#ag fanfiction

[konigsblog]

Car sex with mean, older-boyfriend!König. (🌽 link)

König wouldn't even think about allowing you to leave his watchful and protective sight without pumping you full of his thick, hot semen first. He doesn't want anyone to have you while he's gone and you're tipsy and easily manipulated, to take his sweet and precious girlfriend. He drives his thick, well-built hips directly into your rear repetitively, plunging his fat and girthy boner deep into your slick, sticky hole on repeat while grunting hoarsely beside your ear, all while you moan out König's name between shaky breathing and pleased whines.

He growls out at the mesmerising and addictive sight of you like this; your plush and soft thighs pried wide open by König's bare hands, your legs wrapped around his broad waist, and your dress rolled up, giving him access to all of your tight holes. Your waterline brims with tears and your vision quickly becomes foggy and blurry. You can practically feel König deep within your stomach, and your attempt at holding back your tears becomes a struggle with him stretching your tight cunt out like this. Your velvety, smooth walls pulse and throb around his sweaty, filthy dick while he presses his creamy cockhead into your warm cervix, hitting places you've never felt before. König is fully aware that he's fucking you into stupidity with each thrust, as you babble and mumble out a string of pleas, begging for your sweet and desperate orgasm as you feel yourself inching closer and closer to that sweet release.

“That’s it, keep going, Mein Herz... Du gehörst mir.” He grumbles out between strained groans, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your soft figure. To say that König is overprotective of you is a massive understatement. He's fully aware and concerned of the attractive, younger men out there that could easily take his place. Your body jerks and twitches uncontrollably, your fingers grasping at your surroundings as you feel König's sensitive, thick tip slam into you one last time, shooting hot and milky ropes of his sticky arousal deep within your gummy walls, dragging an orgasm out of you in the process.

You leave that car with globs of König's cum wandering down your thigh and a tender, loving kiss pressed on his flushed cheek and soft lips. At least everybody will know not to touch you with another man's cum staining and coating your panties.

[hanasnx]

“ I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU ” — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ suggestive content ノ sexual content: naughty daydreams about pussy eating, nipple play, and groping; masturbation; voyeurism.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Those six words—six—have defined your relationship with your husband, LOGAN HOWLETT. There’s a great protector in him, this compulsion to mentor and house within him that stretches far beyond his own needs. You fall within that range, and as soon as you met him you latched onto him. It didn’t take long at all before your imprint was reciprocated. Now he thinks of you first in everything he does.

He may not always look it, but you’re a factor in all his decisions. Settling down, nabbing a good job—one that didn’t ask for his background—was all to put you up in a house in the mountains. Far away from civilization, an ivory tower made up of wood he cut himself, surrounded by acres of nature. He’s always thought of himself a hair on the wild side, somehow you tame that down. It’s good, he tells himself, you and him.

It’s a partnership, and all he wants out of you is your safety. He likes you where he can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble, make sure you’re comfortable.

You wish you could explain just why he thinks he has to protect you, why he married you, why he pays all the bills and expects nothing in return. You wish you could explain just why this relationship comprises all facets of a real marriage except for intimacy.

Logan won’t touch you. You’ll eat off each other’s utensils, fall asleep on his chest on the couch watching a movie—hell, he’ll reluctantly incline in your direction with a roll of his eyes to let you peck his cheek good-bye when he leaves for work. Yet, he won’t even kiss you. Even before he married you, there wasn’t so much as a grope or a stray look.

There’s home in Logan. You live to please him. You’ll cook him whatever he wants, keep the house he built for you clean as a whistle, you’ll spend all your free time with him, grab him his nightly beer and light his cigar so he stays content—but you’ve never even seen him naked. You doubt you ever will. Regardless, you stay, you can’t imagine leaving this life, leaving him.

It’s defied your expectations the fairy-tales of your childhood gave you. Your knight in shining armor rescued you, yet refuses to plant even true love’s kiss. When you’d matured, you’d fantasized about an insatiable husband that found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Logan’s never looked at you that way, even though he calls you his wife without hesitation, married you without a second thought.

“Is it because I’m younger than you? I’m only in my early twenties. That’s not a big deal!” you’ve reasoned with him, but he still treats you like you’re naive. He must want passion, you’re sure of that. Why else are you young and beautiful if not to take advantage of it while you still can? Just once you’d like to see him yearn for you, to show lack of restraint, to come home one day so hungry for you that you don’t make it out of the kitchen.

Those claws… those deadly metal claws… you wish he’d use them in fantastical and deviant ways. Just one would glide through your nighty like sheet paper, bareing you to your husband—a sight for him only. You lie awake next to him at night, envisioning raunchy dreams of him proudly boasting the size difference between you two, demonstrating his sheer raw strength by overpowering you and taking what he wants from you. You’ve run your fingers delicately over his lips and the rough pad of his shaved chin, but you can’t imagine just how good it’d feel against your tit, swirling his hot tongue around your perked nipple while his callused digits pinch the other. You can pretend his head is ducking between your thighs, the sensation of his soft hair tickling your skin and tangling in your fingers as his masculine jaw scratches the fragile tissue of your pussy. As starved as you are, even discomfort like that is enough to make you moan into your palm, only to check over your shoulder to make sure you still hear your husband’s snoring.

You steel yourself at the noise, the low rumbling of his sleep cautions you to stay quiet but to proceed nonetheless. Your hand creeps down your neck, your chest, your stomach… You really should leave the room, but you’d risk waking him up for real at the sound of the door. Instead, you fuck yourself yet again, the soft rocking of the mattress as you hump your own hand filling the ears of your kindhearted husband—who’s been awake this whole time.

[freedomfireflies]

You Again*

Summary: The one where Harry is your sister's ex-boyfriend and you finally get to see him again after 5 years.

Word Count: 11.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, age gap (6 years), sir kink, choking, use of a toy, exhibitionism if you squint!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Your eyes widen as you look up toward the man making his way into the diner. You'd recognize him anywhere. The dark curly hair. The tattoos that bleed through the fabric of his light shirt. The rings on his fingers.

Just like that, years' worth of memories come flooding back to you all at once.

"Harry," you shriek, sliding off the stool before practically flinging yourself into his arms. 

He smells exactly the same. Like teakwood and spearmint. A rather odd mix, yet subtle enough to remind you of home.

Of him.

His chest vibrates with a deep laugh as his arms wrap around your frame to keep you against him, prolonging the hug a minute or two longer than socially acceptable. 

And when you finally lean back to see him, your cheeks begin to warm.

It's been...four years? Five? Since you last saw him? Just days before he and your sister broke up, effectively removing him from your life for good.

It had been a hard time. You wanted to be there for your sister. To comfort her through the grief of losing such a long and meaningful relationship. 

But you wanted to be there for him, too. After all, he was one of your best friends, age difference or not. He had always been the comforting, influential figure in your life that you relied on. That you counted on to get through different hardships in your life.

He had picked you up after your first day at your new job. Had held you in his arms as you cried over your first break-up. He had even listened to you talk about the boy you had fallen in love with.

Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself.

And now, five years later...that part of you has come home.

"Hi, Dot," he beams, reaching out to take hold of your chin and squeeze. "Shit, look at you. When did this happen?"

His eyes rake over your figure and you feel your skin grown hot under his appreciative gaze. "Stop, it hasn't been that long."

"The last time I saw you, I was helping you move into your new apartment across town,” he recalls, arms crossing in thought. "And now...now what? You’re still at your job, I assume?"

"I am. I just got a promotion, actually. I’m an assistant editor now.”

His eyes seem to light up, that soft green sending chills up the back of your neck as you glance down at your feet. "Dot...that's amazing. I'm so proud of you."

You wave the compliment away. "Thanks."

"Really," he insists before following you back to the counter where you'd previously been sitting. "I know how badly you wanted to pursue a career in publishing, and this...this is really amazing. Do you like it?"

"I do," you tell him as you settle back onto your stool. "Yeah, it's really nice. The people are great, the work is fun. Plus, the promotion came with a raise."

"That's amazing," he sighs, head shaking like he can't believe it. "Really, that's so...I honestly can't believe it. I can't believe it’s been so long. You’re so…adult now.”

You snort to yourself as you twirl your straw around your milkshake. "Yeah, I know. Though I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

"You should." He smiles, and it's big and beautiful. "You’ve always been grown up. Even before, you were mature for your age.”

“Well…yeah. I was twenty-three. That does make me an adult.”

“And now you’re twenty-eight.” He shakes his head again. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

You glance down at the rim of your glass. He’s right, it almost doesn’t seem possible. It feels like only last week that you were following him and your sister around town, begging to be included. Traipsing after them to bars, the mini golf course, and to any and all dates. Even though you knew your sister couldn’t stand it.

But Harry was nice and always inclusive. After all, he was your friend before he was your sister’s boyfriend. And he was determined to make sure that didn’t change, no matter how many times Atta rolled her eyes.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you finally admit. "God, I was so annoying. Atta used to get so mad at me for never leaving you alone."

He shrugs one shoulder up. "You weren't annoying to me. I liked it. I mean, I liked that you still felt so...safe? Around me? I guess?"

"Yeah, I did.” You smile. “Honestly, I think you were my best friend.”

He laughs as he looks back over. "I better have been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause you were mine.”

"Good."

He smirks. "Remember how you used to fall asleep on my shoulder every time we watched a movie?”

"That's right," you groan, burying your face into the palm of your hand. "See? Annoying."

"Not annoying. Cute."

"It was not cute, it was annoying. And you know she hated it.”

“I don’t care. She fell asleep on my shoulder, too. It was nice.”

You snort. “It was weird, let’s face it. But I swear I've outgrown such habits."

He seems to hesitate for only a moment, eyes flicking between yours. "Too bad."

A beat.

You feel your stomach flip as you look away, breaking you both free of the tension. "So...what, um...what brings you to town? I was a little surprised to hear from you."

He takes the cup of coffee the waitress had poured him and slides it closer. "Oh, yeah, I'm...I'm here on business. And I remembered you lived here, so...I thought I’d reach out.”

"I see."

"Yeah.” He hesitates again. "And...I missed you."

You can’t fight the flutter in your chest. "I missed you, too, Har."

The conversation lulls as the busy diner continues to bustle around you. And despite how glad you are to see him, something feels...off. Different.

You aren't sure what. Can't quite put your finger on it. It almost feels like it used to, but something has changed. He looks like your Harry. He sounds like your Harry. He feels like your Harry. And yet, he feels like a stranger.

Maybe it's because it's been so long since you've seen him. Maybe it's because you aren't twenty-three anymore. Or maybe it’s because now he’s no longer Harry, your sister’s boyfriend.

Now he’s just…Harry. Your old friend.

When you notice the way he’s staring, your eyes narrow. “What?”

"Nothing." He shrugs again before chuckling under his breath. "No, nothing. Sorry, I just...I don't know. It's just...so strange to see you again. Like this."

"Like...this?"

"Yeah. Just us. Alone. No Atta.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Right.”

“It’s not…weird, is it? I mean, it is weird but it’s not…uncomfortable, right?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I wanted to meet you. What happened with you two has nothing to do with me.”

He glances down at his lap. “Right.”

There’s an edge to the memory that wasn’t there before, yet despite your curiosity, you bite your tongue.

“What about you?” you say instead. “What have you been up to in the last five years?”

He smirks. “Oh, not much.”

“Uh-huh. You think I’ve grown up, you’re basically an old man now.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I’m only 34.”

“That’s still six years older than me, which makes you old.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. You're not that idiot on a motorcycle anymore. Now you say things like, 'I'm in town on business,” and you wear expensive suits, and ridiculous watches."

He glances down at the aforementioned object on his wrist. "In my defense, this was a gift.”

“Sure.” 

“It was,” he insists. His eyes flick over your face. “Look, I would have reached out sooner, but…after we broke up, I figured you wouldn’t want me to. I mean, you had just started your new job, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be a side, so…”

“There were no sides,” you argue softly. “You both just…grew apart. You wanted different things.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a sigh. “But I know it hurt her. It hurt me, too. And it was weird having to say goodbye to all of you. And leave all those memories behind. You were both such a huge part of my life."

"Yeah," you whisper. "You were a huge part of mine, too."

"Does Atta know you're meeting me?"

"No. Didn't really think it was any of her business. This is about us, not her."

His brow raises. "Would she be mad if she did?"

"I don't know,” you admit. “Probably not, but...would it really matter?"

"Of course it would. I'd never want to get in the way of your relationship."

"You aren't," you insist. "Look, she's dating somebody anyway. And I'm sure you are, too. You've both moved on. We're just...old friends catching up, and she'd have to understand that."

He seems to consider this before saying, "Yeah. I'm not, though."

"You're not...what?"

"Seeing anybody," he clarifies, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip. "Haven't really dated anybody since she and I broke up."

"Oh, Harry," you murmur. "I'm...I'm sorry—"

"No. No, don't be," he insists. "It wasn't...I've just been busy. Working at the firm and renovating my house. I've gone on some dates but nothing serious. I just...haven't met the right person, I guess."

"The right person, huh?" you muse teasingly as you take a sip of your drink. "Okay, and what does Harry Styles' right person look like?"

He exhales an amused chuckle. "God, I don't know. I don't really think I'm that picky. Just...anybody I can get along with, I suppose."

"That's it? No, 'They need a fat ass and the ability to make me a sandwich?'"

He grins so big, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "For fuck's sake. No, nothing like that. Look, I don't know. Call me old fashioned, but...I think sometimes you meet somebody, and you can just...tell. You know? There's this energy, this shift. You look at them...and it all just makes sense.”

And as he looks you, waiting for you to consider this…the air shifts.

"Yeah," you agree quietly, allowing your attention to fall down his features and land on his lips. "Yeah, that's...you're right."

He seems to notice the way your focus has wandered because he quickly clears his throat and looks back down at his mug. "What, um...what about you? I'm assuming you're seeing somebody."

You look away as well, willing yourself to calm. "Oh? And why do you assume that?"

"Come on," he nearly snorts, eyebrow cocking. "Look at you. You're beautiful and you're smart and you have this effortless ability to make anyone around you feel good. Who wouldn't want to date you?"

"Well...pretty much every male in the city," you retort. "I don't know. I've tried dating but...there's always something missing. It never really feels quite right."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he hums. "There's this...disconnect. Like you're forcing something that you know isn't right."

"Exactly! It's not that I don't want to find somebody, I just...haven't. It's not as easy as it is with you."

His head tilts. "With me?"

"Yeah, you know," you sigh, hands waving about the air as you try to explain your point. "I haven't seen you in five years but we still, just...picked right back up, you know? As if no time had passed. We're still just us. We can talk, and we can laugh, and we don't have to force anything."

He nods. "Right."

"I mean, honestly? Sometimes I think it would be easier to date somebody I already know. The problem is that all the guys I know are assholes. And too immature, I guess. They've got no sense of purpose, no drive. And it’s not like I need to be taken care of, but…it’d be nice to know they could. You know?”

"Yeah. You need someone with a good head on their shoulders."

"Exactly. I need someone who feels more like an equal than this thing I need to take care. I want to date a man, not a Tamagotchi."

He laughs again and the sound brings the butterflies back to your stomach. You feel proud to have amused him. And even more proud of the way he casually places a hand on your arm as he takes a deep breath. 

When he lets go, you look down at the spot on your skin as if you can still see outline of his fingers. 

"You'll find somebody," he tells you, and you do your best to ignore the sparks dancing up the back of your neck. "You will. And they'll be perfect for you. Old enough to know better and wise enough to do it right."

You place your palm over the spot he once touched, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Hey, and you, too. Anybody would be lucky to have you."

His eyes linger on yours. "Yeah?"

You smile. "Yeah."

The next few minutes are devoted to sharing stories about your families. He asks how your parents are, you ask about his. He tells you about his job and you tell him about your roommate. You recall every detail of the past five years, and once you've finally caught up to today, he pays for your drinks, and offers to walk you home.

You make your way along the busy streets of the city as Harry tells you that he's thinking about getting a cat. You laugh and tell him that he'd make a wonderful cat dad, and he seems to flush.

You wonder why.

Fifteen minutes later, you're walking up the steps to your building, already apologizing for the messy state of your apartment before he's even stepped foot inside.

He snorts the implication away, assuring you that no matter what, it can't be worse than how Atta used to keep her place.

And the mention of your sister breeds an odd feeling in your chest. Unease, and this strange tinge of jealousy. Like you're almost peeved at him for bringing her up. For reminding you that he's seen the inside of her room before.

But you shake it away as you push the door open, refusing to linger on the thought.

"Well...this is it," you declare, stepping aside to let him enter. "Probably looks smaller than you remember, but…it does the trick.”

He takes a moment to glance over your knickknacks and decor before he grins. “I love it.” 

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his expensive coat pockets and nods. "Yeah, really. It feels...fitting."

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know. It just feels like you.”

Your teeth gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you walk to the kitchen. "Well...thanks. I think."

You offer him a glass of water, to which he declines, before you join him back by the door. You're not sure that you’re quite ready to say goodbye, but you know he can't stay forever.

You wonder if you actually want him to.

You wonder if it would be so bad if you did.

"This was…really nice," he says as he takes a half-step through the doorframe. "Really, Dot. I'm proud of you. And everything you’ve done. And I'm really glad that I can still call you my friend after everything."

Your heart starts to pound a little harder inside your chest. "Yeah, me too. I really missed you, Har. I hope we can catch up again soon."

The side of his mouth curls up as his eyes soften. "I'd like that."

With that, he moves into the hall, and you close the door behind him.

The feeling that follows is...strange. Overwhelming. Like something is wrong. Like something has just been ripped away from you. 

Like something is missing.

You feel on edge. Off-balance. Confused and unsure and you have no idea why. There’s a pain in your stomach that wasn’t there before and a hollowness in your heart that didn’t exist before you saw him.

Suddenly, there's a sharp knock on your door. "Dot?"

He's back.

Confused and slightly excited, you swing it back open to find him braced against your frame. He’s quiet as he studies you, brows woven together in what appears to be deep thought before he strides back inside your apartment and begins to pace your floor.

"Okay," he begins. Strained. "Okay, tell me...tell me this isn't just me. Tell me this isn't just in my head."

You shut the door.  "What do you mean?”

He looks at you before frantically gesturing between your two bodies. "This. This thing we’ve been doing all afternoon. Tell me it's not just me. Tell me you feel it.”

And you're almost certain you know what he means, but the implication of it scares the shit out of you.

So, you simply tilt your head. "Har...feel what? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Us.” He stares at you. “Us, there's something...there's something different here. Something that wasn't here before."

"Like...?"

"Like...like the way you look at me," he says, eyes on yours as you feel your heart begin to race. "You never used to look at me that way."

Your lashes flutter, and suddenly, you feel acutely aware of the way you've begun to gawk at him. Have you been looking at him differently?

"And the way you speak to me," he continues. "Talking about needing someone to take care of you. Someone older. Someone...more mature."

You swallow.

