. Love you thanks for reading <3

Main Masterlist ♡

Life no longer felt as if you were on the run.

You were, obviously, but an ease had blanketed the cage you had placed yourself in, fostering a warmth that almost tricked you into forgetting. The biting heat from Autumn, always so readily at the forefront of your mind, took a backseat to the calm routine of your life. You forgot, sometimes, that you and Melanie were living on borrowed time. On borrowed luck.

Azriel made that easy.

Things had progressed between the two of you, so slowly that the movement was imperceptible. But you felt the change in short bursts, at the most inconsequential of times.

He would come over at night and hold you as you slept, but only after the unseasonable warmth had vanished and your single-paned windows became evident. Those nights were accompanied by an overload of blankets being heaped onto your daughter’s bed, but still, there was often a knock that shortly followed Azriel’s arrival. There was enough room for three on the bed, anyways.

Azriel was not shy about touching you, but he was also adamant about not crossing any lines. You weren’t sure who had created those lines, but they kept his hands in your hair and at your waist and clasped to yours when you took Melanie out for walks. His lips stayed, again, at your hairline and on your cheeks and in the divots of your knuckles when he said goodbye.

You thought, perhaps, he was waiting for you to fully kiss him before he allowed himself the liberty, but there never seemed to be a right time. And you were still often confused.

In the time you spent with Azriel, you opened up more about your past. You told him of the perilous journey to Velaris and the difficulty of finding a job with your lack of skills. He inquired about your position back in Autumn Court, how you could have survived with no job, but there was no reason to have a job when you were a court lady, and you told him that.

“My skills mostly lie in propriety. I know how to work a room—” you had explained. “—but that is hardly useful when you come to a new court as a common person.”

“So, you were not common in Autumn?” he had asked.

Your chest had started to hurt at that, so you only shook your head and stared down at his fingers intertwined with yours.

Azriel hadn’t asked for more. He kissed the side of your head and told you about growing up in Illyria. He told you about Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor. He spoke of the Archeron sisters and their abrupt arrival in the court. He would brush your hair back and tell you about the nights he thought about his mate and how you had decimated every one of his expectations.

“Because I came with so much baggage?” you had teased.

Azriel had only smiled softly, the fire crackling in your hearth lighting up Melanie’s face as she slept against Azriel’s thigh. “Because you have offered so much more than I had imagined.”

Each time he looked at you took your breath away. You had thought he looked at you with admiration before, but after he had become sure you wouldn't bolt at the first sign of his feelings, the pure adoration in his gaze was almost difficult to meet. He looked at Melanie in a similar way—softer, more fond than adoring, but you could pick out each difference and they made you feel lightheaded.

You were going to kiss him today.

You were going to drop Melanie off at the neighbor's next door for a sleepover with the other kids, and you were going to invite him to stay. And then you would tell him who Melanie’s father was.

Maybe you wouldn’t tell him everything yet, but you had amped yourself up to tell him that much, and you wanted to kiss him desperately.

Standing outside of Melanie’s school, you leaned against the pillar you claimed as your own and stared up at Azriel as he told you about the best places to get weapons in town. You were half listening, half simply admiring because you had no use for information on weapons sales, but Azriel didn’t seem to mind your lack of interest. He usually didn’t come with you to get Melanie, but he was tasked with picking up Nyx, which meant it was safe for the two of you to be here together.

Well, according to Azriel, it was always safe. But this felt safe for you.

“There is an elderly woman on the far side of the Sidra who offers the best prices but she’s rather prickly.”

“Are you usually concerned about prices?” you posed, a knowing judgment in your eye that was mostly in jest.

“Well, I would not enjoy being ripped off,” he countered with a laugh. He was only a short step away from you, craning his neck down slightly as you spoke of nothing important.

“Oh no, we couldn’t have that,” you mocked, mouth twisting into a smile. “Something to finally put a dent in that bank account of yours? Couldn’t be.”

Azriel scoffed, his eyes bright. “I’ve told you, countless times, that I would like to use some of that money to get you a new place. But you always refuse.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not using you for your money, Azriel.”

“I know,” he softly replied. He brought a hand up to tilt your chin. “I’ll still get you to agree eventually.”

“I think you underestimate my resolve.”

“Oh, I know I do. Give me time to get more acquainted with it.”

You breathed out a laugh, opening your mouth to respond, to quip, to remain in this peaceful bubble Azriel seemed to have carefully curated when a confused shout of Azriel’s name sent terror washing through you.

“Azriel?” the voice called again. You kept wide eyes locked on the Shadowsinger before you, the cause of your fear emanating from behind your back. “I thought I was getting Nyx today. I could have sworn—”

Azriel quickly removed his fingers from your chin and straightened his stance, but it was too late. The man behind you let out a low, playful whistle, and you could hear his footsteps drag casually as he walked, but you had never been more tense in your life.

“Cassian,” Azriel cleared his throat, looking over you to the man you knew to be the High Lord’s war general. You kept your gaze locked on the veins weaving intricate patterns in Azriel’s wings. “I was getting Nyx today.”

“But I thought you had plans tonight.”

“I do. I was going to get him and drop him off at Feyre’s studio. She’s teaching a class.”

A pause.

“Is your friend shy?”

Azriel’s wing inched forward, but it didn’t enclose you. That would make this obvious. He wouldn’t want to make a scene.

Azriel looked down at you and you could tell he was trying to convey so much with just that gaze. But above all, you knew this was unavoidable. Cassian would see you; he would only become more suspicious if you remained in this state, frozen and defiant. So you found the reassurance you needed in Azriel’s expression and you plastered a strained smile on your face. And you turned around.

“Hi,” you greeted. Cassian was exactly as Azriel had explained, sly grin and all. “Not shy, just taken off guard a little.”

Now behind you, Azriel spoke your name introducing you and acting as if you had no idea who Cassian was. The General couldn’t seem to wipe the smirk from his face, eyes flitting back and forth between you and Azriel. “It’s nice to meet you,” Cassian nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing you’re the one taking up all of Az’s time recently? We’d love it if you came to us every once in a while. Maybe the guy would actually be present during our get-togethers if you were there.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hands joining at your waist as you began picking at your fingers. In response, Cassian’s expression faltered. He uncrossed his arms.

“She’s very busy,” Azriel answered for you. “She runs an apothecary.”

Cassian’s brows shot up. “Oh? Maybe I could come by sometime to—”

The school bell rang, punctuating the height of your anxiety. An overwhelming urge to cry heated your face and made your waterline sting, but you bit hard into your cheek instead, face twisting into another semblance of the worst smile imaginable.

A few more minutes.

The teacher was always late.

“Is there a remedy or something you’d need from an apothecary?” you asked, the words sounding strange as you lost your breath behind fear.

Cassian’s brows came together, an action so brief you almost missed it before he lowered his tone substantially. “I would mostly just like to see your craft. Having your own station is incredibly impressive.”

He sounded soft now, unsure. You smiled again, but that didn’t seem to help. You had a small inkling that had you known who Azriel was the first time you’d met him in this exact location, the situation would have gone similarly.

A warm hand met your back causing the air to vacate your lungs.

Azriel was here. Azriel was here and although this was close to your worst nightmare, he understood and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you or Melanie.

Melanie.

Cassian would see Melanie.

Fears actualized and then amplified as your daughter’s soft tone formed the syllables of Azriel’s name. Her shout was happy and followed closely by Nyx’s, and it would have been clear to anyone observing the scene that your daughter was very familiar with the Shadowsinger. And that Nyx was very familiar with that relationship as well.

Azriel, not wanting to confuse the five-year-olds now tugging at his pants, gave your shoulder a slight squeeze before kneeling to gather them in his arms. They giggled as he rose, rattling on about the events of the day, and you used the noise as an excuse to finally turn around and avoid Cassian’s baffled expression.

“Mommy!” Melanie called, beckoning you forward until her small arm was wrapped around the back of your neck. “Maybe Nyx could come to my sleepover tonight. He’s my best friend, did you know that?”

You fought past the quiver in your throat to put on a smile. “I did know that, Mel. But Nyx doesn’t know your friends at home and his parents might not be okay with him staying with strangers.”

Melanie narrowed her eyes and gasped in revelation. She turned to Nyx, slapping Azriel in the face with her braid in the process. “You’ll have to meet my friends during the daytime then. So your parents can see them!”

“That sounds like a good idea!” Nyx cheered. “I’ll ask my mommy later. Then maybe we can all be friends.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea too,” Cassian sounded off from behind you. “Lots of new people to meet, it seems.”

You winced, the expression hidden by your daughter's tight clasp on your neck. Azriel readjusted the children in his arms before clearing his throat. He caught your eye briefly, just a short glance, before staring up at his brother.

“Can we do this later?” he asked, the question not sounding like a question.

“Do what later? I’m not doing anything?” Cassian defended. “I was just meeting your new friend. That’s all.”

“Ms. Y/n isn’t a new friend, Uncle Cassian,” Nyx almost boasted. “She’s just new to you.”

“That right? Why didn’t you mention her sooner then, Nyx?”

Nyx brought his finger up to his chin and shared a private laugh with Melanie, the sight making your anxiety lessen. Until Cassian spoke again.

“Well, now I’m feeling left out. This isn’t fair.” He stepped forward enough to capture Melanie’s limited attention. “I’m Cassian. I’m like Azriel over here, but a whole lot better.”

Azriel scoffed, but Melanie only smiled, finally releasing you from her grip to take the hand Cassian had outstretched towards her. “My name’s Melanie. And I’ll believe you only if you take me up flying 'cause Mr. Azriel never lets me.”

“Ah-ah,” Azriel tsked. “Melanie, you know why I won’t take you.”

Melanie groaned and knocked her head back. “Mommy doesn’t need to know everything we do. Sometimes she’s busy, Mr. Azriel.”

“You guys all seem pretty close,” Cassian observed, turning his gaze over to you. “I think I’d really like to get you over to a family dinner sometime. See what’s been keeping Azriel so occupied.”

“Melanie can come to our house?” Nyx screeched into Azriel’s ear.

“Oh, um,” you stuttered, your skin prickling with uncomfortable heat. You stared up at Azriel, widening your eyes just a fraction to show your panic, but he was looking at Melanie as she screamed into his other ear. “I-I really don’t know about that. Azriel only really—what I mean to say is that Melanie only really knows Azriel from school events. She really likes his wings. I don’t think—”

“Cassian, later,” Azriel emphasized once again.

This had always been a terrible idea.

What was Azriel going to tell Cassian during this undetermined period of time?

And family dinner? With the High Lord and Lady?

You felt like you would be sick, any and all comfort being ripped out from under you.

And Cassian—Cassian looked so confused you weren’t sure his brow could twist any further. He lifted his hands in gentle surrender, opening and closing his mouth several times as if to speak but then thinking better of it.

You should leave. You should leave right now.

You coaxed Melanie out of Azriel’s arms, much to her protest, and calmed the calamity that was your breath as you nodded to Cassian. “Very nice to meet you,” you rushed.

“Mommy, but I—”

“No, honey. I’m sorry but we have to go home,” you cut Melanie off.

Your feet took you further and further away from the disaster in front of the school, none of the fear and panic being left at the gates. You took it all with you, heavy on your shoulders as your daughter told you, multiple times, that she could walk beside you and she promised she’d hold your hand.

But you were back in survival mode, as Azriel called it, and none of your daughter’s pleas were registering.

Because now, a member of the court knew who you were. And he knew about Melanie.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction

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fictionalsweethearts · 3 months ago

Text

ENDURE, TAKE, OWN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: As you take control of your pleasure, Sevika reveals memories that still hurt.

Contains: hurt/comfort, soft!sevika, confessions, kissing, strap-on, vulnerability.

This a sequel of this fic, in case you wanna check it out. Enjoy!

"Huh, I don't remember..." Sevika said. "It happened ages ago."

"Are you calling yourself an elder right now?" you teased her, standing behind her, running your hand through her black strands. "How old were you?"

"Uhm... I dunno, seventeen?"