He takes a step closer. "And all day, you've just...you’ve found a way to brush your hand against mine. Or your arm. And you laugh at everything I say, even when it isn't funny. And I know you. I know this can't be what I think it is, but...you gotta tell me I'm not going crazy. You have to tell me it's not just...me."

And you realize now that you have an easy way out. You could brush off the accusation and tell him that it is just in his head. That he's your sister's ex-boyfriend, and he's your friend, and that you would never make a pass at him.

But then you say, "…what if it wasn't just you?"

He goes still, lips parting as he leans back. Almost as if struggling to understand what you've just said.

Truth be told, you're struggling to understand it yourself. You hadn't realized just how differently you'd been acting toward him. Or that you’d begun to wonder what would happen if he was your Harry instead of hers.

Because he’s not hers anymore. He’s just a man. A very attractive man. With a job, and a house, and enough emotional maturity not to make a fart joke every three minutes.

And it's not your fault that you're starting to see him in a different light. It's been years. Five whole years since you've spoken to him and you're both adults now. Completely different people, and would it really be the worst thing if you wondered what could have been?

"Dot…" he begins slowly, clearly wrestling with what he wants to say, "…you don't…I don't think you really know what you're doing."

You take a step as well, challenging him. "What am I doing?"

"You're...you're—" His fingers find the bridge of his nose as he squeezes. Hard. "Fuck, Dot. Don't…don't do this—"

"Do what? Flirt with you?"

His palms fly to his ears with a wince. "Stop. No, you didn't...you didn't say that. You're not flirting with me. You're not flirting with me—"

"What if I am?" you retort, following after him with a surge of confidence you didn’t realize you had. "Why would that be so wrong?"

"Because,” he scoffs, shooting a stern look your way. "You’re Atta’s little sister. And we’re friends. And you’re basically a child—"

"I'm not a child," you remind him. "I'm twenty-eight. I've been making capable decisions for quite some time now—"

"But not this," he hisses, the muscles in his neck straining. "Not…shit. You can't do this. You can't—”

"Why not? You said it yourself, there's something different here��"

"But not this—"

"Why not?"

"Because…you're you," he huffs. "You're...you're my best friend, and my ex’s little sister, and I’m…I’m just this big, bad man come to ruin you.”

And somehow, the idea goes straight to your cunt.

"You're not ruining me, Harry," you say, even though you wish he would. "We’re adults. Old friends catching up and realizing that maybe things can be different now."

He takes in a breath. "But they can't be. They can't be different—"

"Why—"

"Because it's not right—"

"What's not right? What?" you argue. "Is it just the age difference? Is it Atta? Is it that you aren't attracted to me, because I know you were flirting with me, too—"

His entire face twists into a grimace as he inhales sharply and presses his hands back over his ears. "God. Don't say that—"

"You were," you insist. "Like it or not, I'm not the little girl you used to know. All right, and there's...there's nothing wrong with us testing the waters—"

He steels himself, arms dropping back to his sides. "We can't."

"Why?" you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. "Why can't we? Huh? We're not breaking any rules. We're not doing anything illegal. I don't see what's so wrong with just trying—"

"I'd ruin you," he says again, with so much conviction that it makes your stomach drop. "I would ruin any chance you had at a normal relationship—a normal life. All right, being with me...it would complicate everything. And I'd never do that to you—"

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to try—"

"Try what?"

"Try seeing." You take another step, making sure you have his full attention. "Just…try seeing if what we think is here is actually here. If maybe we were meant to find each other again after all this time. If this is where it all finally makes sense."

He considers this for a moment. Considers you. And you aren't sure when you suddenly became so enamored by the thought of Harry, but you’re here now. And he’s here. And there’s a shift.

And it feels right.

Then, his head begins to shake. "No. No, I know better. I have to know better. I have to do better than this. I can't...God, I can't believe I'm even...no. No, you mean too much to me for me to ruin this."

You feel your chest deflate as your lips press into a thin line. And you stare at him. You stare and you see the indecision and anguish on his face. You see the way he wrestles with the idea you've given him. The way he wrestles with himself.

The way he wrestles with you.

You don't want to push him. Because you know this is something you can never take back. And maybe there's just too much adrenaline in your veins right now. Maybe you aren't thinking straight, and once he leaves and the moment passes, you’ll wonder what you were so worked up about anyway.

But right now, all you feel is disappointment.

"Fine," you whisper, and his eyes soften. "No, fine. You're right. You're right, this is...I never should have said anything. I was…confused. I was just happy to see you again and I thought it was something else, but…you're right. It's nothing. And I don't wanna be your mid-life crisis. I just want us to be friends again.”

Your tiny apartment falls silent as you both settle onto this conclusion. As you let your heartbreak dangle in the air.

Then, his fingers between to flex and his teeth begin to grit, and watch in real time as he starts to change his mind.

Then, he murmurs, “Oh, fuck it.”

Next thing you know, he's closing the gap between you, taking hold of your face and kissing you hard.

You don’t have time to process it. Don’t even care to process it. But you don’t care. Because everything makes sense now.

So, you feel him. Surrender to him. Indulge in the dominate pull of his hands on your jaw as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. As he presses his hips so hard into yours that you feel your knees go weak.

You make a noise in your throat as he goes deeper, and he growls. Like he's fighting himself. Fighting the urge to take as he begins roughly walking you back until you’re slammed against the wall.

He knows exactly what he's doing in a way that younger men never have. He makes you feel both taken care of and somehow, still completely helpless. You don't have to think about anything with him because he does everything. 

He presses his strong, tall frame into yours until he practically disappears into you. His large hand grips onto the back of your neck as you whimper, taking control of the moment—of you—until the only thought left in your head is just more.

And you don't doubt that he'd give you more if you asked, but before you can, he pulls back, and puts the moment on pause.

You feel breathless. Dejected. Wilting in his hold as he meets your eye and looks for your reaction.

But he won’t find it. And you bite back a whine as you wait for him to come back.

He sweeps his thumbs along your cheek before sighing to himself. "Dot..."

You feel your stomach turn at the nickname. At the way it comes out raspy and desperate. "Don’t say it."

But he does, anyway. "We shouldn't do this."

"I know," you murmur, fingers disappearing into his hair while he seems to nestle into your touch. "I know, but I want to. I want to, Har. So…please don’t make me lose you again.”

Another beat passes before he groans and presses his forehead to yours. “God,” he nearly growls, and the sound makes your thighs squeeze together. “Dot—”

"I won't tell," you promise while his jaw clenches. "I won't, I swear. I'll be your secret."

Just like that, the hand he placed on your thigh tightens. Squeezing until you're squirming beneath him. He’s losing his conviction and you’re losing your patience.

"This is wrong," he mumbles. "S'wrong, Dot. I can't do this to you. Can't do this with you...I can't...I know better. I have to do better.”

You tug on his hair as you straighten up, whining beneath a strained breath. "I don’t want you to do better. I want you to do me.”

He exhales deeply with this, nose running down the side of your face as his lips travel to your neck. He seems to take refuge there, subtly pressing kisses to your throat as he thinks. "I want to," he tells you softly. "You have no idea how badly I want to. How badly I want to do everything for you. Show you how a real man fucks. Until you see stars.”

"Har," you just about gasp, anxious to have him do just that. "Please...please—"

"Fuck." His thigh slots between the both of yours and you writhe against him, searching for anything you might find. "Be so easy to take you. Be so easy to show you what you're missing. To wreck you until you’re begging for more—"

"So do it," you plead, pulling on him until his mouth meets yours. "Do it, Har. Please. Just once. Just once, and I promise I'll be so good. Be so good for you. Won't ever ask you again—"

His hold on you grows more determined before he's ripping you away from the wall and slinging you toward your bed a few feet away.

He’s on you in seconds, hovering about where you lie as you greedily grab for him. "Promise me," he hisses as his palm slips beneath your shirt, and a needy whimper bleeds from your throat. "Promise me that this is what you want."

"I promise," you repeat quickly, arching into his touch. "Promise—"

"Promise me...that you'll be good," he says next, fingers brushing over the material of your bra. "That you'll behave. That you'll do exactly what I tell you."

"Yes," you breathe, eyes falling shut.

"Fucking promise me..." he continues as he scratches down your chest, "...that you won't tell. That you'll be my dirty little secret. That you'll be mine. That you'll let me ruin you and that you'll fucking thank me for doing it—"

The last domino falls. Crashes to the ground as you tug him down to you so you can kiss him. So, you can prove your loyalty. Prove that this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

You feel him smile.

"You little fucking minx,” he purrs.

Your skin warms as Harry's stunned but unceasingly enthralled gaze lingers on the red lace of your underwear. However, his fingers move instead for your hips. His hauntingly empty touch ghosting across the fabric of your underwear as you anxiously await contact.

But he doesn't give it to you. Not quite, not yet. He just wants to look at you. Wants to drink you in. Allow himself the privilege of seeing what he never has before.

"Did you wear these just for me, little one?" he asks in a gravely drawl, eyes flicking up to yours from where he lays between your thighs. 

You swallow as you look across your stomach at him. You're not sure why you picked out this particular set today. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice or perhaps destiny was simply on your side.

"Maybe," you murmur, nails curling into your palm as you work in shallow breaths. God, you need him to touch you. Need him to do something about the mess that's sitting two inches in front of his face.

The very same mess he's pretending he doesn't notice.

Your response encourages a smirk as he hums and glances back down at the little white bow placed delicately in the center. "S'cute, Dot," he says softly, pinching the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. "Fucking precious, actually. Knowing you got yourself all dolled up. Just to see me."

He pulls his lip between his teeth and glances back over your face. He's amused by the weary and desperate expression you wear and you're two seconds away from groaning.

His touch moves down. Down, down, down until the pad of his finger brushes over your clit. 

You tense before releasing a shaky exhale. 

Satisfied with this reaction, he moves even lower. Until he finds that growing wet patch that's beginning to hurt.

"What's this?" he coos, looking down toward the darkened red fabric. "Oh, darling...s'this for me, too?"

You're not sure where your quippy attitude from before has gone because now you can do nothing but nod mutely as you shift beneath his hand.

"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he grins at you. "Is this what has you so anxious?"

You give him another nod.

He hums. "Think I need to see for myself, hm?" He smirks and pats his palms against your hips. "Take these off for me."

You quickly reach down to hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and drag them down your thighs. Once they've been pulled from your body, you get ready to toss them onto the other side of the bed. But before they can be flicked from the tips of your fingers, Harry snatches them with his fist.

"Uh-uh," he tuts as he tucks them into his suit's breast pocket. "These are mine now."

You suck in a sharp, eager pant. "Har—"

"Shh." He settles back onto his stomach, hands curling around your thighs to guide them apart and allow him a better visual. "M'busy, little one."

But it’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as his warm breath fans across your pussy, making the mess that much more obvious to you both. In fact, you can practically see the glistening reflection in his eye as he studies your cunt in the most intimate of ways.

You're not sure what he wants. What he's doing or planning or thinking. And you don't know why, but the way he stares at you does more for the apprehensive coil in your gut than him actually touching you has.

Finally, he makes another satisfied noise deep within the back of his throat before he brings his fingers back to you.

Two are placed just above your clit before he teasingly drags them down. However, when your hips buck up, he merely shoves them back down with a tsk.

Once you’re still, he starts again. Easing himself through your folds as he spreads you with the utmost glee. Fascinated by the way your body feels, the way it reacts to him.

His tongue sits between his lips as he ventures down, and the moment he finds the pooling of arousal waiting for him...you see the muscles in his neck contract.

"Darling…" The nickname is whispered across your body as he scoots closer. "Bet this hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you reply instantaneously, straining around the singular word as you resist the urge to whimper. 

He circles the tip of his finger around your aching hole, almost as if to test you. "Oh, precious girl...how long, hm? How long have you been in so much pain?"

Truthfully, since you hugged him at the diner.

"All day," you say aloud, hands gripping onto the duvet beneath you. "All day, Har. Been thinking about you all day."

And that is the honest answer. You'd been anxiously awaiting your meeting from the moment you woke up.

But he smiles as if he knows better, despite the way he seems to bask in your response. "All day, hm? And what were you gonna do if I never came back? Were you just gonna sit here and rub your pretty thighs together?"

Your heart skips while your hands gather atop of your stomach.

His brow raises. "No? Well then how were you gonna take care of it, hm?"

For a moment, you think this is simply rhetorical, but the longer the silence stretches, the more obvious it becomes that he expects an answer.

You swallow the odd lump in your throat. "How do you think?"

"Uh-uh," he chastises again. "I wanna hear you say it. Want you to tell me exactly how you were gonna fix this little problem of yours had I not been here."

Your head flops back against the pillows as you glare at the ceiling. He's always been rather infuriating but now he's a menace.

"Dot..." He's warning you. Calling you back. Urging you not to be so bratty.

With a tentative sigh, you look back at him. "My...vibrator."

He perks up. "Yeah?"

You nod faintly. 

"Tell me how," he instructs next, jutting his chin toward you. "Better yet...show me. Show me how you've been taking care of yourself all these years."

Feeling rather embarrassed under the spotlight of such an intimate request, you shyly look over toward your nightstand and outstretch a hand. After pulling the drawer open, you slip inside and find the purple wand that's just small enough to fit snugly inside your palm.

And Harry watches with a certain wonder in his eye as you bring the dainty toy closer. Yet, he says nothing while you slowly guide it toward your stomach and down to your thighs.

But he does, however, shift in order to make room, scooting back by a hair to allow you the space you need to place the head right above your aching clit.

For some reason, doing something so private in front of him feels...odd. Strange and almost unsettling. And perhaps that's just nerves, but you can't deny the heat that rushes to your face as he looks between you and the vibrator.

"S'this it, then?" he murmurs, a hint of teasing laced within the remark. "Don't even have to turn it on?"

Your thumb taps against the power button, a nervous tic, although you refrain from switching the toy on just yet. "No..."

His smirk is borderline haughty. "Then what do you do, little one? How do you use it?"

You say nothing. You hold his stare, and you hold a deep breath, and you hold the wand to your glistening cunt.

Then...you flip the switch.

The soft, dainty vibrations echo across the room, across your bodies, and across your clit as it's met with the instant stimulation of the pulsating wand.

You choke on a gasp as you return your eyes to the ceiling, allowing for the feeling to take control of each remaining sense.

And as you do, Harry's hands make themselves known to you as they begin to smooth up your legs, helping guide your thighs further apart once again.

There's an ever-so-slight stretch that follows as your muscles are pulled, and the distinctive burn makes your lashes flutter shut.

"There you go," he whispers. "So pretty, darling. God, could watch you do this all day."

Truthfully, you imagine you’re quite a sight. After all, you’ve watched yourself before. You know how it looks. Know exactly the kind of visual fantasy Harry is witness to right now.

So, you play it up, give him a show. After all...he's got a front row seat.

You rotate the head slowly, circling down and around your hole before retreating and dragging the object back up and through.

And you shiver every time it brushes against that particular sweet spot. Every time the pulses slow just to speed up once more. It's almost torturous the way your body is being bent to such salacious desires. And cruel the way you're forced to do this while he only watches.

A whimper slips free, and you arch off the bed, pressing the toy as tight against your body as you can stand.

You hear Harry chuckle. 

"Easy," he warns before you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, encouraging your grip to relax. "Take it slow, Dot. Not in a hurry, are you?"

"No," you breathe, head shaking zealously. "No, m'just...feels good."

"Does it?" He almost sounds surprised. "Hm. Interesting. Seeing as you're doing it wrong."

Your head lifts.

He glances toward the vibrator. "May I?"

You nod.

Pleased, he slips the toy free from between your fingers and clears his throat. Focused eyes landing on your body as he readies the bullet. 

Then...he begins.

It meets your clit—an innocent, familiar touch—before it's instantly being dragged down. He's slow with it. Giving you enough time to feel each particular flutter and twitch. 

Your soft gasps and grateful sighs carry him further, until the tiny head of the toy is swimming through your arousal. You fall still, attention locked on the man by your knees. 

But he’s still focused. Soft, green eyebrows weaving together as his pretty cherry lips stretch into a smile.

Something changes—everything changes—when he slips the head inside. Your entire body ripples from the vibrations as you stumble over his name and squirm across the mattress.

He only laughs before placing his arm overtop your stomach to keep you cemented to the bed. "None of that. Stay still for me."

"Har," you whisper, depleted of any strength. "Please..."

"What, little one? What do you want?"

"I need...please, I'm..."

"What? Does it feel good?"

"Yes. Yes...yes, feels so good. Please..."

"Please what? What do you want, sugar?"

More. Everything. Anything. "Fuck, I'm—don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Oh, darling," he breathes. "I'd never dream of it."

He takes the toy out and moves it back to your clit, circling gently a few times before pressing down hard. 

And you almost miss the full feeling it provided as it was eased into you, but before you can dwell for too long...Harry's extending his fingers and slipping them into your cunt.

Not one, but two of those beautiful digits push past your walls and begin to stretch you, ripping a gasp from your throat at the simultaneous stimulation. 

"Attagirl," he murmurs from below, and you can hear the smug undertone. "That's what you wanted, hm? Needed something to fill you."

Your chest heaves, the red lace of your bra lifting and falling as you roll your head back. "God, Har—"

"Tell me, darling," he continues, easing himself out just to push back in. "Were you gonna use your own fingers? If I wasn't here? Gonna ride your pretty little hand?"

You can't tell if he already knows the answer or if he just wants to picture your hand between your thighs.

Either way, you pant out, "Mhm."

"Yeah? How many, honey? How many were you gonna use?"

"...two."

He tsks, seemingly disappointed with this answer. "Just two? Hm. And would it have felt like this, darling? Would they be able to do it for you the way mine can?"

To accompany this ask, he curls upward, nearly yanking the pleasure out of you as you choke on a cry and writhe away from him. 

"Fuck—" Your teeth tug on your bottom lip. "Shit, Har—"

"Is that a no, then?" He thrusts his fingers out and back in again. "Would you have gotten yourself this wet...with just your own hand?"

The sound of him slipping through your arousal meets your ear as you groan and look down.

"No?" He adds a third finger while making sure to keep the wand of the vibrator exactly where it needs to be. "What about when you thought of me? Would that have done it for you, sugar? Thinking of me while you soaked your sheets? While you dripped down your knuckles as you fucked yourself?"

You've never heard a man talk to you this way. You already knew his experience superseded that of any man you'd been with before but this. None of those other boys ever knew how. But Harry...God. He knows just what to say. Knows exactly what you need to hear, and it overwhelms you.

"Har...Har—"

"Need an answer," he reminds you, but when you refuse to offer him one, he takes himself away. His fingers, the toy, his body. Leaning away completely as your pussy goes completely quiet.

"Harry," you just about moan, pushing up onto your elbows to leverage the playing field. "You...I'm...I was just—"

"Disobeying," he answers for you. "That's what you were doing. And I don't think that's fair, do you?"

You frown. You know this tone he's taking with you. Authoritative and condescending. It makes you huff. "Fine. I'll try again."

"Good girl," he murmurs, nodding at you as if to encourage confidence.

"I...wait, what was the question again?"