"Seventeen and sneaking girls into your room?"

"It didn't happen in my bedroom, doll." Sevika grinned just a bit, as if the emotion of the moment had suddenly seized her again, just as it had twenty-three years ago. "It happened in a warehouse where I used to work."

Sevika seemed to go over the events in her mind, she could still smell the alcohol and the aged wood, the girl's perfume, the taste of tobacco. Just the memory made her happy somehow, the expectation and the amazement she felt within those four walls was liberating, as she found herself in some sort of awakening.

"You see… I was still pretty lost when I was seventeen, I made a lot of bad decisions, I met people I shouldn't have hung out with," she explained. "The arguments with my old man were a daily thing, I was kicked out of the house many times. I don't regret it, though."

A gentle breeze blew through the window, and by then you were already running a brush through Sevika's locks. Seeing her with her hair down softened her features in a way you hadn't expected.

"I started working in a warehouse for the Barral Twelve company."

"Wasn't it the owner of that company who…?"

"Who killed himself in the main square? Yes, that same one. Those were different times, people were more… showy." Sevika sighed. "I worked double shifts, just to keep a roof over my head and not come back home with my tail between my legs, like my father expected. I used to steal things from the warehouse, mostly booze. It was more fun to work drunk."

"You drove the company into bankrupt then." you joked.

"Probably." Sevika chuckled, followed by a soft hum as you brushed her hair. "What are you doing?"

"You always wear that boring half ponytail, I thought… I'd change your look. For tonight."

"Just don't make me look like a schoolgirl."

"I won't." you smiled, starting to divide her hair into three sections. "I'm listening."

And Sevika continued.

"There was this girl I worked with, Nina," the woman continued, settling back in her chair as you did her hair. "She was older, I think. Twenty? I don't remember, but I do remember that we would sneak into the back rooms to smoke and drink whatever was on the shelves."

"So your first time happened in a warehouse?"

"Romantic, isn't it?" Sevika shrugged. "I'd kissed girls before, it was fun, but I was interested in what else she could offer."

You started braiding her hair, so delicately that Sevika felt a tickle on her scalp. "I remember taking off that ashen shirt of hers, she wasn't wearing a bra. I tried to suck on her nipples, she liked it…"

Sevika paused to review the events. "It must have happened during the break, we were in a hurry. I wasn't ashamed, rather curious cause I always liked her, she was pretty. Just maybe too much of a junkie for my taste."

"Junkie?"

"The white-nosed ones."

"Geez."

"Indeed." she agreed. "I remember her pushing me up against the wall, shoving her hands into my pants, and the rest happened in a minute or two. She covered my mouth when I came."

"And that was it?"

"First times are just that," Sevika said simply. "They're awkward, fleeting… even borning sometimes."

And that doesn't mean they were worth forgetting, they were steps to step on in an endless staircase of learning and mistakes. Sevika didn't see the first encounters as a problem, but rather as a time to identify what her body had to offer. After that encounter, she wasn't afraid to seek contact with girls in clubs, roommates, neighbors, waitresses or brothel workers. She was trying out the sexual diversity of Zaun, from shy women to shameless ones who enjoyed a slap in the middle of oral or a hand placed on their throat. Sevika accepted everything, in order to learn, in order to feel in control of what her body provoked in others. And she loved to own that power.

"Did you see her again?" you asked then, undoing the braid when you saw that it had become crooked. Not that Sevika was complaining, the feeling of your hands in her hair was delightful.

"No, she died. Overdose."

"Shit."

"Over time you learn to read people better, Nina had been seeing that coming for a long time."

Sevika had learned not to get attached to people whose lives hung in the balance. Death lurks around every corner in Zaun, in the form of drugs, crime and incidents, so seeing her peers succumb to one seemed more of a probability than an isolated case. Many times it was she who was dancing with death, dedicating herself to gangs from an early age, playing with substances that she herself did not know how to handle or exposing herself to Zaunian gases that competed to ruin her lungs with the cigarettes that she smoked day and night. Sevika's body remained firm as a rock, rooted to the land that saw her birth and her greatest tool to carry out a cause that gave her no respite.

Until the cause itself snatched one of her arms.

"I've never dared to ask you," you said after a moment of silence, your fingers gently braiding her hair. By then Sevika couldn't stop sighing.

"About?"

"The arm."

This time Sevika didn't sigh, but instead let out a subtle grunt.

"What do you wanna know?"

"About the experience… if you want to talk about it."

"I'd rather not." she admitted, noticing the way you flinched. "It's not a fairytale, doll. Losing a limb it's something you never quite understand."

"I know I couldn't fully understand it myself." you assured, now hesitant. "I'm sorry, I'm prying."

"What you wanna hear? The pain? The months it took me to get used to a life without an arm?"

You pulled your hands away from her hair, thinking you pushed the subject too far. Only for Sevika to sigh for the thousandth time and draw your hands into her hair again. "Alright... My arm was severely burned after a hex blast. It was completely unsalvageable from shoulder to hand."

And the rest of the story flowed so easily from her lips, that Sevika thought she had been waiting for someone to ask her so she could let out all the intrinsic thoughts she had been holding back since that incident seven years ago. "I still have the scapula and the clavicle, so inserting a prosthesis was possible. The first few days were hard to say the least, the phantom pains kept bothering me in the mornings and the pain in my neck didn't let up."

"Neck pain?"

"The weight of the prosthesis. This thing isn't light."

"I can imagine…"

"I never thought you could mourn a part of your body." Her expression darkened, the subject was as thorny as always. She soon felt the itch for a cigarette, something to somatize the emotions that were surging. She reached for the package on the coffee table. "You mind?"

"Course not." You assured, leaning down to light the cigarette between her lips. Sevika explained some details between smoke clouds, she certainly didn't allow herself to suffer from the accident as much as she would have liked. If the cause took her arm, she would continue with it until it took from her another or her life. Her priorities were ans still are different and to this day she believes that the loss of her arm was collateral damage.

"That doesn't make it any easier, Sev…" you whispered, wrapping your arms around her neck.