He smiles at this, releasing an amused chuckle beneath his breath before crawling back to you. His hands find the mattress beside your hips and he settles between your parted thighs, lips dangerously closer now.

And you can smell him. Smell his cologne, and his aftershave, and his shampoo. Can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through the expensive suit. Can see how much he wants to take care of you—ruin you. As promised.

"Do you get yourself this wet...when I'm not around?" he repeats, and the tip of his nose brushes against yours.

Your breath hitches. "No."

The answer was always obvious, but you know he needed to hear you say it. 

"Do you touch yourself...the way I touch you?" 

"No."

"Can you make yourself come the way I can?"

"God, no—" you gasp before taking hold of his face and smashing his mouth against yours.

His lips are perfect and his kiss is perfect and the two of you are perfect together. A connection so seamless, so effortless...it's as if you were always meant to be.

A ridiculous notion, you think to yourself, but right now...it's quite nice.

He pulls himself back just enough to meet your eye and offer a devious grin. "Then let’s find out, hm?"

Rough fingertips travel up the length of your inner thigh, forming goosebumps in the wake. You shiver, ready to receive his touch once again before he dances right past your cunt, and up your hip. 

He moves for the lace on your chest, tugging on the wire between your breasts with a disappointed tsk.

"I want this gone," he decides, plucking it from your skin. "Need to see all of you, Dot."

And before you can even reach back to undo the hook, he's looping an arm underneath your back, lifting you up, and flicking the clasp free. 

Once done, he yanks the bra down your arms and body before flinging it somewhere behind him.

Your eyes shut as your naked chest is revealed to him, heart hammering against your ribcage.

But then, you feel those lips again. He wraps his mouth around your left nipple before you can even whisper his name, sucking on you as though he's determined to make you see stars.

Which you do the moment his teeth pull on the sensitive skin. And you can't help but mewl as his tongue flicks cruel and merciless patterns against before moving for your collarbone.

He groans as he goes, situating his knee between your legs and pressing it directly against your cunt. His other hand gropes at your right breast, kneading at the tender flesh until his mouth reaches your neck. He nips at a vein just below your jaw and you arch up into him, chest knocking into his.

He sucks sweet bruises into the curve of your throat before licking apologies over the newly ruined skin. It's slow and painful and beautifully good.

Everything about him is beautiful and good.

His entire body seems to cater to yours as he cages you to the mattress and easily pulls whimpers from your throat. As he touches you, and pleases you, and knows you in a way nobody else ever has. 

You grind yourself against his leg before glancing down. And that’s when you notice the way your arousal has begun to soak through his nice pants. The way a dark little patch seeps into the fancy—and expensive—material. A sight both erotic and humiliating.

Your whimper forces his eyes to where yours reside, and he smirks when he sees your mess.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asks, taking his hand from your tit and using it to grab onto your jaw. "Are you embarrassed?"

You nod, despite his hold.

"Oh, my dirty little girl,” he hums. “I don't mind you soaking my trousers. But I'd rather you soak my cock."

You'd rather that, too, and you're more than grateful when he leans back to undo his belt. You don't know where this will lead you. If you’ll fuck him and then lose contact for another five years. 

Or if you’ll fuck him and change everything.

But right now, you don't mind. You'll happily exist in this moment with him. In these bad decisions until you're coming so hard, you forget your own name.

He leans back to begin ridding himself of his clothes and you scramble upward to help him along. Your greedy hands grab at his jacket and his shirt, wrestling them down his arms and off his broad chest. Wanting to see him the way he can see you.

You nearly moan when his inked skin is revealed to you. You knew he'd gotten a few tattoos in college, and even some a bit after. But seeing them now, painted across such a tan, toned canvas makes your head spin.

"Easy," he laughs, reaching out to swipe his thumb beside your mouth to collect the pooling drool. "Save some for me, hm?" 

But you can't. Instead, you take his finger between your lips and bury it beside your tongue.

Surprised, his lashes flutter. But once you realize he won’t be able to undo his pants without both hands, you regretfully pop his digit free. Allowing him to slip out of his briefs until his cock springs free.

He’s…perfect. Still. Somehow. Red and swollen and leaking just for you. And you clench from the mere thought of having something so beautiful inside you.

You crawl closer, eager for a taste, but Harry simply grabs hold of your chin.

"Yes, little one?" he murmurs, using his other hand to hold his cock. "Did you want  something?"

You nod and lean forward another inch.

"All right," he concedes, pumping himself before subtly tugging you down. "Just a taste, honey. Since you've been so good."

He leads your mouth to him and without a moment's hesitation, you outstretch your tongue, and drag it along the underside.

You revel in the way you feel him twitch. In the way he exhales a deep breath through parted lips while moving his fingers to your hair, guiding you closer but not too close. Just enough to get him on your tastebuds.

You hum when you reach the tip, eager to indulge in the pre-cum already beading in pearly drops. And the vibrations from your eager appreciation make the muscles in his stomach quiver as he curses your name.

However, you barely get the chance to wrap your mouth around him before he's yanking on your hair, and straightening you back up.

"What did I say?" he hisses. "Don't be greedy, Dot."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, swallowing the bit of him still lingering in your mouth. "M'sorry, won't do it again."

"No, you won't. Or I'll go back on my promise."

"No," you whine, needy fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him close. "No, won't do it again. I promise."

You know he’s amused with your desperation, and even though you're slipping fast, he can't help but be entertained. "We'll see, little one."

With a fervent motion of your head, you scramble back to the pillows to lay down, legs spreading as if to invite him in.

He smirks as he strokes his cock a time or two more while settling himself between your thighs. You imagine he could have you in a number of ways, a plethora of positions. But he chooses this. He chooses to see your face this first time. To see every ounce of pleasure etched within your features.

And truth be told, you don't mind. You could stare at him forever.

"Do you have any condoms?" he asks next, dipping down to press his lips to yours for only a second. "Or would you prefer to go without?"

You consider this. You're on birth control and you do have a bit of a creampie kink, so you shake your head. 

"Without," you answer quickly before lifting an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to?"

"No," he chuckles, placing a kiss to your nose this time. "Just wanted to make sure. Promised to take care of you, and that's what I plan to do."

Your heart flutters.

"Okay, gonna need you to be good, honey," he tells you now, large palm landing on your hip to steady you. "Gonna need you to take me and do as I say, all right? And I'll make it worth it."

"I will," you agree quickly, fingers traveling up the dips in his arms, ghosting over each muscle until you reach his shoulders. "Be so good, Har, promise."

"Uh-uh." His hand smacks against your inner thigh in warning before his thick eyebrow cocks up. "S'not my name, darling. Not right now."

Curious as to what he might mean, you study him for only a moment before you realize.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Just like that, something in his demeanor switches. 

Truth be told, the name doesn't do much for you. But you revel in the way he feeds off it. Find absolute euphoria in the way he lights up at your obedience until you want nothing more than to please him again. To call him anything he wants as long as he keeps looking at you like that.

"Good girl," he growls beneath a deep breath before he's bringing his cock closer.

He starts by dragging it along your clit, making you jolt and buck before his hand splays across your stomach to force you back down.

"No," he says simply, eyes fixated on the torture he's currently implementing. 

He does it again, letting your swollen, puffy clit jump from the slight brush of his tip while he drags it through your arousal and shifts forward.

"Breathe," he orders next, stealing a quick glance at your puckered lips and wide eyes. “All right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slides in slowly, pushing past your tight walls, coaxing the muscles to stretch to his size.

At first, it's nothing more than a soft, easy sensation. Relaxing, in a sense as it aids the ache and fills the void his fingers left behind.

Then...he goes deeper. 

And this is what you'd been waiting for. The slight tension and subtle burn as your body is forced to accommodate him. You're thankful he goes slow. Not just because of the pain. But because you both want to watch.

You want to watch the way he pulls your body apart. Wanna watch him disappear into your tight hole that pulls him in. Wanna watch the way you flutter and clench and claim him the way he’s claiming you.

"Oh, that's my fucking girl," he groans to himself. "Fucking hell, Dot. Didn’t think you’d be so tight."

"Yeah, well…never had someone like you before," you tease, gauging your body's reaction by slowly rolling your hips up. 

"Yeah?" His hand lands on your throat, smoothing up the sides of your neck until he can squeeze a gasp from your lips. “Never, huh?”

You shake your head and with one quick thrust, he bottoms out, forcing a strangled cry as you arch into him.

“Never had someone stretch this pretty pussy the way it deserves, yeah?” He tsks again. “What a fucking shame.”

He rears back, and the pain and the pleasure that follow him out make your chest cave in.

However, he’s quickly driving himself back in before you can complain, pushing past the fluttering muscles once more as you keen and rake your nails down the blanket.

"Harry," you breathe, his name like a lifeline as you drown in his sin. 

But it earns you another firm smack to your outer thigh as he grunts his disapproval into your neck. "No," he warns before nipping just below your jaw. "You know better."

But really…you don’t. "Sir...please," you amend.

"Hm. S'a good girl," he praises. "Knew you'd behave for me, yeah? My perfect little toy—"

A rather debauched moan rips from between your gritted teeth as his hips ram into yours. You can feel him everywhere. In your stomach, in your head, in your heart. His legs against yours, his chest against yours, his entire body against yours until you're almost convinced he's gonna become one with your bloodstream.

Not that you'd mind.

His arm slips beneath you once more in order to lift you up and provide him with a new angle. Then, he thrusts himself into you again as your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp for air.

"There she is, that's what you needed. Yeah, little one?' He does it again, brushing against that one spot that makes your toes curl. "The other boys never did it, did they?"

You whine, knees bending besides his hips as you attempt to follow after him when he pulls back. 

But he's quick to tut and knock you back down onto your ass. "No. You don't rush me, darling. We do this my way. On my time. If I wanna stay here and fuck you nice and slow, then you’ll behave, and you’ll fucking take me.”

You’d like to agree, but he’s thrusting himself back in before you can.

"You will thank me for taking my time," he continues in a coarse cadence that seems to reverberate from his chest. "You will thank me...for being so goddamn good to you. And you will thank me…for doing it right."

"Harry, please—" you just about wail, hands finding his arms as you grasp on for dear life.

But the fingers around your throat tighten until the edges of your vision begin to blur.

"There you fucking go again," he growls, stilling his rhythmic attacks as he meets your eye. He seems to enjoy watching your focus go fuzzy. "Starting to think you like to be punished, hm? And here I thought you had a praise kink."

You clutch onto his wrist, nails scratching along the veins in his arm as he pounds into you at a harder pace.

But you don't mind. You enjoy watching him give into the voices inside his head. Enjoy the way his chocolate brown curls sweep across his forehead, the way his eyebrows weave together and the muscles in his jaw constrict.

For a 34-year-old man, he seems to possess quite a bit of stamina. He'd mentioned earlier his enjoyment for running and exercising, detailing his rather excessive and diligent routine.

And you'd smirked because you'd assumed he was showing off or because he was trying to stay ahead of the inevitable "dad-bod" in his future.

But now you understand why he's really so meticulous. He's a long way from looking his age. Apart from some subtle, but soft crinkles near his eyes and a few gray hairs that peek through the auburn waves, he looks rather youthful. 

And his body. You swallow another noise as you let your hungry gaze trail over every inch, every muscle, every quiver in his thighs as he braces himself above you.

Sir feels like a more appropriate title to you now. Because he is. He is your superior in this moment A man to be respected and revered. Someone who not only knows better,.but knows you. Knows your body and how to play it like an instrument. 

There's something exciting about submitting to him. Something tantalizing about being at his mercy. Most of the other men you've been with have felt more like your equals than anything else. Which you haven't minded in the least bit.

But the way Harry has managed to fit you into the submissive, subservient role so quickly suggests that perhaps...this is where you were always meant to be.

Beneath him.

"Oh, honey," he coos, a mix of condescension and amusement. "Can feel you squeezin' me. Need it so bad, don't you? Need to come, hm?"

"Yes. Yes," you whisper, nuzzling your face into his neck, lips eagerly pressing into the salty skin at your disposal. "Please, Ha—Sir. Please let me come. Can't...can't hold it—"

"You will,” he says before he’s grabbing hold of your wrist and hosting it above your head. Burying into the pillow and preventing you from reaching for your clit. “Forget it, Princess. Told you to take me. So you will. Exactly how I tell you.” 

"Sir—"

"I said no. I plan to keep you here for quite some time. Plan to feel you coming around my cock as many times as I see fit. And I expect you to behave for me the way you promised. Can you do that? Or do I need to stop?"

"No," you gasp, tears springing to your eyes at the very thought. "No, no, please—"

"Then what are you going to do?"

You swallow a moan and lift your chin proudly. "Take it."

A pleased smile crawls across his face as he hums and dips down to press his mouth to yours. "There she is," he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. "My good girl. Try to remember that, yeah? Or I'll keep you here all day."

However, that’s something else you wouldn't exactly mind, and you shiver as he pushes your knee into your chest.

"Fucking hell, Dot," he mumbles, eyes falling back down to where you're coating his cock. "Oh, my perfect toy. Look at the way you treat me, honey. Treat me so well, fucking soaking me, aren't you—"

"Yes, Yes, please…"

"I know. I know, little one. Feels so good to be filled, yeah? To be fucked the right way—"

"God, yes. More...please—"

"More, huh? Need more? Need me to make it better? Need me to fucking take—"

Suddenly, your phone rings.

The soft, melodic chime cuts through Harry’s vulgar response, bringing the moment to a close as his thrusts falter and he glances over.

God, you hate that stupid, evil, sadistic machine. Right now, you wish you'd never bought it. You wish you could throw it again the wall until it shatters into a thousand fucking pieces so as long as he just keeps going.

Instead, he searches your nightstand for the small device before he's releasing your leg in order to reach for it. 

"No, Har," you plead, attempting to grab onto his hand. "Just let it go to voicemail, it's fine—"

"But that wouldn't be very polite, now, would it?" he tuts, glancing over the screen. "And I think you need to take this, darling."

"Harry, please—"

"Shh," he says sharply. “You're gonna take this phone call and you're gonna use your word. And then, and you're gonna come for me."

His thumb hovers over the green button and he guides the phone to your ear. 

"And you're not gonna make a fucking sound," he adds, dropping his voice to a threatening hiss before pressing the receiver to your ear. "Or I fucking stop. Do you understand?"

You do your best to nod, and he smiles before tapping the screen.

Through a slight quiver, you say, "Hello?"

"Hey! Long time no talk, babe. How are you?"

Your eyes just about pop out of your head.

Atta.

Her cheerful tone and eager greeting make the blood drain from your face as you look up at the man hovering above you.

"Speak," he mouths with a wicked grin while nodding his chin at you. 

But you can't. You physically cannot get the words to come out of your mouth as Harry keeps the device glued to the side of your head.

"H...hi," you stammer, forcing a more confident cadence. "I'm...good. How...how are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. Good, yeah," your sister replies, and you hear a bit of shuffling. "Been working a lot. Got today off, which is nice. God, you'd never believe how much shit we have to go through since we changed our filing system—"

"Mhm," you reply right as Harry rams his hips into yours.

You gasp and quickly turn your head away from the phone in an attempt to keep the excitable noise from making it into the microphone. 

However, he uses his other hand to grasp onto your jaw and force you back. "No," he whispers, shooting you a stern look of warning. "You know better."

"—which is wild because we've been using the same program since '08," Atta is saying, although you can hardly hear her over the imminent pleasure rushing through your veins. "But...whatever. Once we're done, it'll make things so much easier. Which will be nice. I can cut back on my hours—"

"Yeah, mhm," you repeat, and it's outrageously strained as Harry pulls himself out, leaving you depraved and so goddamn empty.

You have to fight the urge to cry out for him, glancing down at the string of arousal that follows his cock. And it's almost too much for you to handle as you greedily reach for him once more.

However, he bats your hands away and brings his free fingers from your chin to your clit, rubbing into the sensitive nerves until you arch up.

"—so, yeah. What about you?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as that tightly wound ball of pleasure in your stomach expands. "I'm...I...good. I'm...good. You know, not...not a lot going on. At the moment."

Harry smirks to himself before sinking all the way back in and thrusting up.

Your lip fights its way between your teeth and you writhe beneath his chest while praying for the strength to stay quiet.

"Well...I guess no news is good news, yeah?" she chuckles. "Oh, hey, speaking of which...I heard that Harry's in town."

That's not the only thing he's in. 

"Oh?" you squeak, placing a palm on Harry's chest almost as if in retaliation. "He is?"

"Yeah. Saw it on Facebook," she answers, and you hear her move around. "Figured he might try to reach out. I know you guys are still on good terms, right?"

"Me and Harry?" you repeat pointedly, garnering a curious look from the aforementioned man. "Uh...we're...yeah. I guess. But we’re not…that close."

He grins.

"Well...I just thought I'd let you know in case he does," she says, and your lashes flutter shut as the guilt begins to find you.

"Would it be weird...if he did?" you ask before the patterns being traced against your clit make you whimper.

Terrified, you quickly cough in an attempt at burying the sound, but Atta doesn't seem to hear. 

"I mean...maybe? I don't know. He and I are fine, I think. And I know you two were friends. I guess you could at least...check on him. Make sure he's doing okay."

"Yeah," you breathe, sneaking a glance up. "I'm...I'm sure he's doing just fine."

Harry smiles once more before moving his palm to your thigh and pressing it into the bed to spread you at a different angle. 

"I hope," Atta sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to call and check in. Just to make sure everything is going okay for you—"

"Mhm, yeah. I'm...I'm glad you did," you blubber while attempting to send Harry a pointed look. You're close. So fucking close, and if he keeps going...

"Are you sure you're all right? You sound a bit flustered—"

"Yes. Yes, yes, I'm..." Your head shakes quickly, nails scratching down Harry's chest in warning. He needs to stop. He needs to stop or you won't make it. "I'm fine. I'm...a little under the weather, but I'm—" 

Suddenly, he sheathes himself inside your cunt, face burying in your neck with a groan as your entire body shivers.

"Are you sure? You kind of sound like you're in pain—"

"Listen, Atta, I...I gotta go—" you gasp, so close to your orgasm that you can practically taste it. “I’m sorry—”

"Oh, yeah. Hey, text me, okay? Just let me know that you're all right—"

"Mhm, yeah, I will—fuck—"

It happens before you can stop it. Ripping through every muscle and fiber in your body as you rake your fingers down Harry's back and choke on a moan.

Thankfully for you, Harry has already ended the call and thrown the phone to the other side of the room so he can loop his arm beneath your hips and tug you up into his body.

"Go," he breathes. "Give it to me. Come on, little one. Just like that. Good fucking girl, just like that. Let me feel you—"

Your room fills with the sound of his name, dancing effortlessly between the whimpers that follow.

It feels like you've touched heaven. A sensation so overwhelming and euphoric that you don't even realize his hand has returned to your throat. Don't realize he's squeezing your neck in his tight fist as he comes, filling your cunt with everything he has to give you.

You don't even realize you can't breathe, but you love it. Love the way he presses his teeth into your shoulder and presses his body into your chest. Until you're trapped against the mattress while you live through the high. 