"It makes it more bearable," Sevika said. "Life down here is not about making it easier, but more bearable. I have learned to endure and soon enough my missing arm turned into an inconvenience only."

You processed her words in silence. Sevika seemed a woman so resigned to her place in the world that whatever she had to sacrifice for the cause was not a motive for sorrow, but rather for resilience. She believed in the power of overcoming situations, in moving forward and leaving behind what was necessary, and in the meantime, allowing herself fleeting moments of pleasure between gambling and women. Just to keep endure and give her tired soul a brief break.

"Have you realized you act just like a soldier?" You said then, making Sevika chuckle.

"Fuck off." You leaned down to kiss the blue scars on her cheek and neck, softening her frown. "Did you finish my hair, pretty girl?"

"Yeah, you look so pretty."

"Don't use that word on me."

But as soon as she looked at the mirror you brought her, the word no longer sounded so strange. You had made her hair into a loose braid, able to soften her features to the point that Sevika saw for a moment that seventeen-year-old girl, smoking inside the warehouse and willing to do anything to bring dignity to the land in which she lived.

She kept such thoughts to herself, of course, but you felt it in her gray gaze. She liked it. "Enough talking," she said then, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "Let's save the mushiness for bed."

-◊-

You felt confident that night, shame no longer tied you down, nor did fear. You felt in control of your own skin and capable of transmitting such courage to Sevika. From the first kiss she was willing to be the one explored on this occasion, and you were grateful for her willingness to allow it. Sevika put her metal hand behind her head, the flesh one caressing your cheek as you spread kisses over her chest and abdomen, descending with tortuous slowness but giving her a view worthy of admiration. You were focused on each kiss, each touch, your thumbs embedded in Sevika's hips, massaging in circles before moving her legs apart, placing a kiss on her inner thigh.

"You have such pretty skin." you whispered.

"Flattering me now?"

"Stating the truth."

Having Sevika naked in front of you was not an opportunity to waste. She didn't usually strip completely, there was something about her that kept her on guard, you didn't know what yet. You thought it was her constant state of alert, she learned to never let her guard down. But today her tan skin was visible and within your reach and you couldn't help but shower it with kisses.

Sevika frowned, meaning she was liking what you were doing. By now you had explored the expanse of her skin and your lips were resting on her breasts. You sucked on her dark nipple, your other hand squeezing the other and you heard her sigh. Sevika followed your every move intently, her hand cupping the back of your neck to signal you to continue, and you caught her hint, taking your hand betwen her legs and rubbing gently, you felt a pang of pride by sensing how wet she was.

"To think that you barely dared to grab my ass before," the woman grinned. "You've improved."

You looked at her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the lips before spreading more on her cheek and the path of scars down to her neck. They were blue, Sevika hadn't used shimmer that night, in fact, you've seen her sober more frequently these days.

"As far as you allow me, Vika." you purred.

"Go downstairs, then." Sevika whispered, cupping your cheek as her eyes lit up. "I know you want it."

You felt a pang of anticipation stir in your gut, it was what you were aiming for and luckily Sevika read your mind before you asked her. You nodded, giving her another kiss before tracing your path from her chin to her pubis again, your breath brushing her pussy with a subtle tickle.

You scattered kisses around, patiently. If Sevika had taught you anything, it was not to rush. Her fingers tangled in your hair with a certain affection, she bent one of her legs as you moved them apart, allowing you better access. "Slow… as slow as you want, doll."

With the pad of your tongue, you spread a long lick from the entrance to the bud, drawing a subtle moan from Sevika's lips and giving you that dose of approval you were looking for. With the tip you traced circles, exploring the folds gently and then sucking on the hood, enjoying the musky taste.

"Just like that, pretty girl." Sevika whispered.

"You taste so good…" you moaned, lying on your stomach as you pulled her legs over your shoulders.

"Getting comfy, are we?"

"I deserve it, don't you think?"

Sevika smiled. "Yeah... you do."

You reveled in the sensations of her, the thought of pleasing her alone, it pleased you. There was something about Sevika’s physicality that drove you crazy. Maybe it was the subtle moans or the way her hips moved against your mouth, or the way her fingers tangled in your locks and asked for more. She wasn’t afraid to give instructions; slower, faster, smooth your tongue, yes so good, oh fuck… higher, suck there, ah shit. And you followed each one of them, committed to her pleasure as much as she was committed to yours.

"Feasting on me, don't you?" she said, followed by a loud hiss. "Look where teaching you got me, I should have done it a long time ago."

And you reached out your hand to trace circles on her abdomen, her muscles tightening under your palm as Sevika moaned, gritting her teeth as if your touch was painful, and it was so slow that it actually hurt. She reached for your hand, bringing it to her tit and you squeezed. “Keep it like that…” she panted.

Sevika wasn't loud when it came to cumming, she was as measured as always, she usually swallowed her moans or smothered them in a growl, followed by a long sigh as her whole body relaxed. If only you could take the weight off her shoulders that she's been carrying for as long as she can remember, if only you could make her feel as good as she does now all the time.

You placed one last kiss on her pussy, tracing an upward path back to her lips and kissing her with so much affection that it was mistaken for devotion; the truth is that you felt both for her. Sevika cupped the back of your neck, caressing it while her other hand brushed a lock of hair out of your eyes. "You've done very well," she whispered against your mouth.

With one look you knew it was time for what you feared and anticipated equally. Your eyes landed on the strap next to the bed and you nodded. "Nervous?"

"A bit."

"We've already practiced, you'll take to it just fine."

You stepped back, letting Sevika leave the bed. You could feel your heart racing, watching her put on the piece calmly, almost solemnly. How many times has she done the same thing with other women? How many times has she repeated this same ritual? Her past intrigued you as much as it made you sick with jealousy.

Sitting back on your heels, you clutched the fabric of your slip dress, suddenly believing yourself to be just as incapable as the first time. Your breathing became shallow, your muscles tensing as you waited for the typical pain you knew and hated, retreating down that path of shame. Until you felt a kiss on your shoulder.