Every joint in your body aches. Radiating pain and pleasure all at once as you hook your leg over his hip and snake your arms around his neck.

And you keep him inside of you for what feels like hours. Even after you've regained a bit of consciousness. And a bit of common sense.

Perhaps the moment he pulls out, you'll realize the mistake you've made. You’ll realize that this isn't a secret you can keep. Or a choice that you can ever choose again. And maybe he’ll realize it, too.

But until then…

You’re happy to have your Harry back.

~ Masterlist

Taglist: @littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

@hannahdressedasabanana @sykostyles @lukesaprince @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus

@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age. 

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look. 

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin. 

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear. 

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water. 

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say. 

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says. 

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him. 

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him. 

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question. 

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists. 

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity. 

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder. 

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive. 

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this. 

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind. 

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace. 

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you. 

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer. 

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on. 

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration. 

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave. 

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even. 

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight. 

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout. 

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. 

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank. 

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did. 

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face. 

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy. 

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper. 

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself. 

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open. 

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake. 

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.” 

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes. 

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe. 

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you. 

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers. 

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now. 

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it. 

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you. 

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t. 

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room. 

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle. 

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds. 

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.” 

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life. 

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline. 

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake. 

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different. 

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire. 

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep. 

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane. 

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue. 

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway. 

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you. 

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up. 

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets. 

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead. 

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works. 

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes. 

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this. 

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course,  he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?” 

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks. 

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated. 

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive. 

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you. 

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart. 

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough. 

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years. 

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever. 

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?” 

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too. 

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left. 

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this. 

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy. 

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you. 

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source. 

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy. 

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love. 

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it. 

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity. 

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut. 

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you. 

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin. 

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound. 

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day. 

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him. 

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum. 

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned. 

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you? 

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. 

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold. 

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids? 

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom. 

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say. 

“So do it,” you whisper. 

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you. 

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

[tacticalprincess]

older boyfriend!könig who withholds sex from you at first, insisting that he won’t fit, you’re not ready yet. in reality, he’s training you, making sure you’re desperate and addicted to it before he’s even inside of you. slowly turning you into a slut for him, ruining you for everyone else.

he gets off on corrupting you, teasing you and putting you in vulnerable positions you never thought you’d be in, then acting like it's your fault when you get needy and messy.

he'll hold both your wobbly legs out of the way with one large hand and bully his thick, throbbing dick inside your now transparent panties, slotting between your soft folds. he groans at the way your needy pussy lips wrap around him, enveloping his length in warm, sticky heat. your hole pulses around nothing, the pretty tears pooling in your eyes from need make his heart clench and cock kick against your puffy clit. his free hand pulls the straps of your camisole down, groping your supple breasts. you try, adorably, to buck your hips into him, mouth ajar while you beg for something you don't even understand. he’ll tsk meanly, feigning disappointment. tightens his grip and pins you down.

"don't be so greedy, häschen." voice low and condescending, makes your brain go fuzzy. "rubbing yourself on my dick like a dumb slut. beschämend. perhaps i’m spoiling you too much. should i stop?”

vigorously, you shake your head, holding onto his strong forearm to keep him close. you’re not sure why you can’t seem to stay still, let him take care of you. “‘m sorry, please.”

“sweet girls relax and take what’s given to them. i always know how to make you feel good, no?"

once he's satisfied with you squirming and whining below him, he'll finish all over your glossy, twitching pussy. pulls your panties up, slaps a firm hand onto your clit and makes you go about your day with his seed dripping down your thighs. leaving you feeling gross and ashamed, but achey for more.

[gutsby]

Diehard

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.

Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986

Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.

He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.

“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.

The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.

Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.

Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.

“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”

Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.

“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”

You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.

Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.

It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.

“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.

“You can take it,” Joel grunted.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.

But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.

It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.

Instead of answering, you whimpered.

You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.

“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.

Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.

“Use your words.”

“Too— too—”

Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.

“Too what? Tell me, baby.”

You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.

“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”

Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.

“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”

It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.

And again.

And again.

Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.

Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:

“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”

[mssalo]

dirty old man - the doctor’s office

When the doctor steps out, Joel wastes no time pulling you onto his face, turning the check-up into a filthy game of control and desire.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, age gap, caretaker f!reader, Joel is a perverted old man (imagined age 60-70), reader in her 20s, DDLG dynamic, daddy kink, exhibitionism, oral (female receiving), public setting (doctor’s office), risk of being caught, degradation, size difference, explicit sexual content, perverted/dirty talk.

more dirty old man in masterlist

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The sterile smell of the doctor's office felt like the most routine part of your day—a place you and Joel had visited plenty of times for his regular check-ups.

But underneath the fluorescent lights and the ordinary medical examination, there was a palpable tension, one that had nothing to do with Joel's health and everything to do with the dynamic you’d built together.

Joel lay back on the examination table, his shirt off as the doctor began his usual routine, prodding and listening to his chest, but Joel's attention was far from the doctor’s hands.

“Gotta say, Joel,” the doctor began, flipping through his notes. “Your physical condition has improved since your last few visits. I can tell you're in much better shape—more flexibility, blood pressure’s stabilizing. Whatever routine you've been following, it’s working wonders.”

Joel’s eyes darted over to you, and that familiar, mischievous smirk curled at the edges of his mouth.

“Well, doc,” he drawled slowly, “that’s all thanks to my new caretaker here.” His eyes locked onto yours, the look in them full of filthy innuendo. “She’s been keepin' me on my toes.”

Your face flushed instantly, heat rushing to your cheeks as the doctor glanced over at you, completely unaware of the real reason behind Joel’s improved health.

You gave a nervous, awkward laugh, trying to hide the growing embarrassment bubbling up inside you.

"Yeah, well... I try to help as much as I can," you stammered, your voice shaky under the weight of Joel’s smoldering gaze.

The doctor smiled, oblivious, and nodded. "Well, it shows. You’ve done a great job," he said. “It’s rare for someone Joel’s age to make such improvements so quickly. Whatever you're doing, keep it up.”

You forced a smile, trying to maintain professionalism, but Joel’s smirk was growing, his eyes gleaming with that dark satisfaction, fully enjoying the way you squirmed.

"Yeah," Joel muttered, his voice low and teasing. "She’s been real good to me, doc. Keeps me movin’, keeps me... motivated." His eyes lingered on you as he said it, making your heart pound even harder.

You bit your lip, trying to avoid eye contact, but the flush on your cheeks deepened. You knew exactly what Joel was hinting at, and so did he.

The doctor was completely unaware of the layers behind Joel’s words, but you could feel the tension building between you, the silent promises in Joel's gaze making it impossible for you to focus.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly working,” the doctor continued, glancing down at his clipboard. “Your heart rate’s better, blood pressure is steady, and your muscle tone has improved. Honestly Joel, for your age, you’re in remarkable shape.”

Joel chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a ripple of heat through your body.

The doctor glanced at his clipboard, then gave Joel a brief smile. “I’ll need to step out for a moment to check something with the nurse,” he said casually, already turning toward the door.

As soon as the doctor stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, Joel wasted no time. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with that familiar possessive grip.

His smirk was wicked, curling at the corners of his lips as he yanked you closer, pulling you between his legs.

“Come here,” he growled, his voice low and rough, already thick with need. His eyes raked over your body, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt up with rough urgency.

“No fuckin' panties, just like I told ya. Good girl. Now get up here and sit that sweet pussy on my face.”

Your breath hitched, and you glanced nervously at the door, your heart racing.

“Joel… we’re in a doctor’s office,” you whispered, trying to sound logical, but the heat between your legs was already giving you away.

“Don’t give a damn,” he muttered, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you closer until you were standing right in front of him. “I’ve been thinkin’ about your cunt all fuckin' day. Now, I’m gonna have it.”

The way he talked to you—filthy, raw, unapologetically possessive—set your body alight with anticipation.

You hesitated for just a moment longer before finally giving in, climbing up onto the examination table. Your hands shook slightly as you straddled his chest, your bare folds hovering over his face, already slick with arousal.

“Fuckin' look at you,” Joel growled as he pulled you down, his breath hot against your dripping core.

“You’re so wet, baby. This pussy’s fuckin' soaked for me.” He slid his hands around your hips, gripping them tight as he positioned you just where he wanted you.

“I wanna see every part of you, darlin’. Spread those legs nice and wide for me.”

Your legs trembled as you obeyed, spreading yourself open for him, your wet, swollen clit exposed to his hungry eyes. He groaned, his breath ragged with lust as he looked at you, his lips parting slightly.

“Goddamn, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick and rough. “Look at how swollen that little clit is. You’ve been waitin' for this, haven’t ya?”

Without waiting for a response, Joel’s tongue flicked out, the first slow, deliberate stroke dragging over your clit.

You gasped, your fingers gripping the edge of the exam table as your body jolted with pleasure. He wasn’t gentle—his mouth latched onto you, sucking hard, his tongue swirling over your clit with rough, practiced strokes.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you tried to stay quiet.

The obscene sounds of his mouth on you filled the small room, wet and slick, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

Joel groaned against you, the vibrations sending a shiver through your entire body. “This fuckin' pussy,” he growled between licks, his words muffled as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue lapping greedily over you.

“Tastes so goddamn good. I could fuckin' drown in it.”

You moaned softly, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicked over your swollen clit again, faster this time, more insistent. He sucked hard, drawing your sensitive bud into his mouth, then flicked his tongue over it in rapid, merciless strokes.

You could feel your pulse pounding between your legs, your body already trembling with the need to come.

“Fuck, Joel… we have to—” you gasped, but he cut you off with a growl, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you down harder onto his face.

“Shut the fuck up and ride my face,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “I don’t care if we’re in a fuckin’ doctor’s office. I’m gonna make you come all over my mouth.”

You could barely think straight. The filthy heat of his words, the way his mouth moved on you, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body—it was too much.

Your hips started to rock against him, grinding down on his face as his tongue slid in and out of you, his rough hands guiding your movements.

“That’s it, baby,” Joel muttered between licks, his voice thick with hunger as his tongue dragged slowly up and down your folds, swirling around your swollen clit before dipping back down to tease your entrance.

“Fuck my face. Show me how much you need it. How much you love when daddy eats this sweet little cunt.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down even harder against his mouth. His tongue was everywhere—messy, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

He flicked your clit with his tongue again, but then he shifted lower, dragging his tongue along your slit, tasting every inch of you. The heat between your legs was unbearable, and Joel could feel how badly you wanted it, how soaked you already were.

He groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his face pressed further into your slick heat, his nose brushing your clit as his tongue explored every part of you.

He wasn't satisfied with just licking—he wanted to bury himself in you, use his whole face to make you come. And that’s exactly what he did.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

His tongue moved lower, teasing the edges of your entrance before plunging inside, fucking you with slow, deep strokes.

You moaned loudly, your hands gripping the sides of the exam table as your hips rocked against his face. Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, keeping you in place as he lapped at your pussy like a man starved.

But it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. He pulled his tongue out of your hole, dragging it back up to your clit, where he sucked hard before letting go, only to press his entire face against your folds, rubbing it all over your pussy.

His nose nudged your clit, his lips sucking at your wetness, and his tongue slipping everywhere—flicking your clit, sliding between your folds, teasing your hole again and again.

He was relentless, his whole face working against you, his stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin, adding a rough, delicious friction.

You gasped, your body trembling from the intensity of it, and Joel only groaned louder, his tongue darting in and out of your hole before sliding back up to your clit, flicking it in rapid strokes.

“You love this, don’t ya?” he rasped, his voice muffled as he pressed his mouth back to your pussy, his tongue swirling over your clit, his nose bumping against it as he ground his face into you.

“Love when daddy uses his whole fuckin’ face on this pretty little cunt. You’re fuckin’ dripping for me, baby. I’m gonna make you come all over my face.”

Your breath hitched, your hips bucking against him, the pressure building inside you as his face moved everywhere—tongue fucking you deep one second, then sucking on your clit the next. He loved every part of you, and he made sure you knew it.

His mouth, his nose, his whole face was slick with your arousal as he devoured you, using everything he had to make you come.

Joel pulled his tongue out of your hole, dragging it up your slit again, swirling it around your clit before pressing his mouth down hard.

He sucked, his lips closing tightly around your clit as he flicked his tongue over it in quick, teasing strokes. You whimpered, your body trembling as you tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible with how good he was making you feel.

“Fuck, Joel…” you gasped, your voice shaking as the pleasure grew, every nerve in your body on fire from the way his mouth moved over you, claiming you. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, his tongue never stopping. “Come on my fuckin’ face, baby. I want it all. I wanna taste every drop.”

His words sent a shiver through you, and with one final flick of his tongue over your clit, you came hard.

Your thighs clenched around his head as your orgasm crashed through you, and Joel groaned in satisfaction, his hands holding you firmly in place as he continued licking, drinking in every bit of your release.

“That’s it, good girl,” he muttered, his lips still pressed to your pussy, his tongue slowly dragging through your folds, savoring the taste of you. “You come so fuckin’ sweet for me.”

Your body trembled, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps, but Joel wasn’t done.

His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing them gently as his mouth moved over you again, slower this time, but just as hungry.

He rubbed his whole face into your slick folds, his nose brushing your clit while his tongue teased your entrance. He wanted to make you come again, and he was determined to get it.

“Fuck, I could eat you all day,” he groaned, pulling back just long enough to look up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes before diving back in, his tongue sliding deep inside you again.

He fucked you with his tongue, his nose pressing against your clit, his mouth wet and messy as he devoured you, completely lost in the taste of you.

“You’re mine,” he growled between licks, his voice low and possessive as he slid his tongue out of you, flicking it over your clit again.

“This pussy is fuckin’ mine.”

You were barely holding on, your body trembling as another orgasm built inside you, the sensation of his face rubbing against your wet heat sending you over the edge.

Joel could feel it—could feel the way your body tightened, the way your breath hitched, and he sucked your clit into his mouth again, his tongue swirling over it in quick, dirty strokes.

"Come again," Joel growled, his voice dark and full of filthy satisfaction. "Come all over my fuckin' face again, baby. Don’t hold back."

You couldn’t. The pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, and you came again, harder this time, your hips grinding down onto his face as your body shook with the intensity of it.

Joel groaned beneath you, his tongue still lapping at your pussy, his whole face drenched in your slick as he continued fucking you with his mouth until you couldn’t take it anymore.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice hoarse but smug, pulling back just enough to smirk up at you. His face was soaked, his lips shiny with your release, and the sight of him like that—dark eyes, glistening mouth—made your stomach tighten all over again.

"Can’t fuckin’ get enough, can ya? Rubbing that sweet little pussy all over an old man’s face."

His words dripped with possessiveness, but there was a teasing warmth behind them. Joel wasn’t disgusted by how much you needed him—no, he was fucking proud.

Proud of how you responded to him, how desperate and soaked you became under his tongue.

You whimpered softly, still trembling, the shame and arousal mixing together in a heady cocktail of need.

"Joel, we’re gonna get caught," you murmured, your breath still shaky.

He chuckled, low and dirty, his hands never leaving your hips as he kept you pinned down.

"Let ‘em catch us," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Let ‘em see how fuckin’ perfect you look sittin’ on daddy’s face. Maybe they’ll wanna take a fuckin' picture—show everyone how much this sweet young thing needs me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the risk, the dirtiness of it all making your heart race.

You were already drenched, but hearing him talk like that—pushing the boundary between pleasure and danger—made you even wetter, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

“They’d love to see you like this, wouldn’t they?” Joel muttered, his tongue darting out to swipe at your swollen folds, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through your already sensitive body.

"Bet they’d be jealous. Bet they’d wanna taste you too, but you’re mine, hm, baby?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat as his hands squeezed your hips, forcing you to grind harder against his mouth.

His nose brushed your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body as his tongue teased your entrance again, slipping in and out with slow, deliberate strokes.

"You’re all mine," Joel groaned, his words muffled as he pressed his face deeper into your wetness.

“Fuckin’ made for daddy, pretty one. Look how fuckin' soaked you are, baby. Ridin' this old man’s face like you need it to breathe."

Your whole body shuddered as his tongue pushed deeper inside you, fucking you with slow, sensual strokes.

He wasn’t just eating you out—he was worshiping you, using every part of his face to drive you crazy.

His nose bumped against your clit as he flicked his tongue in and out of your tight entrance, his lips wrapping around your folds, sucking and licking like he couldn’t get enough of you.

"God, Joel..." you gasped, your hips moving of their own accord, grinding against him, desperate for more.

The idea of someone walking in, seeing you like this—spread wide, riding Joel’s face while he devoured you—it sent a thrill through you that made your heart race even faster.

"That's it," he muttered, his voice rough and dirty as his hands guided your movements.

"You like this, sweet girl? You love letting daddy take care of you, love how I make you feel. Doesn’t matter where we are—you’ll always be fuckin' mine."

But Joel wasn’t finished. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, his mouth still teasing your swollen, oversensitive clit with slow, lazy licks, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

"Joel, I..." you whimpered, your voice weak and breathless. "I can’t—"

"You can and you fuckin' will," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "One more, baby. Come one more time for daddy. Show me how much you love ridin' this old man’s face.”

His filthy words sent another shock of heat straight to your core, and before you could stop yourself, you were grinding harder, your slick pussy rubbing all over his face.

Joel groaned, the sound vibrating through you as he sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it in quick, tight circles that had you seeing stars.

“Good girl,” he murmured between licks, his voice full of pride and lust.

“You’re so fuckin' perfect, baby. So tight, so full of energy for me. Daddy loves it when you let me eat this pussy like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste.”

His tongue flicked over your clit faster, his hands keeping you steady as your thighs trembled around his head.

You were so close again, the pressure building inside you, threatening to overwhelm you. Joel’s mouth moved with expert precision, teasing, sucking, licking—his entire face covered in your slick, his stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin in the most delicious way.

"Come for me again," Joel growled, his tone shifting to something more commanding. "I wanna feel it. I wanna taste it all. Don’t fuckin' hold back, baby."

You moaned, your hips rocking harder against his mouth as the pleasure built higher, higher, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension snapped, and your third orgasm crashed through you, even harder than the last. Your thighs squeezed around Joel’s head, your hands gripping the edges of the exam table for support as your body shook with the intensity of your release.

Joel groaned beneath you, his tongue still working over your clit, licking up every last drop as you came all over his face.

His grip on your hips was unrelenting, making sure you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape the pleasure he was giving you.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You come so fuckin’ pretty for me, baby. Just like that. Give daddy everything.”

You collapsed forward, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling as the last waves of your orgasm pulsed through you.

Joel groaned beneath you, drinking in every last drop of your release, his hands gripping you tightly as he licked you through your climax, his tongue unrelenting.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, finally pulling back, his face a mess of your slick, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby. We ain’t done, though. When we get home, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be beggin' for more."

Your body trembled, still coming down from the intensity of your orgasms, but the look in Joel’s eyes told you he wasn’t lying.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk playing on his wet, glistening lips as he watched you try to gather yourself.

But before either of you could speak, there was a sudden knock on the door.

Your heart leaped into your throat, and you scrambled off Joel’s chest, yanking your skirt down as quickly as possible.

Panic coursed through you as you hurried to adjust yourself, smoothing your hair, trying to catch your breath.

Joel, of course, was far too amused. He wiped his face lazily, still leaning back on the exam table, that smug smirk never leaving his face as you frantically tried to make it look like nothing had happened.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced at the door, clearly not concerned in the slightest.

"Come in," Joel called out casually, his voice hoarse but steady, as if he hadn’t just been buried between your legs moments ago.

The doctor walked back in, clipboard in hand, giving Joel a quick glance. "Sorry about the wait, Mr. Miller," he said, then paused as he noticed Joel’s flushed face, the sheen of wetness still visible despite his attempt to wipe it away.

The doctor blinked, clearly taken aback but too polite to say anything directly.

"Must be gettin' hot in here, huh?" the doctor remarked with a chuckle, trying to laugh off the awkwardness.

"This age, it’s making us all feel a bit warmer, huh? Happens to the best of us."

Joel, the devilish smirk never leaving his face, tilted his head slightly, catching your eye for just a second before replying, "Oh, you could say that, doc. It definitely gets me feelin’... hotter than usual."

His tone was thick with double meaning, so much so that you had to suppress a smile.

The doctor, oblivious to the real reason behind Joel’s flustered state, simply nodded and made some notes on his clipboard.

"Well, let’s make sure everything’s looking good. Just a quick check-up, and you’ll be out of here."

Joel shot you a look as the doctor moved to his side, leaning in to examine him.

His eyes twinkled with filthy satisfaction, his lips twitching as though he was barely holding back another comment.

"Yeah," Joel said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. "Feelin’ better already."

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

…..I dont know what to tell y’all 😭

I’m glad some of you like older!Joel 🫶🏼 I love reading your comments and reblog notes - thank you so much!!

[thestorygenerater]

Dc x Dp prompt

Phantom has been apart of the justice league since its beginning. The young man was powerful and had no recorded history of hero work despite them being an experienced hero (when mentioned about that, Phantom muttered something under his breath about “Desire”?)

But after an incident involving a shapeshifter and a power damper, everything The Justice League knew about Phantom was put into question as he turns into a young teenager. It’s like another Billy Batson situation but instead of physical turning into an adult, they only shape shift into one.

Meanwhile for phantom, he is doing FANTASTIC. He’s phantom form hasn’t aged in 7 years and it wasn’t like ghosts age to differently by human standards, by all accounts Danny is a fully adult ghost. He can’t change his form permanently without ether first losing his obsession or damaging his core so he does the next best thing, learn how to shape shift.

He can’t do much, only bump up his ghost appearance to match his human one, but it was more than enough… until the Justice League found out about the shapeshifting and won’t listen when he says he really is an adult

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[konigsblog]

Older-boyfriend!König who people mistake as your father. Every time it happens, König's cheeks flush a pretty pink and he has to look away from your loving eyes. He can't hide the obvious effect it has on him. It feeds into his unhealthy obsession with being called ‘daddy’.

Older-boyfriend!König who is nothing but a freakish, pathetic outcast to most. He's only ever been in one relationship before you, which ended pretty quickly because of how awkward, socially anxious, and creepy he was. He's ridiculously overprotective when it comes to those he loves, and he does his best to protect you from all danger, even if that means guilt tripping you into staying inside for an entire weekend and ordering food to your house, so that you're protected by König and beneath his watchful gaze.

Older-boyfriend!König who loves training and teaching you. To say that König can become kinky is an total understatement. He has quite a few fetishes, some that he fantasies of trying out on you. The thought of putting a collar (with his name embroidered and stitched on the front, of course...) around your neck and training your little throat leaves him with an aching boner that can only be soothed with your lips or slick, dripping pussy. König is inexperienced when it comes to actually having sex, but he knows all the right things to say to get you squirming and moaning out.

[thebunnednun]

Overworked

Pairing: Pro Hero! Katsuki Bakugou x Stressed! Reader

Summary: Life is shit and Katsuki finds out you lied to him about taking care of yourself.

And you know what happens when you lie to Katsuki.

I wrote this for my friend @elarakive, she's been going through it so please give her some love y'all.

WC: 16,709

On with the show!!~

“I should’ve become a stripper in Miami.”

You staggered into your apartment, your body and mind exhausted from the endless cycle of school and work. The clock ticked mercilessly as you rushed to grab your work bag and change. Your commute home took about 20 minutes today, and there was barely enough time to catch your breath, let alone eat.

Sighing, you kicked off your shoes quickly before rushing into your small, cluttered room, your shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility. The relentless cycle of school and work had left you in a mental fog, and the ticking clock seemed to mock your frantic rush. You had barely an hour to spare before your next shift, and the minutes slipped through your fingers like sand.

With trembling hands, you fumbled through your work bag, grabbing the essentials as you hurriedly changed into your work uniform. The sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror was a stark reminder of how far gone you were—dark circles under your eyes, hair a disheveled mess, and a look of defeat that you couldn’t quite hide. 

‘Fuck it, we ball with the consealer today.’

Rushing to the bathroom, you hurriedly adjusted your makeup in the bathroom mirror, the smudged eyeliner and messy foundation reflecting the chaos of your life. Every moment felt like a race against time as you dabbed concealer under your eyes, trying to mask the fatigue that had become your constant companion. 

You had to look good while in class. You have to look good at work so you can make those big bucks to pay for things that ultimately make you feel sick everytime you think about it. Like your rent, the car, the utilities, tuition payments, groceries, laundry supplies, toiletpaper, pads/tampons. Also Tynolonal because your little dehydrated ass kept getting migraines that you ironically didn’t take because you still wanted a working liver. 

In the midst of your chaotic routine, your phone buzzed with a notification: an unexpected double shift for the week. Your heart sank as you read the message. When you finally got a weekend off, it was swallowed up by studying, cleaning, and chores. Sleep was becoming a rare luxury, and your mental fog seemed to thicken with each passing day.

At work, the pressure has been relentless. Your manager's latest demand to pull full shifts this week felt like the last straw. As you stared at your schedule, the weight of it all crashed down on you. You wanted to cry, but you couldn't afford to break down—not with your job hanging in the balance. The only time you had to eat was during your brief lunch break at work, which you barely managed to find time for.

It felt like there was no end to the mounting responsibilities, and the weekend you’d managed to carve out for yourself was swallowed up by endless studying, chores, and barely enough sleep to keep you functional.

In the cramped kitchen, you grabbed a quick bite, your meal consisting of whatever was quickest to prepare. (A literal slice of bread.) The clock continued its relentless ticking, and you knew you were cutting it close. The idea of collapsing into bed, even for just a moment, was a sinfully tempting dream.

As you raced to gather your things, your mind was a jumble of deadlines and schedules. You barely noticed when your cell rang with its familiar “Kiss me through the phone!” ringtone to indicate that your boyfriend was calling. 

‘🥰 🤬 Kat-Suki 🩷🧡   is calling…..’

Heart fluttering, you nearly dropped the concealer wand on your blank uniform polo to snatch your phone off the counter and hit answer. 

“Damn it, what’s going on with you?” Katsuki’s voice cut through the haze of your stress, his usual bravado softened by genuine worry as the video connected. 

“You look like you’re about to drop.”

You paused, caught off guard by his sudden appearance and the intensity of his gaze. “Just… busy,” you managed to say, trying to muster a weak smile. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing more serious. “This ain’t just busy. You’re running yourself ragged. What the hell are ya doing to yourself?”

With a frustrated sigh, you grabbed the phone and tucked it into the front of your bra, the slight pressure reminding you that you needed to hurry. Balancing your phone precariously, you snatched up your work bag and keys, your hands clumsy with the rush. Your fingers were already cold from the constant running around, and you fought the urge to drop everything as you made your way to the car.

The engine roared to life as you slid into the driver’s seat and connected your phone to the Bluetooth system. Katsuki’s voice crackled through the speakers, a gruff but familiar comfort amidst the car noises. 

“Hey, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you replied, blowing a raspberry into the phone. The sound was a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and you could almost hear Katsuki’s brow raise as he responded.

“You sound outta breath. What’s the deal?”

You chuckled softly, though it was more of a tired exhale. “Just the usual,” you said, your eyes darting between the road and the clock on the dashboard. “Running late, trying to get everything done. It’s been a mess.”

Katsuki’s voice grew more insistent. “Are ya eating properly? Getting enough sleep? You know, ya need to take care of yourself.”

You huffed, trying to focus on the road while keeping up with the conversation. “I’m eating, sleep is a luxury right now. I’m managing, Katsuki.”

His voice softened, though it still carried an edge of concern. “That’s not an answer, you know. You sound like you’re pushing yourself too hard. I don’t want you burning out.”

You adjusted the car’s air conditioning, the cool breeze a slight relief against the heat of your exhaustion. “I’m fine. Just got a lot on my plate. You know how it is.”

“Well, if you say so,” Katsuki said, though the worry in his tone was evident. “Just make sure you’re not running on empty. I want to see you in one piece when I get back.”

The call ended as you pulled into the parking lot of your workplace. You felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside as you grabbed your work bag and keys, the day ahead looming large.

“I’m in the parking lot. So I’ll call you when I get out, okay?”

“ ‘S fine with me.”

“K, bye.”

You blew a smooch into the phone and quickly hung up before you could cry. It’s not like you wanted to lie to Katsuki. Your boyfriend was THE human lie detector and hated liars. But you also didn’t want to worry him while he was out on missions. But alas, those were all thoughts for later as you gently turned off the car and put your game face on before getting out the car and making your way towards the building. 

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

Your shift at work was as rough as you’d anticipated. Your manager was insistent about you picking up extra hours, their voice rising in frustration over minor issues. Customers were grumpy, complaints frequent, and the constant flow of tasks left you feeling drained. 

The office felt like a maze of gray cubicles and muted tones, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. As you sat at your desk, the familiar clutter of technical documents and graphic layouts surrounded you. The scent of strong coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of printer ink. You rubbed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips as you pushed through another round of proofreading.

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you fumbled to pull it from your drawer, glancing at the screen to see a message from Masha in HR. It was a reminder about the formal complaint you needed to submit to get your overdue salary processed. You frowned, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders.

“Another thing to deal with,” you muttered, tapping out a quick response before setting the phone aside. Your fingers flew over the keyboard, drafting the formal complaint with a precision that belied your growing exhaustion. Every keystroke felt like an effort, each sentence a struggle to convey the frustration and urgency of your situation.

The clock ticked slowly, its rhythmic ticking amplifying the silence of the office as colleagues murmured and typed away in their own bubbles. You glanced at the pile of papers on your desk—technical documents, project briefs, and some rough sketches for graphics that you’d been tasked with. The contrast between your university days, filled with creative media projects and dynamic video production, and this monotonous office job was striking. 

You missed the excitement of storytelling and visual creation, but here you were, grinding away for the paycheck that barely seemed worth the effort right now.

Rent was due next week, and the thought of it gnawed at your mind. You tapped your pen nervously against the desk, trying to suppress the mounting anxiety. Your minimal savings were earmarked for tuition, and borrowing money from anyone, let alone Katsuki, was not an option you wanted to consider. The last thing you needed was for him to find out and make a fuss about it, turning your personal financial troubles into a point of contention.

As you took a deep breath and hit ‘send’ on the formal complaint, the stress of the past few weeks seemed to coalesce into a single, throbbing headache. Your hands were trembling slightly as you reached for the small, lukewarm cup of coffee on your desk, the caffeine offering a temporary, hollow comfort.

“Hey, can you cover this layout for me?” your colleague, Jenna, asked as she leaned over your cubicle wall. Her voice was chipper, a sharp contrast to the mental fog you were drowning in.

“Sure,” you said, forcing a smile as you accepted the additional task. Your mind drifted to the weekend, a distant hope of relaxation and a momentary escape from the whirlwind of deadlines and obligations. But even that felt out of reach as you buried yourself in work, hoping that somewhere amidst the chaos, a solution would present itself.

The minutes stretched into hours, the ticking of the clock a relentless reminder of how quickly time was slipping away. As the workday dragged on, your thoughts constantly circled back to your financial situation and how you might manage to cover rent without dipping into your savings or burdening anyone else. The weight of it all felt almost unbearable, and you silently wished for a moment of reprieve.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

Finally, with mercy, your shift finally ended, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, but it was quickly overshadowed by exhaustion. You shuffled out of the office, your steps heavy and laden with fatigue.

The breakroom coffee you’d chugged was doing its best to keep you awake, but the jolt of caffeine did little to ease the sleepy buzz that had settled over you.

Your drive home was a blur, punctuated only by the occasional beep of your car’s dashboard and the monotonous hum of the engine. When you finally pulled into your parking spot, a sense of dread washed over you as you fished out your phone to check the latest update on your pay. The notification confirmed what you feared: your salary wouldn’t be processed for another week.

A gasp of frustration and disbelief escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the confined space of your car. You slammed your hands on the steering wheel, barely containing the urge to scream. The crushing weight of bills, looming deadlines, and the crushing reality of your financial situation finally broke through your walls of composure. Tears sprang to your eyes, spilling over as you let the frustration and sadness flow freely.

The emotional release was almost too much to bear, and as the tears flowed, the inside of your car’s windows fogged up, the steamy haze blurring your vision. You cracked the windows slightly, hoping to let some of the oppressive heat and steam escape. 

As the cool air started to seep in, you caught sight of Katsuki’s footprints on your windshield—evidence of the time he’d spent with his dogs on your dashboard, walking them around while you were driving. The sight of his footprint, a tangible reminder of his absence, made your heart ache even more.

The memory of him removing his footing while you had been driving around, convinced you’d seen a turtle on the side of the road, flashed through your mind.

Turns out it was a really moldy round rock and while you wanted to keep it, Katsuki made you leave the so-called “turtle,” which he’d dismissed as a weird rock, insisting it might be cursed and, “I don’t fuck with no spooky shit.” The thought of his spiky but playful protective nature contrasted sharply with the weight of your current situation.

Your mascara had bled and smeared, leaving dark streaks on your cheeks. You fumbled for tissues in the glove compartment—another thoughtful gift from Katsuki. With shaking hands, you dabbed at your face, trying to clean up the smudged makeup and regain some semblance of composure. 

But fuck the tissues because you wanted Katuski to wipe your tears, not Puffs with lotion. 

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your work bag and keys from the passenger seat. Despite the fact that you had no classes tomorrow—a silver lining provided by Mrs. Yamada’s decision to cancel due to the pleasant weather—you felt an emotional heaviness. You forced yourself to get out of the car, each step toward the building feeling like a mile.

The elevator ride up to your floor was a quiet, solitary journey. You leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing and calm your racing thoughts. When the elevator doors finally opened, you walked down the hallway with heavy steps, each footfall echoing your exhaustion and frustration.

You reached your door and, with a tired sigh, unlocked it and stepped inside. The familiar, quiet space of your apartment was both a refuge and a reminder of everything you were trying to manage. The world outside was still bustling, but here, in this small sanctuary, you could finally let down your guard.

Letting out another deep breath as you took in the comforting but humble surroundings. Your mind wandered to the weekend ahead, hoping for some respite and relaxation despite everything else. For now, you allowed yourself a moment to just be, to acknowledge the fucked up situation you were in and space out before you would have to be an active adult again. 

You slid down against the door, exhaustion making every movement feel labored. The cool, hard floor felt oddly comforting against your back as you contemplated the idea of slipping off your shoes and socks and crawling straight into bed. Your tired eyes were barely open when an unexpected, tantalizing scent wafted through the air, making you blink in confusion.

The smell was warm and inviting, reminiscent of the cozy autumn walks you take with Katsuki. The memory of him lifting you onto his shoulders while you collected pinecones, playfully biting your ankles when you took “too long” to pick out your favorites, made you smile through your tears. The scent brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but the question of who had been in your apartment and left it smelling so fresh and pleasant nagged at the back of your mind.

You pushed yourself up, the weariness making your movements slow and deliberate. As you wandered further into your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling of disbelief. Your living space, which had been cluttered and messy, was now impeccably clean, as if it had been professionally cleaned. The familiar scent of pine and a hint of something else filled the air, wrapping around you like a warm, fragrant embrace.

Shaking off the disorientation, you followed the delicious aroma to the kitchen. Your eyes widened as you saw a pot of rice and another pot of rich, spicy beef and vegetable stew cooling on the stove. The sight was almost surreal—your kitchen, which had been a chaotic mess just hours before, was now a haven of culinary comfort. The thought of someone cooking for you, despite your exhaustion, brought a mix of relief and confusion.

‘What the fuck?!’

You blinked once, twice, harshly, trying to process the scene before you. With a mixture of curiosity and wariness, you padded softly back to the living room, hoping to make sense of the situation. The only light on was the soft glow of the lamp in the bathroom, casting a warm, clean light across the hallway and into your living room. The air was still, save for the faint sound of shuffling coming from your bedroom.

Heart racing, you moved toward the sound, each step slow and cautious. The clean scent from the bathroom lingered, and you couldn’t help but notice how fresh and tidy it now seemed. You glanced back at the living room, which, in contrast to your earlier mess, now looked immaculate and inviting.

Heart pounding, you crept down the hallway, each step slow and deliberate. The freshly cleaned scent in the air did nothing to ease your anxiety. The apartment was spotless—too spotless. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Maybe Michael had come back early and done this as a surprise? Or maybe Shoto, Izuku, or Jirou had somehow managed to sneak in, tidy everything, and leave without telling you. 

After all, only Michael, Kirishima, and Shoto or Izuku had keys to your place in case of emergencies.

But Katsuki? He was out of state. He wouldn’t be back for a while, and even if he had sent one of those cleaning services, they were always in and out in less than 30 minutes. 

This... this wasn’t right.

Your gaze darted toward the door. The shuffling sound from your bedroom had stopped. Panic began to settle in, a rising tension that had you frozen on the spot. You considered calling for help, but your phone was still on the floor by your purse, forgotten in the rush of trying to figure out what was happening. You didn’t want to lose the element of surprise.

With a nervous breath, you reached for the flower vase sitting on the narrow hallway table. The roses inside were fresh, their deep crimson petals just beginning to open up. You mentally apologized to them as you dumped the flowers onto the floor, water splashing around the vase. Your hands moved swiftly, reaching inside for the TTI Glock 34 hidden beneath the stems. The cold metal felt heavier than usual in your hand, but you weren’t about to hesitate. 

You weren’t going to die in your own apartment—not like this.

Holding your breath, you stalked closer to the bathroom. You could hear the faint echo of your heart beating in your ears. Quietly, with practiced precision, you closed the door behind you without letting it click, trapping the scent of cleanliness inside. There was no turning back now. The apartment had become unfamiliar, and whoever or whatever was in your room needed to be dealt with.