"Don't go there, I know what you're thinking," Sevika whispered, settling behind you as she spread kisses across your exposed skin. Her hands played with the valleys of your hips and waist, you felt the caress of her breath on your nape.

"It will hurt."

"No, it won't." she insisted. "I won't let it hurt."

"Sev."

"Shh..." Sevika slipped her hands under your slip dress, tracing from your hips to your abdomen, inviting you to let go of your traitorous thoughts. She didn't like to see you hesitate, not when she'd seen you succeed before. Fear would get you nowhere, never. She carefully pulled the dress off, leaving you naked before an accusatory mirror in front of the bed. That mirror spared no one, it showed you what you wanted to see, and now you saw a woman too ashamed of herself for her own good, and behind you, a ruthless woman who seemed to have the world in the palm of her hand.

If only you could take from the world what Sevika claims without flinching.

You sighed, parting your legs once Sevika brought her fingers to your core and rubbed carefully. The cold metal of her other hand squeezed one of your breasts and you closed your eyes. You would like to give yourself into her arms and forget the sorrows of your flesh and your conscience for once, just once.

"Do you want to try from behind?"

"I'd like to see your face."

"Alright." she nodded, slowly turning you around, your back meeting the soft sheets underneath as Sevika gave you another kiss.

The strap-on extension wasn't too long, you felt the weight of the piece on your abdomen as Sevika kissed you, and you carefully tested the phallus with your hand. Sevika then brought it against your entrance and you flinched.

"Vika."

"Just grinding, doll, easy…" she whispered, rubbing the tip against you. "I've applied lub, it won't hurt."

And the truth was, you were soaking yourself.

You clung to her back nervously, hearing her pant against your ear as she applied pressure to your entrance, briefly, with no intention other than to soften your ill-used muscles. You had to breathe, you had to breathe, it's what you learned and it's what allowed you to take Sevika the last time you came on her fingers.

You counted to three, feeling the tip push through, you counted to fifteen and you had taken half of it, you counted to twenty-five and let out a whimper.

"Should I stop?"

"No." you begged. "Keep going."

Breath, breath, breath. Endure, learn to endure.

"Doll." whispered Sevika. "You're trembling."

"Just keep going." you insisted.

Be nice, endure.

And you closed your eyes as you felt the contact of her hips against yours, Sevika buried inside you completely. Only then did you allow yourself to cry.

"Hey, baby." she whispered, caressing your cheek. "No, not like that."

It was as soon as a couple of tears rolled down your cheeks that your muscles relaxed and you took her completely. You held on, just like you promised yourself. Sevika kissed your wet cheeks, moving her hips just a little, noticing how your lips parted and you gasped. "Does it hurt?"

"No." you whispered.

The truth is that you felt full, the pressure present but less and less invasive. Sevika began to move slowly, her hips brushing against yours, your walls adjusting to the phallus as you moaned subtly. It was a dynamic of breathing, questions and moans in response. Do you like it like this? Slower? You're doing so well, keep going like that, doll, I knew you would. And soon your hands wandered over her back, over her locks, over her chest, delighting in the extension of her skin, in her warmth, in her hardness. You were so present that your mind had fallen silent.

"Yes… please…" you gasped. "There, there."

"God, you're so pretty."

You felt like you owned something you thought was not yours, a pleasure that was rightfully yours but that you were afraid to claim. You thanked her for letting you have it back, for giving you back the ability to claim it.

"Thank you." You whispered once Sevika stopped to give you a break, cradling you against her chest and leaving a kiss on your temple. She was breaking down walls with you herself, which was both exciting and terrifying.

Sevika laid back on the bed, watching you straddle her lap with such confidence that she smiled. Her hand rested on your hip, you rose up on your knees as you guided the phallus to your entrance. But you stopped.

"Can I take it off?" you asked suddenly, and Sevika didn't know what you were talking about until you pointed at her arm.

"Why?" she asked.

"I've never seen you without it…"

The flicker of terror that crossed her gaze as you unbuckled the strap holding the base of the prosthesis took you by surprise for a moment. You never considered that Sevika's confidence depended so much on that piece, and allowing you to take it off was her way of telling you that she trusted you. And you felt honored.

"Just keep any comment to yourself." she grunted, as you slolwy disarmed the prosthesis.

Being vulnerable was one of Sevika's limits, until she found such affection and comfort in your gaze that she melted before you. You removed the arm, placing it on the table next to the bed, followed by the base and uncovering a stump that Sevika hid with her hand.

"Sev." you mumbled.

"Don't... don't touch it." she spat, her defenses went back up and you didn't argue with it.

"I won't." you stated, leaving a kiss on her cheek.

Sevika laid back down and you took her inside you again, letting out a sweet, controlled gasp. The sensation was different and unexplored, so you began to move your hips slowly. Sevika reached for one of your breasts, you looked at her with your lips parted and sucked between your teeth, taking it to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"You look good down there." you purred.

"You've discovered something tonight." she agreed.

Your breaths lengthened, your mouth no longer holding back moans, you wanted to be heard, by her, by everyone. You leaned in to kiss Sevika and continued, you felt in control and you loved it. By then the reflection in the mirror was not accusatory but revealing, you looked agitated, pleased, whole and present. Your reflection looked back at you.

"Fuck." you moaned as Sevika rubbed her thumb against your bud. "You always know when to touch me."

"Keep moving…" Sevika growled.

You nodded, your eyes focused on Sevika's gaze, on her dark lips, on the gap between her teeth, on her furrowed eyebrows and her blue scars. You wanted to cover her face with kisses. You pulled on her arm, making her sit up, capturing her lips in a panting kiss. You took it upon yourself to touch your clit, you cared more about having her close. "I feel so good." you confessed.

"I can see it." whispered Sevika between kisses.

"I love you." you blurted out, Not as a secret, but as a confession that you openly wanted her to hear. You didn't want to keep anything to yourself.

Sevika responded with a kiss, letting you ride out your orgasm which came out in whimper, falling onto her chest as your body surrendered to the torrent of oxytocin that flowed into you. Suddenly everything was silent, everything was okay, there was no evil in the world, just pure love, just Sevika, just you.

"My braid came undone," Sevika whispered after a long silence.

"I'll braid it again."

You looked at her with full eyes, Sevika seemed to be reading something in you that remained a mystery. Your eyes landed on her stump and she wanted to hide. "I've never seen you as naked as right now." you said, laying a kiss there.

And judging by the way Sevika's body relaxed, you knew she agreed with you.

-◊-

taglist: @bibi4exe @verseandchapterr

#arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane sevika #arcane smut #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #sevika #sevika my love #sevika smut

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kkanabel · 5 months ago

Text

co-pilot mischief ✫ curly concerns ✫ chapter uno

captain curly x teasing!reader

curly panics when he realizes he's attracted to his co-pilot. a mixture of professionalism and fear of making you uncomfortable are keeping him from pursuing his feelings. so, when you find out that he has a thing for you, you tease him to see how long it'll take for him to give up.

directory/m.list next chapter ⇨

words: ~3.5k

t/w: sexual references but no actual yucky (yet), reader being lowkey sadistic, cute curly <3, gn!reader/pronouns but reader wears a bra

a/n: hi. been obsessed with this video game recently—well, especially with Curly (go figure. i like fictional men). i needed to make something self-indulgent bc i just like this man way too much. and because i just want to make a world where none of them have to suffer. enjoy~

~jambalaya does not exist in this world~

Planned Shipment Duration: 382 Days Elapsed Transit Time: 292 Days

It had been over nine months aboard this damned ship, and Curly was just short of going mad. Not the kind of madness that came with sleep deprivation—he’d conquered that particular beast long ago, his body numb to the restless nights. No, this madness was quieter, more insidious, burrowing into his mind and refusing to leave. It trailed him through the claustrophobic halls of the Tulpar, slipping into the smallest crevices of his day-to-day. The worst part was, he knew exactly what caused it.

Or rather, who.

His co-pilot. The bane of his existence. The source of his sanity slipping through his fingers like sand.

Curly groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands, his calloused palms dragging over stubble. The cockpit was bathed in the green glow of the ship’s display panels, casting long shadows over his hunched figure. For once, he was alone. His co-pilot was off—God knows where—and he was left to grapple with the gnawing frustration that never seemed to diminish. It wasn’t the kind of irritation that burned; it simmered, steady and unyielding, until it became part of the fabric of his thoughts, melting like wax into his very being.

He could see their handwriting on the little sticky notes scattered around the console, each one an infuriatingly sweet reminder to stretch, drink water, or take a break. He tried to ignore the way those notes made him feel a little lighter, even when he wanted to crumple them up out of spite. Then there were the meals—hot, fresh, and left beside him during the long hours he spent poring over ship diagnostics on days he’d forget to come to the main lobby for food. Like clockwork, they arrived, a silent reminder that someone out there cared. Too much, in fact.

It wasn’t the fact that they’d climbed the ranks with startling efficiency or that they were nipping at his heels for his own position. But the issue wasn’t their competence. Hell, he’d been the one to recommend them to the crew. No, the problem—the real problem—was that he didn’t mind the notes. Or the meals. Or the way their laugh lingered in his head long after the joke had ended.

That was the crux of it: he didn’t mind. He cared too much.

Curly growled under his breath and pushed himself out of his chair, dropping into a push-up position before the thought could take hold again. One. Two. Three. The strain burned through his biceps and shoulders, grounding him in something tangible. In the beginning, this ritual had worked. Twenty push-ups, and he’d feel clear-headed enough to get back to work. But now? He was well into quadrupling that number, and the haze in his mind hadn’t lifted.

“Damn it,” he muttered, shifting to one-armed push-ups. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed.

It was their fault. The way they lingered in his peripheral vision during late-night shifts, always a step ahead of him. The way their presence filled the cockpit, electric and steady, as if the entire ship ran on their quiet energy. He hated it. He needed it.

Curly collapsed onto the floor, the cool metal pressing against his flushed skin. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the dull ceiling, and exhaled sharply. But it wasn’t their fault. It was all his.

Because no matter how many push-ups he did or how hard he worked, he couldn’t seem to outrun the one truth he hated most: he was falling for his co-pilot, and there was no way to make it stop.

It all started so innocently.

A couple of months ago, when Curly’s sleep was deteriorating thanks to the unholy cocktail of chronic insomnia and the Pony Express directive of “only indulging in five hours of sleep a night,” the signs of wear were becoming impossible to hide. His dark circles deepened, hollowing out his features, and the number of minor piloting errors he made began creeping upward. He hated slipping up, especially in front of the crew. But you had been there, catching the mistakes before anyone else could notice, your tone warm and forgiving as you covered for him without a single reproach.

“How many hours of sleep did you get last night, Captain?” you asked, glancing at him with a knowing arch of your brow. The question was less accusatory and more concerned, which somehow made it worse.

The third time you caught him in the cockpit, chugging yet another cup of bitter instant coffee, you sighed with exasperation. He barely had time to process what you were doing before you nudged him toward the door with a bottle of melatonin clutched in your hand.

“Rest, Captain,” you said firmly, standing your ground in front of him with a tilt to your chin that tolerated no argument. “Don’t go abusing yourself—and caffeine—like that. Do me a favor and take one of these with some water. I’ve got the ship tied down.”

Before he could retort, you physically pushed him through the doorway and locked the cockpit door behind him. He stared at the bottle of melatonin in his hand, blinking in confusion, his mind too fogged with exhaustion to properly argue. He barely made it to his quarters without bumping into a wall. Still, he heeded your demand.

When he woke up hours later, groggy but undeniably more refreshed than he’d felt in weeks, he returned to the cockpit to find the door unlocked and you sitting in his chair, nursing a steaming cup of water between your hands.

The smile you gave him as he walked in—small, gentle—made something in his chest falter, like the ship had hit a pocket of turbulence. He ignored it, chalking the reaction up to gratitude. “Thanks,” he muttered before reclaiming his chair.

That should have been it. A one-off moment. But it wasn’t.