You crept toward the bedroom, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you got closer. The shifting sounds had stopped. Whoever it was, they were still inside. You crouched, gun in hand, every muscle tensed as you approached the door. Then, without warning, the door to your bedroom swung open with a loud

"BAM!"

The sound reverberated through the walls as darkness loomed before you. Instinct took over.

You fired two quick shots into the void, the deafening bangs ringing in your ears. The muzzle flashes lit up the shadows, revealing nothing but an empty room. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared into the stillness. 

Silence.

"Fuck this!" you muttered under your breath, adrenaline kicking into high gear.

Without thinking twice, you bolted down the hallway. Your feet were heavy, thudding against the carpet as you ran, and the door to your apartment swung open behind you. You burst into the dimly lit hallway, the dingy orange carpet and faded yellow lighting never looking so welcoming. The familiar smell of old apartments and chipped paint wrapped around you as you sprinted toward the elevator.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your legs pumping as fast as they could. Most of your neighbors were either still at work or too old to have heard the gunshots, but there was no way you were sticking around to find out. You slapped the elevator button, glancing nervously back down the hallway.

You stood in front of the doors waiting, breathless and confused, waiting for the sound of footsteps or the telltale signs of someone chasing after you. 

But… nothing. 

The air was still, almost too still, and when you turned around, your heart pounding in your throat, you saw nothing. No one was following you. No shadowy figure, no intruder, no ominous movement at all. 

Just you.

That rush of fear was starting to ebb away, replaced by an unsettling new sensation—doubt. Did you get them? The thought made your heart skip, but worse than that, another horrifying possibility crept in: 

Did you kill someone?

Your stomach dropped as if you'd just fallen from a cliff. The idea of it—of accidentally shooting someone, maybe even someone who had no intention of hurting you—was almost too much to bear.

You pressed a shaky hand against the wall, your mind racing.

What would happen if it was true? What if you had killed someone in a panic? Your knees felt weak, and the edges of your vision blurred with panic.

‘What would happen to me? What would happen to Katsuki when they found out his girlfriend had killed someone? The girlfriend of the Number 2 Pro Hero, a murderer?’

‘What’s Katsuki gonna do?’

The thought sent a cold wave of nausea through you. You wanted to throw up right there in the hallway, but your stomach was so empty that all you could do was dry swallow, your mouth tasting like metal and dread. ‘What would the courts say? Would I go to jail? What would happen to Katsuki's career?’ 

Your thoughts spiraled, knotting together into an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

You swallowed hard, trying to force the rising panic back down. The hallway around you blurred for a second, the dim, dingy orange carpet now looking stained—like it was soaked in blood. You blinked hard, shaking your head. 

It was just the light, just your mind playing tricks on you. You forced yourself to look away from the carpet, your eyes trailing back to your apartment door. It was still ajar, spilling the warm, pale hallway light into the void of your dark apartment. The contrast was jarring—the safe, slightly worn familiarity of the hallway outside clashing with the pitch-black uncertainty inside your home.

Your home.

You pressed your back against the wall, trying to steady yourself. ‘You couldn’t leave this unfinished. If you did accidentally kill someone, you’d have to take responsibility. You had to know.’ And if it was an intruder, then, well... that was another layer of mess you'd have to deal with.

But God, you were so done.

The exhaustion from the double shifts, the lack of sleep, the unpaid bills—it all weighed you down, made your legs feel like lead as you slowly moved forward. Maybe that's why you found yourself inching toward your open door instead of running away.

Maybe that's why, instead of thinking clearly, you fumbled with your purse, your fingers shaking as you dug through it to find your phone. Instead of flicking on the light switch by the door, you opened the flashlight app, shining its weak beam into the suffocating darkness of your apartment.

The soft glow from your phone barely penetrated the void, but it was enough to make out familiar shapes—the edge of your coffee table, the corner of the couch, the faint outline of your kitchen down the hall. It almost looked normal. Almost. But something was wrong. You could feel it in your bones.

And then you felt it.

Before you could even process what was happening, something hot and large clamped down around your arm. A flash of pure, raw panic shot through you, freezing your blood in your veins. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you barely had time to let out a sharp, breathless gasp before another hand—bigger, stronger—covered your mouth, smothering any scream you could’ve made.

The force of it drove you backward, your body colliding with the floor as the figure pulled you into the apartment. The scent of clean linen and something warmer filled your senses, overpowering everything else. You thrashed instinctively, your pulse roaring in your ears, but the grip on you didn’t falter. 

The hand around your mouth tightened, silencing you even as you tried to cry out.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t see anything except the faint glow of your phone, now flickering as it dropped from your hands onto the floor. Your gun—’Where the hell was your gun?!’

It was smacked outta your hand when the figure grabbed you, and now, it was probably somewhere in the apartment, out of reach.

“Stop fuckin’ squirming,” a low voice growled against your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

The voice was familiar—so achingly familiar that your panic began to wane just enough for recognition to slip through the fog of fear. The heat of his breath, the roughness of his palm, the way his body radiated warmth even through the tension. You blinked hard, gasping into the hand that covered your mouth, your mind racing to catch up.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was muffled, barely audible against his skin.

His grip loosened a fraction, his palm sliding off your mouth just enough for you to catch a real breath. You gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to process everything. 

The fear, the relief, the utter confusion.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough and low. He didn’t release you right away, keeping you firmly against him, his hot breath still brushing against your ear. "The hell were you thinking? Firing like that in the dark? You could’ve fuckin’ shot me!"

You slumped against him, half in shock, half in frustration. Your heart was still pounding, your limbs still trembling, but the flood of relief that came with recognizing his voice nearly brought you to tears. He was here. He wasn’t supposed to be, but he was.

“I didn’t know it was you,” you rasped, your voice shaky as you fought to steady your breathing. “Why the hell are you sneaking around my apartment?! I thought I was gonna die!”

Katsuki’s deadpan expression barely shifted as he lifted you up and unceremoniously dropped you onto the sofa. The cushions sighed under your weight, but before you could even adjust yourself, he was already stalking across the room.

His broad back was tense, and the muscles of his arms flexed beneath his shirt as he moved with precision, a wolf-like focus in the way he carried himself.

"Okay, let’s start with this," he began, his tone rough and low, his eyes flickering briefly over his shoulder at you. “I'm glad you can defend yourself. If I was some regular asshole, I'd be dead for sure.”

You blinked at him, still in disbelief, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your heart was still pounding, your body still reeling from the shock, and yet here he was, as calm as ever. He flipped on the hallway light with a casual flick, casting a soft glow over the apartment.

“Stay,” he huffed, his voice gruff, as if you were some unruly puppy he needed to wrangle.

He moved toward the dining area, and you turned your head to follow his movements. You watched as his calloused fingers picked up your steel piece—your gun—from where it had fallen, handling it with ease.

There was no hesitation in the way he moved, no sign of the earlier chaos as he handled the weapon. It was like he had done this a thousand times before, like the situation was perfectly normal for him.

You craned your neck a little more, catching sight of him as he knelt to collect the discarded roses from the hallway floor. He carefully placed your gun back into the vase where you had originally stashed it, as if putting everything back in its proper order, like nothing had happened. His shadow moved fluidly across the walls as he did so, and the tension in the air didn’t lessen—if anything, it deepened.

And then, he turned back toward you, his face unreadable, but those vermillion eyes—God, those eyes—locked onto yours like a predator zeroing in on its prey. He didn’t say a word, not yet, but the intensity of his gaze was enough to make your breath hitch.

The soft glow of the hallway light outlined his figure, casting sharp shadows on his jawline, the dim illumination making him look both softer and somehow more dangerous at the same time.

He stalked back over to you, each step deliberate, never once breaking eye contact. His eyes bored into yours, and you felt as though he could see through every layer of your confusion, your fear, and your relief. You tried to smile, to break the tension, but it felt weak under his unrelenting stare.

Katsuki finally stopped in front of you, his steps coming to a halt as he sat down on the coffee table across from you. The wood creaked slightly under his weight, but he didn’t seem to care. He spread his legs a little, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning forward slightly, his powerful body now looming closer, radiating heat and energy.

He was dressed down tonight—just a black skull t-shirt that clung to his frame and a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

Casual, relaxed, almost like he had been home for a quiet night in. Yet here he was, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He had this way of making everything else disappear when he focused on you like that, making your breath catch in your throat.

He sat there, silent, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. His back was slightly hunched as he leaned forward, making him look even more intense. His face was unreadable, and yet there was an edge to it—something simmering just below the surface, just beneath those sharp, vermillion eyes that hadn’t left yours for a second.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa under the weight of his gaze. “Uh, hey babe?” you said, your voice weak, barely above a whisper. You tried to giggle, to play it off like you weren’t utterly rattled, but the sound died awkwardly in your throat.

Katsuki didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on you, not even a flicker of amusement crossing his face. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, the muscle there clenching slightly. 

He wasn’t buying it.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say or do next. The silence between you stretched out, heavy and oppressive, like a thick fog settling in the room. The only sound was the faint hum of the hallway light and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

For what felt like an eternity, you just sat there—him staring at you like you’d just committed the ultimate offense, and you shrinking under the weight of it. His gaze didn’t waver, not even once, and you could feel the intensity of his thoughts even if he wasn’t saying a word.

Your hands fidgeted in your lap, fingers twisting together as the nerves bubbled up inside you. 

“Katsuki, I—” you started, but the words trailed off, your voice faltering under the scrutiny.

Katuski considers you carefully for a moment, just a moment. Before slowly rising from his spot on the coffee table and making his way to the kitchen, flicking the light on, and you hear the opening of your cabinets and your favorite mug being taken out before your tap is run. Katsuki returns, makes his way to your dining room to also turn on the lights and then to your front door that he locks before also turning on the lights. 

Then, he finally makes his way back to you and hands you the mug that you accept with both hands and he doesn’t let go until you take three small sips at first and he sets himself back down in front of you. It’s not until your fifth sip that you realize he turned on all the lights so you could feel exposed and vulnerable under his stare. You almost choke on that, but hold it down in favor of meeting your boyfriend's gaze again. 

He finally spoke, his voice low and measured, but there was a tightness there, like he was barely holding back. “What the fuck was that, huh?” His eyes narrowed slightly, the air around him crackling with restrained emotion. “You really think lying to me was a good idea?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Lying? You blinked, confusion mixing with the remnants of panic, but you didn’t get a chance to speak before Katsuki leaned in closer, his face now hovering just inches from yours. The intensity of his gaze didn’t falter, those sharp vermillion eyes pinning you in place.

“Let’s not pretend,” he said, his voice dripping with a strange, unsettling calm. “You think I didn’t notice? That I couldn’t tell?” His lips curled into a smirk, but there was nothing playful about it. The way his eyes glinted, the way the tension in his jaw flexed—it was something far more dangerous.

“When did—” you started, but Katsuki cut you off, his tone sharp as a blade.

“When did I get back?” he asked, already knowing where your mind had gone. His smile widened, and the expression twisted something deep in your gut. His canines flashed, sharp and predatory, as the smirk grew into something almost menacing. “Right after you hung up the phone with me.”

Your stomach dropped. He heard? You should have known better. The way you’d tried to sound fine, the excuses you made about not being able to eat, the way your voice had shaken when you’d reassured him you were ‘doing great’—he hadn’t bought any of it. He’d come home right early, and he’d known.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued, “And you wanna know what I saw the second I walked in? You. Not taking care of yourself.” 

“Again.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your mind raced back to everything over the last few days—the lack of sleep, barely eating, pushing yourself to the point of collapse. You thought you could hide it. But Katsuki wasn’t fooled. He never was.

“You lied to me,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Told me you were fine, that you were ‘handling things.’” He chuckled darkly, his smile stretching wider.

“Look at you. Does this look like ‘fine’ to you?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, as the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to form an excuse, something to explain yourself, but the words wouldn’t come.

Katsuki’s gaze hardened, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as if he were preparing for the final verdict.

“I trusted you to take care of yourself while I was gone, and what do you do? You starve yourself. You don’t sleep. You get so out of it you nearly put a bullet through your own damn apartment. All while telling me everything’s ‘great.’”

You could hear the frustration lacing his words now, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. But there was something else—something deeper, more raw, hiding in the way his voice shook ever so slightly when he said the word trusted.

"I tried—" you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but it felt so hollow even to your own ears. Katsuki wasn’t having it.

“Tried?” His voice cracked with a dangerous laugh, one that sent chills down your spine. “You tried? No, you didn’t ‘try.’ You hid from me. You lied because you thought you could handle everything on your own.”

He leaned forward again, the smile never fading, but this time it was sharper, darker, the full display of his teeth and sharp canines making him look almost feral. His red eyes widened slightly as he stared down at you, and there was an unsettling gleam in them now, something wild and untamed.

“But you can’t, can you?” he continued, his voice almost a mockery of sweetness. “You can’t take care of yourself. So guess what?” He leaned in close, so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. “I’m doing it for you.”

Your heart lurched in your chest as his words sank in. There was something terrifying about the calmness in his tone, the way he spoke as if it was a simple fact, something decided without question.

“You’re not eating? I’ll make sure you eat. You’re not sleeping? Don’t worry, I’ll fix that too.” His smile grew wider, more sinister, as if he were enjoying the thought of it. His sharp canines glinted under the light, and it felt like you were staring into the eyes of a predator.

The intensity of his gaze was suffocating, his red eyes burning into yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His presence was overwhelming, his words wrapping around you like chains, trapping you in the reality of what was happening.

Katsuki’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it was no less terrifying. “From now on, you don’t get to make that call. You don’t get to decide when you’re ‘fine’ or when you need help. I do.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to find the right words, the right explanation, but there was nothing that would make this better. You had lied. You had pushed yourself too far, and now you were facing the consequences. But Katsuki wasn’t just angry. He was something else—something scarier.

He reached out, cupping your face gently with one large, calloused hand, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. But the look in his eyes, the smile still pulling at his lips, made the gesture feel anything but comforting. He hooks his other palm on the underside of your calve and squeezes it twice. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered, his voice soft but deadly serious. “Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. Understand?” Katsuki dips his face lower, closer to yours as his pupils bore into your own.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your chest tight with fear and guilt. Katsuki’s thumb traced your jawline, his touch deceptively gentle, but the look in his eyes was unrelenting.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his smile finally fading, replaced with that hard, determined expression you knew all too well. He stood up slowly, towering over you, and as he did, the weight of his presence pressed down on you like a storm.

He wasn’t giving you a choice.

And you knew there was no fighting him. Not when he was like this.

Katsuki stood over you, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached for the mug in your hand. His fingers brushed yours, and before you could protest, he gently tugged it from your grasp, tilting the cup toward your lips. The cold refreshing liquid hit your tongue, and you blinked in surprise, forced to drink it all at his pace. His gaze was steady, unyielding, as if this small act of making sure you finished the drink was a matter of life and death. 

There was no room for resistance.

"All of it," he muttered, and you obeyed, the warmth of the drink doing little to soothe the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach.

Once you drained the last of the mug, Katsuki set it aside with a soft clink and guided you to your feet. His grip was firm but not rough, the warmth of his palm grounding you as he led you through the bright apartment.

The light filtering through the bulbs was harsh compared to the dark tension that had settled between you two. Your heart pounded in your chest as you followed, your mind still trying to process everything that had just happened.

When he brought you to the bathroom, you turned to shoo him out. “I can handle this part,” you muttered, half-heartedly trying to get some semblance of control back. But Katsuki remained solid as a wall, unmoving, his eyes fixed on you. One eyebrow arched in that sharp, expectant way of his, and you knew you had no choice.

With a resigned sigh, you began stripping down, feeling the weight of his gaze linger, even though he wasn't watching you like that. His focus was intense, like he was making sure you didn’t skip a single step.

Katsuki stepped forward and locked the door behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the small, tiled space. The air between you thickened as he moved to turn on the water in your freshly cleaned shower, the spray sputtering to life.

Steam rose, filling the room, curling into the corners like a mist creeping through your thoughts. He tested the water with his hand, adjusting the temperature before turning to you, his eyes softer now, but no less serious.

“Get in,” he said, the command laced with care. His hand hovered near your elbow, ready to steady you as you stepped into the tub. You felt small under his watchful eye, but also cared for in a way that made your throat tighten.

Once you were safely under the warm spray, Katsuki turned away slightly, giving you some space, though he stayed close. He wasn’t leaving. Not until he was satisfied. You stood there for a moment, feeling the water cascade over your body, washing away the grime and exhaustion that clung to your skin.

You knew you had about five minutes before he turned back around, so you hurried, scrubbing yourself down with more effort than usual.

It wasn’t long before he came back, his eyes flicking over you with a critical, almost soft look. Satisfied with your effort, Katsuki reached for the showerhead and rinsed you off himself, his hands guiding the water over your skin. He was gentle, methodical, like he was handling something precious. 

And in his eyes, that’s exactly what you are.

After rinsing you clean, Katsuki gestured for you to sit down in the tub. The air was thick with the scent of soap and steam, but beneath it all was the tension that neither of you had fully addressed. As you lowered yourself into the bubbles that Katsuki had added, you felt your face flush at the intimacy of it all.

“Ya know,” he began, his voice rough but laced with something deeper, “when I got home early, I was happy.”

You looked up at him, blinking away the water droplets clinging to your lashes. His back was to you as he rummaged through the cabinet, but there was a weight in his words that made your chest tighten. Happy? You hadn’t expected that, not after the way things had spiraled today.

“Kirishima already went up to surprise your little friend,” he continued, his voice casual but still laced with that undeniable edge of possessiveness.

He found a bottle of your favorite bath oil and added a few drops to the water, the subtle scent filling the room. Katsuki always had a way of paying attention to details like that. Things you didn’t even think he noticed.

“So it was just gonna be me and you this weekend. Me and my girlfriend.”

The way he said my girlfriend made your pulse quicken. There was something about the way Katsuki spoke when it came to you, the way he claimed the words, made them his own. It was possessive, sure, but not in the suffocating way.

It was like he was reminding you that you were his priority, even when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

He finally turned back to you, kneeling by the tub so that his eyes were level with yours. The light in the room flickered, casting shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more intense. His vermilion eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“So it was gonna be me and you,” he repeated, his voice quieter now but no less serious. “But instead, I come home to find you falling apart.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing over the wet strands of your hair, pushing them back from your face. The gesture was soft, but there was a weight behind it.

“What the hell, babe? You can’t even take care of yourself while I’m gone?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to explain, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

Katsuki’s hands were firm but gentle as he lathered your hair with shampoo, his fingers working through your scalp in deep, circular motions.

The pressure was so perfect that your eyes fluttered shut, a low hum escaping your throat as your body relaxed into the bath. It was embarrassing how good it felt, how every stroke of his fingers seemed to melt away the exhaustion clinging to your bones.

You could barely keep your head up, and just as your eyes threatened to roll back in your head, Katsuki splashed water at your face, jolting you back to reality.