The next time was when you came bounding into the cockpit, an excited glint in your eyes, holding a bundle of old films scavenged from storage. “Look what I found!” you exclaimed, dropping them onto the console as if they were treasures unearthed from a sunken ship. The crew’s old stash of classic movies. You suggested a movie night, and by the weekend, everyone was gathered in the living area, dressed in mismatched pajamas as per your insistence.

The fake day-and-night screen in the living room had been converted into a movie screen (thanks to a favor from Swansea), and you’d somehow transformed the cramped space into a cozy theater. The crew was laughing, the air thick with the buttery aroma of popcorn—smuggled aboard in direct defiance of Pony Express regulations. Swansea lounged in a corner, throwing popcorn into his mouth with perfect aim, while Daisuke and Anya shared a bag of candy bars, their laughter ringing out during the film’s funniest moments.

And then there was you, looking at the rest of the crew, a relieved smile on your face from seeing them having fun and relaxing.

You’d curled up on the couch with bunny slippers, wearing an oversized t-shirt that reached down to your knees. Curly found himself staring at the way your legs curled up in front of you, the smooth skin catching the flickering light of the screen. He shook his head and willed himself to look back at the film, feeling an odd mix of discomfort and… something else.

It wasn’t just your legs that had caught his attention. He watched your shoulders relax as you looked at the others having a good time. From your shoulders, his eyes slowly trailed up to your neck,

There was the lace halter bralette peeking out from the neckline of your shirt, delicate and intricate, its strap circling your neck like a whisper of fabric. He’d overheard you mention it in passing to Anya once, saying how they were more comfortable than traditional bras. Cute, you’d said. Anya had agreed wholeheartedly, and the two of you had launched into an entire conversation about comfortable alternatives, leaving him both bewildered and hyper-aware of the intricacies of brassiers.

That night, you’d tied your hair up, sweeping it off your face and revealing the curve of your neck. He hated how his eyes kept trailing there, lingering too long on the strap of your bralette before snapping back to the screen.

What was wrong with him?

The laughter of the crew filled the room, but Curly’s focus was elsewhere. He watched the way your shoulders relaxed as you leaned back, your smile warm and unguarded as you looked at the others enjoying themselves. It had been a rough couple of weeks, but in that moment, you looked so at ease, like you were carrying everyone’s joy on your shoulders and doing it gladly.

His gaze drifted again, following the line of your neck up to your jaw and almost to your lips before he froze, his chest tightening with realization. He was staring. Stop it, you creep. His heart thudded in his chest, the weight of his guilt sinking in. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you uncomfortable, to let you see just how hopelessly he was starting to lose control of his own feelings.

And yet, even as he looked away, forcing his attention back to the film, the memory of your smile lingered in his mind, burning as brightly as a star in space.

Later that night, after the crew had dispersed to their quarters, Curly lingered in the living area. The faint smell of popcorn still hung in the air, and empty mugs cluttered the low table, remnants of the impromptu movie night.

He hadn’t planned to stay, but you were still there, stacking empty bowls with practiced efficiency. You hummed softly as you worked, the sound low and content.

“You don’t have to clean up,” he said, his voice startlingly loud in the quiet.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, an easy smile spreading across your face. “Neither do you, Captain. Yet here you are.”

Curly looked so charming, sweeping up the crumbs from the ground with a bashful smile. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Force of habit, I guess.”

He stepped forward and started gathering stray candy wrappers. You didn’t protest, and the two of you worked in companionable silence. The only sounds were the soft clink of mugs and the occasional hum from the ship’s systems.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter. He kept his eyes on the mug in his hand, turning it absently. “I think… the crew needed it.”

You paused, a little surprised. “Needed what?”

“A break. A reminder that things aren’t always so…” He trailed off, searching for the word. “Mechanical.”

You laughed softly, and the sound was warm enough to make his chest ache. “Even machines need downtime, Captain. And so do you.”

He glanced at you, his resolve faltering as you met his gaze head-on. Your eyes were steady, soft, and full of something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, the ship felt too small, the air too thin.

“I guess I’ll work on that,” he said, forcing a crooked smile and dropping his gaze.

As the months passed, his little problem only got worse.

It started as little things.

The way Curly’s voice would soften when he said your name, like he was tasting it before letting it leave his mouth. How he always seemed to position himself between you and anything remotely dangerous during routine checks, even if the “danger” was just a loose panel or a slightly sparking wire. You noticed those things before, but they hadn’t meant much to you at the time.

But lately, you’ve started picking up on more.

Like how he fidgets whenever you lean over his chair to point something out on the cockpit screen. Or how his ears turn red if your hand brushes his when passing tools or data tablets. At first, you think it’s funny—how someone so competent and in control can get so flustered over little things. But then, there’s the moment in the Main Lobby.

You’re digging through one of the upper cabinets, on the hunt for something sweet, when you hear his boots scuff against the floor behind you.

“You’re always after the chocolate in the vending machine,” he says, leaning casually against the counter like he isn’t watching you a little too closely.

“And you’re always after the coffee,” you quip, holding up a ration bar triumphantly.

“Touché.” His lips twitch into a smile, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes linger on you just a moment too long before he turns to grab his mug from the shelf.

It’s not unusual—this kind of back-and-forth—but as you open the bar and break off a piece, you catch him glancing at you again, almost like he’s about to say something. He doesn’t, though, and the moment stretches long enough to feel... significant.

That’s when it starts clicking.

The lingering looks. The slight hesitation in his voice when he talks to you. The way he goes out of his way to make sure you’re comfortable, even when he doesn’t have to. The realization settles in your chest, warm and a little thrilling.

Does Curly like me?

Your mind starts replaying recent moments with a new lens. The way he always pulls you aside first to explain changes to the schedule. How he always offers to carry extra supplies during inspections, even when you insist you’re fine. That time he casually gave you his jacket when the living quarters were colder than usual, like it was no big deal.

“Earth to you,” Curly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He’s holding out a water pouch, his brow slightly furrowed. “You zoned out there for a second. You okay?”

You take the pouch and give him a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You tilt your head, studying him, and your smile widens when he shifts under your gaze. “Nothing important.”

It’s a lie, of course. You’re thinking about him—about how he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, about how he tries so hard to act unaffected when you’re around.

And for the first time, you feel a little wicked. If Curly likes you, why not have a little fun with it?

Curly knew something was off the moment you walked into the cockpit.

It wasn’t just the way you greeted him, your voice light and playful as always. It was the way your smile lingered, like you were holding onto a secret you couldn’t wait to let out.

“You’re up early,” you said, dropping into your seat beside him.

“Could say the same for you,” Curly muttered, keeping his eyes on the console. He was grateful for the excuse to look busy, though the screen in front of him was just a diagnostic report he’d already read three times.

“You’re always so serious, Captain.” Your tone was teasing, but there was something else beneath it, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He didn’t respond, didn’t trust himself to.

The silence stretched, and just when he thought you’d moved on, you leaned closer—close enough for him to catch the faint scent of whatever soap you used.

“Hey, Curly?”

His stomach flipped. “Yeah?”

You paused, drawing it out, like you were savoring his anticipation. Then, with a sly grin, you said, “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He froze, his heart skipping a beat. “What?”

“You are,” you insisted, your grin widening. “You’ve been staring at that same report for the last ten minutes. What’s so interesting about it?”

Curly’s mouth went dry. He scrambled for an answer, but his mind betrayed him, replaying every fleeting glance he’d stolen of you earlier that morning. How long had you noticed?

When he didn’t respond, you leaned back in your chair, smug satisfaction written all over your face. “Relax, Captain. I’m just messing with you.”

But you weren’t. Not entirely.

Because as you watched the tips of his ears turn pink and saw how his jaw tightened, you realized something. Something that made your pulse quicken and your lips curl into a wicked smile.

He likes me.

And now that you knew, you couldn’t help yourself.

Curly swore the ship’s cockpit had never felt this small before.

You were now hovering just over his shoulder, leaning in to inspect a blinking diagnostic alert on the screen. The proximity was maddening—he could feel the warmth radiating off you, the sleeve of your Pony Express jumpsuit brushing against his arm every time you moved.

“Hmm,” you mused, tilting your head. “Looks like a minor power fluctuation. Nothing to worry about, but we should log it for the next maintenance check.”

He nodded stiffly, trying to focus on your words instead of the fact that your hair was so close it tickled his cheek. “Right. I’ll, uh, take care of it.”

But when he reached for the keyboard, so did you. Your fingers grazed his, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. A playful smile tugged at your lips, and he didn’t trust it for a second. “Didn’t mean to get in your way, Captain.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, turning back to the screen. But his fingers trembled slightly as he typed, and he cursed himself for it.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the edge of the console, your voice deceptively casual. “You look good when you’re focused like that.”

He nearly choked. “What?”

“I said you look good when you’re focused.” You shrugged, like it was the most normal, casual thing in the world. “It’s kind of intimidating, actually. In a good way.”

His face burned, and he fought the urge to bury it in his hands. “I—uh—thanks, I guess...”

The smile you gave him was nothing short of devilish. “You’re welcome.”

You stayed there, watching him a little too closely, and he could feel his pulse thudding in his ears. Finally, he risked a glance at you, only to find you tilting your head with mock innocence.

“Everything okay, Captain?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, focusing hard on the screen. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, no reason.” Your voice was light, teasing. “You just seem a little... tense.”

He stiffened, embarrassed and confused as to what you were doing but powerless to stop it.

“You know,” you continued, leaning a little closer again, “you really should loosen up. It’s not good for your health to be so serious all the time.”

“I’m not—” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” You studied him for a moment, and then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you added, “If you ever need help relaxing, Captain, just let me know.”

He froze, his brain short-circuiting at the double meaning behind your words.

Before he could stammer out a response, you straightened up, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t work too hard, okay?”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving him alone in the cockpit, his heart racing and his mind a chaotic mess.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was doomed. Absolutely doomed.

From the moment you saw Curly’s ears turn red, his fate was sealed. You’d never imagined the stoic, dependable captain could be reduced to such an adorable mess, and now that you’d seen it, there was no going back. It was just too cute—the way his bravado would falter, his words stumbling over themselves as he tried and failed to maintain composure.

Normally, Curly was all broad shoulders and easy charm, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. But you’d discovered a crack in that armor, a secret button that turned him from the ever-confident leader into a flustered, helpless schoolboy. And oh, what a delightful button it was to press.

You’d always found him attractive—how could you not? He was responsible, dependable, and unfairly handsome. But for the longest time, you assumed he’d only ever see you as his co-pilot, someone to rely on professionally but never personally. Yet now, the way his gaze lingered a moment too long, the subtle flush on his cheeks whenever you got a little too close, told you a very different story.

It gave you a strange, heady sense of power, and you had absolutely no intention of letting it go to waste.

A small, wicked thrill ran through you whenever you imagined the possibilities. What if you teased him just enough to make that carefully controlled exterior crumble? What if you pushed him to the edge, until he couldn’t hold it in any longer? Your mind wandered to a particularly wonderful thought: Curly, unable to take it anymore, bending you over the console with a heated, desperate confession.

You shivered, the fantasy almost too delicious to bear.

And so, your mission began—not to reject him, but to push him. To tease and torment, to watch his resolve unravel thread by thread. You weren’t cruel, not really. You knew he’d crack eventually, and you planned to reward him handsomely when he did. But until then?

Until then, you’d savor every stolen glance, every stammered reply, every moment he tries and fails to hold himself together.

After all, what was a little mischief between co-pilots?

a/n: let me know what y'all think! biggest thank yous to those who have written curly x reader fics thus far, y'all fueled me lmfao.

oh yeah.. smut.. eventually...

taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just curly/mouthwashing characters or if you want the news on alll my fics... also might be accepting requests hehe! i can't guarantee that i can do em, but i'll accept ideas!

thanks for reading! <3

btw. not beta read, please let me know if there are any typos or inconsistencies stay safe & hydrated as always!

(and go to sleep if you're reading this super late. don't be a curly. take care of yourself! (i say, writing this at midnight))

crossposted on ao3

directory/m.list next chapter ⇨

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