“Oi, don’t go passing out on me just yet,” he muttered, though there was a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted behind you, grabbing the showerhead to rinse out the soap, the warm water cascading down your back as he continued his work. The rhythmic sound of water filled the space, a stark contrast to the gruffness in his voice.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pounce on your ass the second you walked back into the apartment, lookin’ all messed up like that,” Katsuki grumbled, his hands sliding down your shoulders to scrub your back.

His fingers traced the curve of your spine, his touch lingering as he was refamiliarizing himself with every dip and curve. 

“You think I like seein’ you like this? All run-down and weak? You’ve got more in you than this.”

Katsuki paused, his hand hovering over your shoulder, and you could feel the weight of his stare even though you weren’t looking at him. “I just want you to be healthy. To take care of yourself the way I know you can.”

His hand moved down, scrubbing your arms with the washcloth, his roughness tempered by the care behind every stroke. “I get it, life’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but you don’t get to fall apart like this. Not when I’m around to make sure you’re good.”

His words were gruff, but there was something softer beneath the surface—a quiet worry that he’d never fully admit to. Katsuki rinsed you off, the soap sliding down your body as he worked, his attention never wavering.

As he moved to scrub your legs, his touch slowed for just a moment.

“You’re tough,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand brushing along the curve of your thigh. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta do everything on your own. I’m here, alright?”

He rinsed you one last time, his hand lingering at the small of your back as if anchoring you to the moment.

“And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easy,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You owe me for not jumping your ass the second I saw you. But first, we’re gonna get you back to being you again.”

Your heart pounded, a mix of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest. Katsuki wasn’t asking for permission. He was telling you. And part of you was relieved that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.

“No excuses,” he muttered, his fingers trailing down to tilt your chin up so you couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed against your lips, lingering there for a moment. “You don’t get to lie to me about this anymore.”

His gaze softened, but the intensity of his words remained. “I’m gonna make sure you’re alright. Even if that means watching over you every damn second.”

You nodded, the movement small, but Katsuki saw it. His hand dropped from your chin, and he leaned back, standing up to his full height as he grabbed a towel from the rack.

“Good,” he said, his voice softer now. He draped the towel over his shoulder and held out his hand to help you out of the tub. The air was cool against your skin as you stepped out the tub, his touch lingering on your shoulders as he pulled you close. The weight of the day seemed to melt away in that moment, leaving just the two of you standing there in the quiet.

Katsuki is rough around the edges, sure. But when it came to you, there was no doubt—he’d take care of you, fuck everyone else.

Katsuki wrapped the fluffy towel around your body, still warm and soft from the dryer. You nuzzled into it, relishing the feeling of warmth against your skin, the scent of fresh laundry lingering in the air. His chuckle was low, almost rumbling through his chest as he set you gently on the bath mat.

"Wait here," he said, his voice firm yet filled with that protective edge you’d grown so used to. You sat obediently, the towel cocooning you in its comforting warmth as Katsuki disappeared briefly.

When he returned, he carried a chair from the dinning and placed it in front of the bathroom mirror. He motioned for you to sit, and you did so without protest. The exhaustion still clung to you, but the care he was giving made it easier to just lean into his routine. You felt his fingers work through your damp hair with gentle precision as he sectioned it off to braid. 

The motions were firm but soft, practiced as if he had done this countless times before. You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax under his touch as he skillfully wove your hair into two simple, neat braids.

“There,” he murmured, wrapping a towel around the ends to help them dry. “That should do for now.” He gave you a brief once-over, satisfied with his work.

Next, Katsuki grabbed a toothbrush and came back toward you, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto it. Before you could protest or joke, he pressed the brush gently against your lips, and you reluctantly opened your mouth.

As he began brushing, your lips curled in a playful pout, and you made an attempt to nip his fingers with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Katsuki’s reaction was immediate, pulling back just slightly before leaning in close, his face inches from yours, eyes glinting with amusement.

“You really want me to bite you, huh?” he teased, voice low as his breath brushed your skin. You pouted but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping in. Slowly, you nodded, biting your lower lip. He smirked at your response, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin between your neck and shoulder, just enough pressure to make you shiver.

Your breath hitched as you squeezed him, wrapping your arms around his waist, but the sound that almost escaped you was quickly stifled as you pulled back, burying your face into the towel.

Katsuki chuckled darkly, clearly pleased with himself. "Behave," he muttered, finishing with your teeth. He handed you the mouthwash next. “Rinse,” he instructed, his eyes following your every move. You swished the cool liquid around before spitting it out, feeling oddly refreshed.

Once that was done, he moved on to the next part of his routine—your skincare. His touch was methodical as he washed your face, scrubbing gently and making sure every inch of your skin was properly cared for.

You could feel the cool cleanser on your cheeks as he worked, and there was something oddly intimate about the way he treated each step like it was second nature.

“No more mascara,” Katsuki said, narrowing his eyes as he gently dabbed a soft towel against your skin. “I want you to keep those damn lashes.”

You giggled at his comment, catching his eye in the mirror. “Hitoshi says we’re the only ones who make insomnia look sexy,” you teased. 

“Don’t take compliments from a guy who needs a bag check for his fuckin’ eyes.”

You snorted, while Katsuki was rolling his eyes. “That idiot looked like death last mission. He and Denki passed out under the table like a couple of idiots,” he said, shaking his head. 

“We should to check in on them—”

He interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “We can check on them tomorrow.”

His gaze shifted, locking onto yours with a possessive glint that made your stomach flutter. “You’re all mine this weekend. Those extras can wait.”

You blushed, your face softening as the weight of his words settled over you. The tenderness beneath his rough exterior always caught you off guard, especially when he showed it in moments like these. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, and for once, it wasn’t just because of the cozy towel wrapped around you.

Katsuki reached into the drawer, grabbing your favorite lip oil with a casual confidence, but his movements slowed with deliberate care as he traced the line of your cupid's bow, filling in your lips with precise strokes.

You felt the cool glide of the oil over your lips, the faint scent of vanilla filling the air between you. Watching him concentrate so intensely on such a delicate task brought a smile to your face.

“I can remember the last time you did something like this~”

you teased, the sing-song lilt in your voice light, playful. His reaction was immediate—his sharp vermillion eyes snapped back to yours, but his reddening ears gave him away. For all his confidence, a comment like that still managed to fluster him. The slight color spreading across his face would’ve been easy to miss if you hadn’t been watching him so closely.

His scowl deepened, and he growled, “So you wanna get your ass knocked out or what?”

You giggled, placing one hand on his solid shoulder, your fingers brushing against the heat radiating from his skin. Then, with a grin, you pressed the crown of your head into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cheek. 

“Nooo, I’m just so happy you’re here!” Your voice was soft, genuine, the relief and joy of his presence making you melt into the moment.

Katsuki’s tension ebbed as he rolled his eyes, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He let your teasing slide, his usual gruffness tempered by the tenderness he rarely let anyone else see.

Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, his strength effortless as he held you close to his chest. You clung to him, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, his heartbeat steady under your palm.

‘God, I love your heartbeat.’

As he carried you through the apartment, Katsuki flicked off the lights with a casual swipe of his hand, the darkness closing in behind you both. When you entered your room, you were greeted with the fresh, clean scent of laundry detergent and something distinctly Katsuki.

You blinked in surprise, realizing just how spotless everything was.

The bed was made, your clothes folded, and the air felt lighter, even though your mirror—still cracked from earlier—reflected back the remnants of your impulsive outburst. The shards of glass had already been swept and vacuumed away, leaving no trace of the mess.

Before you could comment, Katsuki threw you onto the bed, your body bouncing lightly against the plush comforter. “Hey!” you protested, mock indignation coloring your voice as you propped yourself up on your elbows, glaring at him.

He just smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re asking for it.” You narrowed your eyes, grabbing one of your stuffed animals—a soft, well-loved bunny—and held it up like a threat. “I’ll throw all my stuffed animals at you, Katsuki, don’t test me.”

But the playful moment quickly shifted, his expression darkening with a predatory edge. His eyes gleamed as he climbed onto the bed with slow, deliberate movements, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight as he stalked toward you, inch by inch, like a wild animal sizing up its prey. The air between you thickened, electric, and your breath caught in your throat.

"You really wanna do that, sweetheart?" His voice was low, dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze flickered briefly to the stuffed bunny in your hand before it snapped back to your face. "When you know how I feel about your 'babies'?" The way he drawled out the word—"babies"—made heat coil low in your stomach, your body responding involuntarily to the tension in the air.

Your grip on the bunny loosened, and without thinking, you let it drop from your hand. It tumbled onto the bed with a soft thud, forgotten, as you instinctively wrapped yourself tighter in the towel, your pulse quickening.

Katsuki’s smirk widened at your silence, his voice a low rumble as he teased, “What, no answer for me?” He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, turning his ear toward you as if daring you to speak.

Instead of words, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the shell of his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Katsuki chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He tugged at the edge of your towel with one finger, pulling it down just enough to expose your neck, your pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin. His lips descended, pressing a hot, firm kiss against the sensitive spot just above your collarbone, his breath hot as he whispered against your skin, 

“Good choice.”

Your breath hitched, your body shivering as you leaned into his touch, his kiss lingering like a brand against your flesh. The air around you was thick with unspoken words, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the warmth of his presence, the safety and intensity that only Katsuki could bring.

Katsuki’s hands reached for the hem of his skull-printed shirt, fingers curling as he lifted it over his head. The muscles in his arms and chest flexed with the movement, every line of his sculpted frame rippling with controlled power. He didn’t bother tossing it aside like he normally would. Instead, he draped it over you, lowering it onto your head before helping you slip your arms through the sleeves.

You smiled softly as the worn fabric slid down your body, the familiar scent of Katsuki surrounding you like a comforting embrace. His shirt was huge on you, the edges brushing just past your thighs, the warmth of it melding with the heat radiating from him.

You shifted beneath him, looking up as he hovered over you, his palms bracing on either side of your head. The proximity made your heart race, the weight of his gaze sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. Katsuki’s sharp eyes softened for just a second, the intensity still present but tempered with something warmer, more intimate.

He didn’t say anything as you wrapped your arms around his strong back, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your fingers.

“Come here,” you murmured, giving him a gentle tap between his shoulder blades.

Without hesitation, Katsuki let himself drop, all the glorious warmth of his body pressing against you in a slow, controlled descent. The heavy weight of his chest flattened against yours, and you sighed in contentment, the closeness making you feel grounded.

Katsuki’s body, normally so explosive and full of barely contained energy, was now soft and pliant against you, like he was giving you the privilege of feeling his full, unfiltered presence.

Your hands naturally found their way to his spiky blonde hair, fingers threading through the surprisingly soft strands. For all the sharpness of his exterior, Katsuki’s hair was softer than most people knew—something only a select few had the privilege to experience. He guarded his personal space like a fortress, and it took time for him to let his guard down around anyone, let alone like this.

But with you, it was different. He was different.

He was your fussy Pomeranian—prickly to everyone else, but with a soft, loyal core.

You gently massaged his scalp, your nails scraping lightly against his skin as you worked through the spiked chaos of his hair. You could feel him relax, his tense shoulders loosening as he melted further into you, letting out a low grunt of approval. The sound was almost primal, a rumbling that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

You were so caught up in the moment, fingers tracing the line of his neck and combing through his hair, that you almost missed the sudden burst of air against your shoulder. It wasn’t until you felt the wet tickle of his lips blowing a raspberry into your skin that you realized he was trying to get your attention.

“What the—Katsuki!” you squealed, laughing as the sound reverberated through your skin. He smirked against your shoulder, clearly pleased with himself.

He lifted his head slightly, his red eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. “You listening now, or do I gotta do it again?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was that familiar edge of dominance underneath it all.

You huffed in mock annoyance, rolling your eyes before looking up at him. “What were you saying, genius?”

Katsuki grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching as he lowered himself again, letting his breath fan against your ear. “I said you’re lucky, you know that?” His voice was softer now, but it still held that commanding tone that sent a spark of heat through your chest. 

“Lucky I didn’t pounce on you the second I got back.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with implication, and your breath hitched as you met his gaze. The raw intensity in his eyes, that feral spark you loved so much, was back. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little breathless. “Yeah? And why didn’t you?”

His grin widened as he pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping even lower. “Because I’m not an idiot. I could see you weren’t takin’ care of yourself. And I ain’t about to let my girl fall apart while I’m gone.”

You blinked, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you, though his words held a stern undertone. He shifted slightly, his weight pressing more firmly against you as his hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of his shirt. The touch was possessive but careful, like he was reminding you who was in charge of your well-being now.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but sometimes, you get stressed and forget.” His hands stilled, resting on your waist. “So I’m gonna do it for you.”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Katsuki, in his own gruff way, always knew exactly what you needed. And it wouldn’t even  admit it outright, he cared more than anyone you’d ever known.

You felt your hands tighten in his hair again, tugging gently as you let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a mix of affection and guilt. You knew you hadn’t been taking care of yourself lately, but hearing him say it hit differently. It made you realize just how much he’d noticed, how much he’d been keeping track, even when he wasn’t around.

Katsuki didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he shifted his weight, lifting his head to look down at you again, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, well... just don’t make me come home to that shit again, got it?” His voice was still gruff, but there was an undeniable warmth in his tone.

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. He didn’t need to say it outright, but you knew—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not when it came to you.

Without another word, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and you let yourself relax under the weight of his body, feeling safe, loved, and cared for.

The two of you lay there in a soft, comfortable silence, the weight of Katsuki’s warm body settled against yours, his steady breath fanning over your skin.

His arms, strong yet gentle, stayed wrapped around your waist as if anchoring himself to you. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the sheets and the subtle creaking of the bed beneath your weight. You were about to close your eyes, savoring the moment, when you felt a slight flutter against your neck. His long eyelashes were brushing against your skin, tickling you softly.

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. "Katsuki, you alright?"

A muffled, "Yeah," came from him, his voice low and slightly hoarse as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. But something in the way he said it made you pause. His head shifted, settling over your boob (chest), right where your heart was. The sensation of his ear pressing against your heartbeat sent a wave of warmth and electricity rushing through you. Your soul felt like it was lighting up, a familiar connection between you two sparking alive.

Katsuki reached for your hand, his calloused fingers weaving through yours with a gentleness that contrasted his usual roughness. He lifted your intertwined hands and pressed them over his own heart, resting them there. The sensation, the intimacy of the moment, sent a tingle through your entire body, filling you with an overwhelming sense of love and connection. It was rare for Katsuki to be this tender, to show you this vulnerable side of himself. 

And yet, as you lay there, your heartbeats in sync, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

A soft, involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you looked down at him. You could feel the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm, steady and strong, and you were certain he could feel yours, too. The electric charge between you wasn’t just emotional; it felt physical, like your very essence was reaching out to him, and he to you. Katsuki, usually so tough and guarded, was here in your arms, sharing this tender moment.

But as you lay there, soaking in the warmth of the moment, something shifted. Katsuki stiffened slightly in your arms, his body going rigid against yours. You could feel his breath hitch, and when you looked down, you saw the confusion in his eyes, the way they glistened with unshed tears. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked completely lost, almost scared.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice laced with concern as you felt him tense even further. A flicker of panic shot through you. You knew how hard it was for Katsuki to express his emotions, and seeing him like this, vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down, tugged at something deep inside of you. 

"Are you having those pains again? Is it your chest?!"

Katsuki shook his head quickly, but his face contorted, and he let out a sharp sniff, his breaths coming faster. His fingers squeezed yours, his grip tightening as his other arm wrapped around your waist with almost a desperate strength.

You could feel the heat rising off his skin, his body suddenly clammy as if he were in a battle. His muscles tensed and flexed, his jaw clenched as he tried to fight whatever emotions were threatening to spill out.

"'S alright," he mumbled into your chest, but you could hear the tremble in his voice, the way it cracked as if he were holding something back. He buried his face deeper against you, curling into your body as though trying to shield himself from the storm brewing inside him.

"No, 'S not alright," you countered softly, your hand moving to rub slow, calming circles over his sweaty back. "Come on, Katsu, you know you can tell me."

You felt his heart pounding harder against your hand, the frantic rhythm echoing through your palm. His breath hitched again, and you instinctively shifted, running your fingers through his hair to calm him. Your other hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing the tension out of his tight muscles as his breaths came in shallow gasps.

Katsuki’s palms, usually dry and strong, grew slick with sweat, and you could feel his hands trembling as they gripped yours. He sniffed again, louder this time, his body shuddering as he tried to regain control. Several deep, shaky breaths followed, but he didn’t pull away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head. His red eyes were rimmed with unshed tears, his lashes wet as he blinked them away. He sat up slowly, pulling himself out of your embrace, though he still held onto your hand like a lifeline. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his gaze distant as if he were trying to sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You reached up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “Baby, talk to me, please.”

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to find his voice. When he finally spoke, his words were soft, raw. “I dunno... I just—” He paused, his jaw clenched as he looked down at your hand still resting over his heart. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable and confused. Katsuki wasn’t used to feeling things this deeply, wasn’t used to letting anyone in like this. But here he was, breaking down in front of you, and all you wanted to do was hold him together.

You scooted closer, sitting up and pressing your forehead against his. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Katsu,” you whispered, your voice soothing as you cupped his face in your hands. “You’re just... feeling things. It’s okay.”

Katsuki closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he leaned into your touch. “I don’t like it,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I don’t like not... not being able to control it.”

You kissed his forehead softly, letting your lips linger there for a moment before pulling back. “You don’t always have to be in control. It’s okay to let go sometimes.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just sat there with his eyes closed, his breathing slowly evening out as he let your words sink in. When he finally opened his eyes again, they were still glassy, but the panic had faded, replaced by a quiet resolve. He looked at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t... I don’t wanna lose it.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you pressed another gentle kiss to his cheek. “You won’t lose it, Katsuki. I’m here.”

Katsuki’s hand tightened around yours as he pulled back slightly, taking in a deep, steadying breath before speaking again. His eyes, still a little glassy but full of determination, met yours with a quiet intensity. “I didn’t want to be away from you,” he started, his voice soft but firm. “Even if work’s important... to me, you’re more important.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that his work as a hero mattered, that it saved lives, but the look he gave you made you stop short. His gaze softened as it met yours, a silent plea for understanding. And instead of fighting back, you took his rough, calloused hands in yours, bringing them to your lips and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. Then, with a small smile, you pressed his hands gently to your cheeks, letting him feel the warmth there, the quiet affection you had for him.

“I’m with you,” you whispered, and those simple words seemed to ease the tension in his body. He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling heavily before he continued.

“I get it,” he said, his voice a little stronger now. “Why you’re always trying to be so independent. You’ve got your own life, your own goals, and I want to respect that.” His thumb gently brushed against your cheek as he spoke, as though grounding himself with your touch.

“But I can’t... I can’t just sit by and watch you not take care of yourself. Sometimes... I feel like it’s my job to make sure you’re okay, ‘cause I... I love you.”

His voice cracked on those last words, and you saw the raw emotion flicker in his eyes. Katsuki wasn’t used to being vulnerable like this, to letting people see the softer side of him. But he was here, laying it all bare in front of you. You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity, the fear that maybe you didn’t need him as much as he needed you. It tugged at something deep inside you.

“I love you, and I want to take care of you,” he went on, his grip on your hands tightening as if he were afraid to let go. “I wanna protect you, keep you safe, even when you don’t think you need it. It’s... it’s who I am. And I’m not gonna apologize for it.”

Your heart swelled with affection, and you moved your hands over his arms, gently rubbing along the firm, tense muscles as you tried to soothe him. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the faint tremble in his shoulders as he kept talking, the weight of his emotions finally spilling out.

“I just...” Katsuki paused, his voice faltering for a moment as he swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat at bay. “This time away from you... it made me realize a lot. How much I love you, how much I need you around. I can’t stand it when I’m not with you, even if it’s just for a few days.” He let out a small, almost bitter chuckle. “You probably think it’s stupid, huh?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head as you continued to run your hands over his arms, feeling the tension slowly melt away under your touch. “It’s not stupid,” you whispered. “I missed you too.”

Katsuki’s eyes flickered with relief, but there was still a hint of frustration lingering in his expression. “But you... you don’t take care of yourself, not the way you should,” he said, his voice more serious now. “You always look after everyone else—hell, you make sure everyone’s okay, but you don’t do the same for yourself. It drives me crazy.”

You gave him a playful smile, trying to lighten the mood just a little. “You can’t keep an eye on me all the time, Katsu.”

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “That’s the problem. I can’t. And you don’t make a habit of neglecting yourself, but when you do... you’re a hypocrite. You’ll run yourself into the ground to help everyone else, but then act like you don’t need anyone to do the same for you.”

You wanna stick your tongue out at him but knowing Katsuki, he’d make you regret that all night long. 

Katsuki’s intense gaze lingered, tracing every inch of you with a sharp, possessive look that made your heart race. His eyes moved from the top of your head, down the gentle curve of your neck, over the way his oversized skull shirt bunched up on your thighs, and down to your toes.

You could feel the weight of his stare, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, it seemed like the air between you thickened with tension.

Then he blinked, and it was like a fog lifting. He shifted, reaching into the deep pockets of his sweatpants with a small grunt. “I wanted to do this ‘right,’ ya know,” he muttered, almost to himself, but the words were laced with that familiar gruffness. His fingers fiddled with something in his pocket, his focus still mostly on you.

“Spent weeks with those dumbasses—picking out flowers, going through all these fancy restaurants, trying to get the perfect gift. Because you’re my girl, and I only get the best for you.”

His voice was low, raspy, and the way his eyes softened briefly before trailing down to your legs made your breath catch. His hand, rough and warm, ghosted over your ankle as if testing the waters before his grip tightened, just enough to pull you slightly closer with a small, teasing tug.

The movement startled you, and you yelped, instinctively wrapping the towel tighter around your waist as you scrambled upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. Katsuki’s laughter rumbled through the room, deep and genuine, the sound like warm honey coating the air. He was taking in the sight of your flustered reaction with a wicked grin plastered on his face.

“Kats,” you started, still catching your breath as you eyed him suspiciously, “what are you getting at?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes returned, that familiar cocky, dangerous look that always made your pulse quicken. His grin softened into something more meaningful, more grounded, but still tinged with that wild spark. That look in his eye? It was the one that always had you convinced that all the hot ones were definitely crazy.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he confessed, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more vulnerable.

“Since I met you.”

You blinked, watching as his gaze flickered down to your bare legs. His jaw clenched for a split second, and he let out a low curse under his breath. “Should’ve used that damn lotion,” he muttered, almost to himself, clearly irritated that he hadn’t taken the chance to pamper you properly.

The moonlight filtering in from your window cast a silvery glow over him, highlighting every cut and line of his muscles as if he were carved from stone.

He was beautiful, raw, like a storm contained just beneath the surface, and for a brief moment, you were distracted by the sight of him—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his stomach flexed with each breath.

You could have his babies right here, right now.

Then his voice softened again, and the mood shifted as he spoke. “I love you. I really do.” His tone was hushed, like it was just for you. His eyes—usually so full of fire and determination—now held something much deeper, something vulnerable that he rarely let show. It was just him. Your Katsuki.

“I’m not good with this shit. I know that,” he admitted, his mouth tugging into a small, self-deprecating smirk. “But I wanna do this right.”

You blinked, feeling the air grow heavier as he squared his shoulders, a determined glint returning to his eyes. His hand finally left his pocket, and in one swift, almost impatient motion, he pulled something out and opened it in front of you. 

A small box. Velvet. The kind that held only one thing.

Your breath hitched, and your entire world seemed to narrow down to that tiny box and the ring inside it. It glittered in the low light, catching the moon's glow, but the details were lost on you as your heart thudded wildly in your chest.

Katsuki looked at you, dead-on, his expression both serious and soft at the same time, like he was offering you everything he had. 

“Would you marry me and be my hot mess?”

For a split second, you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even process the words that had just come out of his mouth. You felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs with a feather—hell, they could have knocked you over with one.

The world stopped spinning. Your eyes darted between the ring and Katsuki, who was watching you carefully now, his breath held as if he was waiting for your next move. You could feel the gravity of this moment pressing down on your chest, and yet... it wasn’t the heavy kind of weight that scared you. No. It was something else entirely.

It was the kind of weight that came with the realization that this moment, this person in front of you, was everything you never knew you needed.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, and none of them made sense, but your body reacted first. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first, only a small breathless laugh as you brought your shaking hands up to your mouth. Katsuki’s eyes searched your face, trying to gauge your reaction, and the barest hint of nerves flashed behind his hardened exterior. He might’ve been a fearless hero, but this?

This was different.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice as the emotions swirled inside you. “You... you’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied immediately, his voice unwavering now. His eyes bore into yours with that fierce conviction only he could pull off. “I’ve been serious about you from the start. I love you, and I’m not waiting around anymore. I want you. With me. Always.”

His words sank into you, and before you even fully realized what you were doing, your hands shot forward, grabbing his face, pulling him down toward you. You kissed him—deeply, passionately, pouring everything you had into it, letting the overwhelming feelings consume you.

His lips were warm, familiar, grounding. Katsuki groaned softly into the kiss, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer as if the space between you was too much to bear.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling with his as you both panted softly. The world around you faded, and all that was left was the man in front of you and the question still hanging in the air.

“Yes,” you breathed, smiling through the tears that had welled up in your eyes. “Yes, Katsuki. I’ll marry you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it—the raw, unfiltered joy on his face. It wasn’t loud or boastful, but it was there, in the soft curl of his lips and the way his eyes shone with unshed tears.

Katsuki Bakugo had won another battle—this time, with your heart.

Katsuki's rough fingers, calloused and warm, carefully slid the ring over your finger, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. You couldn’t help but gasp as the gem caught the light, sparkling in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was more than beautiful—it was personal. The stone in the center was your birthstone, cut into your favorite shape and polished into your favorite color, surrounded by a delicate halo of tiny rubies. Rubies just like his eyes.

Your gaze flickered to the ring and then back to Katsuki. “How… how did you…?” you whispered, utterly floored. The details were so specific, the kind that you had only mentioned in passing, mostly to Michael. But somehow, Katsuki had pieced it all together.

The rubies glistened against the band, and nestled between them were smaller gemstones that mirrored the exact shade of your eyes. And if that wasn’t enough, there was another set of gems, a deep, fiery orange—the color of Katsuki’s favorite thing: explosions.

You turned the ring over in your hand, overwhelmed by the craftsmanship, the thoughtfulness. Every inch of the piece was a reflection of you, of him, of both of you together. Whoever he went to had worked some serious magic. As your fingers brushed over the band, something else caught your eye. With trembling hands, you slipped the ring off, turning it over, and there it was—engraved into the inside of the band in Katsuki’s unmistakable bluntness:

“I love you, dumbass.”

That was it. The tears came again, flooding your vision before you could stop them. Your chest tightened with the overwhelming sweetness of it all. You’d never expected this. How could you? This whole day had taken such a turn that your emotions were a tangled mess, and now, here you were, crying like a baby over a ring. But it wasn’t just any ring—it was him, you, everything.

“Katsuki,” you sobbed, bringing the ring to your chest as if it could stop the flood of emotions. Your voice trembled, but before you could even say another word, Katsuki’s eyes widened in pure panic. He hated when you cried. Hell, it wasn’t often that you let yourself fall apart like this, and seeing you like that sent him spiraling.

“Oi, oi! Don’t cry, damn it!” he barked, his voice frantic as he moved in closer, cupping your face with both hands. But then his panic melted into something softer as his thumbs wiped away the tears. 

“I’m serious, stop it, or you’re gonna make me lose it.”

But the sight of your tears didn’t stop him from acting on impulse. In typical Katsuki fashion, he leaned down and kissed you, first pressing his lips all over your face, desperate to dry every tear. But he didn’t stop there. In a ridiculous, completely endearing move, he leaned over and licked your cheek, tasting the saltiness of your tears with a playful smirk. You squealed, pulling away in shock, your face scrunched up in disbelief. 

“Did you just—ew, Katsuki! That’s so gross!”

You smacked his solid chest, half laughing, half horrified, but that only egged him on. “Oh, I’m gross now, huh?” he teased, his voice low and dangerous as he grinned down at you. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he launched himself at you, playfully wrestling you down onto the bed.

“No, no—Katsuki!” you shrieked, giggling uncontrollably as his strong arms trapped you beneath him. He pinned you effortlessly, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. His lips were on you again, peppering your face with kisses, and soon enough, the two of you were tumbling around in the sheets, rolling and laughing like a couple of kids.

The wrestling match was chaotic, full of breathless laughter, limbs tangled up, and soft murmurs of affection between teasing jabs. Katsuki was surprisingly playful, and before long, you were both breathless, collapsing side by side on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as your hearts raced in sync.

You turned your head, catching the way his chest heaved with each breath, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His messy hair, usually so spiked and wild, was disheveled in the cutest way possible. Without thinking, you reached out, running your fingers through it, smoothing it back in place. He hummed in contentment, his eyes half-lidded as he looked over at you.

“But where’s your ring?” you asked, suddenly realizing that the gesture had been one-sided. You were the one with the ring on your finger, but what about him?

Katsuki chuckled, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “My ring, huh?” He smirked, eyes sparkling with that familiar cocky glint. “I’ll just give you my wallet, and you can surprise me.”

You blinked, taken aback for a second, before bursting into laughter. “M’Okay!” you replied, your voice full of playful mockery. “But don’t blame me if I pick something pink and covered in glitter.”

“Whatever you want, babe,” he shot back, unbothered by the thought, though you knew he’d raise hell if you actually went through with it. The both of you erupted into laughter again, the sound filling the room like music.

Katsuki shifted, rolling onto his side as he gently took your hand in his, threading your fingers together like he always did. His lips found your hand again, this time softer, more purposeful. He kissed the spot right over your ring, his lips lingering there for a moment, as if sealing his promise to you.

“I love you, Katsuki Bakugou,” you whispered, your heart swelling with warmth as you looked at him, your fiancé, the man who had somehow managed to make this chaotic mess of a proposal the most perfect moment of your life.

Katsuki’s eyes softened, his rough exterior melting away in the intimate glow of the moonlight. He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I love you too, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but his expression was nothing short of tender.

In that moment, wrapped up in each other, you realized something: this—this wild, crazy love you shared with Katsuki—was the only thing that made sense in the world. You lay there together, side by side, hearts entwined, you knew without a doubt that you had found your forever.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft, warm glow across the bed, but you groaned, stretching lazily as you woke up. Your fingers instinctively brushed against your hair, feeling the unruly mess it had become overnight—complete with knots and stubborn curls that had a mind of their own.

You squinted at the brightness as your phone buzzed on the bedside table. Checking it, you saw the familiar ping of an email notification and grinned. You've been paid.

Sweet relief!

Rolling over to share the good news, you blinked in surprise at the empty side of the bed. The sheets were cold, and there was no sign of your fiancé—wait, boyfriend—wait, fiancé! A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you at the thought of the word.

But the smell of breakfast caught your attention, and any irritation at his absence melted away. The unmistakable scent of eggs, with a hint of something smoky—probably bacon—wafted down the hallway, accompanied by the faint clink of pans from the kitchen.

Katsuki was already up, and the thought made you smile.

Without bothering to fix your appearance, you hopped out of bed, your feet hitting the cool, hardwood floor with a soft thud. You knew you’d hear about it later—how walking around barefoot would make you catch a cold. He always ranted about that kind of stuff, but you’d just smile and give him your usual “Yes, mama,” while he’d glare at you with that fiery look. 

But for now, you padded down the hall, completely barefoot, on a mission.

The closer you got, the stronger his scent became—that familiar, intoxicating mix of burnt caramel and something inherently Katsuki. You spotted him before he even saw you, standing at the stove, his back turned, a spatula in hand as he expertly flipped eggs in a pan. His muscles were taut, his broad shoulders moving effortlessly as he worked. He was dressed in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips, and you couldn’t help but admire the sight.

With a mischievous grin, you quietly made your way over, your bare feet silent against the floor. And then, in one swift move, you leapt onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face into the crook of his neck. 

“Hi, fiancé!” you greeted, your voice muffled as you inhaled deeply, taking in that addictive scent that was all his.

Katsuki stiffened for a split second, more from surprise than anything else, but he quickly recovered. With a chuckle, he reached over and turned off the stove, placing the spatula down before his hands found their way to your thighs, gripping them as he adjusted your weight.

“You’re gonna burn the damn house down one day, y’know that?” he muttered, but there was a playful note in his voice. Before you could even respond, he effortlessly spun you around, lifting you off his back and setting you down on the kitchen counter nearby. His strength never failed to amaze you, and you giggled as your bare legs dangled off the edge, your hands resting on his chest.

His eyes softened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lazy good morning kiss. “Hi, teddy bear,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You smiled into the kiss, but just as you started to pull him closer, he pulled back, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Did you brush your teeth?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You snorted, shaking your head. “No.”

He frowned, glancing down. “Did you use the bathroom?”

“Nope.”

His scowl deepened, though you could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Wash your face?”

“Also, no.”

Katsuki groaned dramatically, running a hand through his messy, spiked hair. “And this is exactly why you’re moving in with me today. You need supervision,” he grumbled, though his voice was more affectionate than angry. Before you could argue, he lightly smacked your thighs, the contact sending a playful jolt through you. 

“Katsuki!” you gasped, half laughing as you swatted at him, but he only pointed toward the living room.

Your delicate features blossomed into an expression of confusion. “What?”  But he didn’t respond, instead looking so mischievous and pleased with himself.

That’s when you noticed it—half of your living room was in disarray, large boxes stacked high, and furniture already disassembled. It looked like a moving truck had stormed through your place. Your jaw dropped as you stared at the sight.

“KATSUKI!” you shrieked, your voice bouncing off the walls as the reality of what he’d done sank in. He had already packed half your stuff—without even telling you! You couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t even flinch at your outburst, just gave you that smug, self-satisfied grin of his, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

“What? I told you, you’re movin’ in today. Thought I’d help speed things up,” he said, shrugging as if he hadn’t just dismantled your entire living room.

You huffed, staring at the boxes like you couldn’t believe your eyes. “You could’ve at least warned me!”

He chuckled, stepping closer until he was standing between your legs, his hands resting on either side of your waist. “Nah. You’d just overthink it. This way, it’s done, and we don’t have to argue about it,” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your nose.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m still not done with school, you know. And we haven’t even… there’s no… ring on your finger.”

Katsuki quirked a brow, his smirk turning wicked. “I told you, give me my wallet, and you can surprise me with the ring.”

You laughed, shaking your head at his nonchalance. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, the playful edge to his voice making your heart skip a beat. “And don’t worry about school. You can study at my place just fine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, he kissed you again, this time more firmly, his lips capturing yours in a way that made your head spin. You melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your feet curling around his calves.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your lips tingling. “You don’t play fair,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

He grinned, kissing your forehead softly before pressing his lips to your knuckles where your ring sat. “I play to win, babe. And I already did,” he whispered, his voice low and full of affection.

You sighed, leaning into him, knowing full well that Katsuki Bakugou always got his way.

Before you could respond to his sweet words, a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. You leaned in closer, pretending to go in for another kiss, but at the last second, you bit him—just lightly, on his shoulder—before snatching the plate of bacon from the counter. Katsuki blinked, his eyes widening in confusion before narrowing sharply as he processed what had just happened.

“You little brat!” he growled, his voice full of playful irritation.

With a squeal, you jumped off the counter, bare feet hitting the cold floor, and bolted for the bedroom, the stolen bacon in hand. You knew exactly what you were doing. Katsuki typically hated when anyone touched his food (although he actually had a habit of feeding you from his plate and fork), but you couldn’t help it. You loved riling him up, especially when he got that fire in his eyes!~

"Come back here, princess!" he barked, and the sound of his footsteps echoed behind you.

You darted around the corner, your heart pounding with adrenaline and laughter bubbling in your throat. The hardwood floor was slippery, and you barely made it to the door when Katsuki’s booming footsteps got louder. He was fast, too fast. 

A real predator on the hunt, and you were his target.

“Fuuuuck it, we ball!” you shouted over your shoulder, laughing as you slid into the bedroom. You could hear him cursing under his breath, muttering something about how you were always testing him. You were a princess, and yeah, maybe a bit of a brat, but that was part of your charm. You loved to push his buttons, loved how easy it was to get under his skin.

You heard the door slam behind you as Katsuki entered the room, hot on your heels. His eyes locked on yours, his gaze intense as he advanced. You tried to dodge him, but he was quicker, snatching the plate of bacon from your hands before grabbing your waist and pulling you back into his chest.

“Gotcha now, you little thief,” he growled in your ear, his voice low and warning, but you could hear the amusement in his tone.

You squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held you firm, his arms like steel bands around your waist. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” you giggled, breathless from the chase.

“You’re damn right you do,” he murmured before spinning you around and planting a quick, searing kiss on your lips. It was rough, but it was Katsuki through and through—fiery, intense, and full of passion.

You grinned against his lips, leaning into him. “Guess I’m still your little brat then, huh?”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as he looked down at you with that same possessive, loving gaze that always made your heart skip a beat. “Damn right you are. My brat, my princess, my pain in the ass.”

You laughed, nuzzling into his chest as you felt his arms tighten around you. “And you’re my grumpy fiancé,” you teased, poking his ribs.

Katsuki grumbled, but his smirk softened, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Yeah. But I’m your grumpy fiancé, so fuck it—we ball.”

In that moment, tangled together, laughter still lingering in the air, you knew without a doubt that you were his, and he was yours. No matter what life throws at you, you’d face it together. 

Always.

Taglist for Bakugou: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @raendarkfaerie If you wanna be added lemme know!

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Farmer Bakugou x Gardener Reader here in the master list. I also have a Pro Hero! Bakugou x Sugar Baby fic.

Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[baelarys]

𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣

Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon

Word count: 1779

Warning: Fluff

Pt2 pt3 pt4

"Mommy! Vaera has my dress," little Vaerys complained, clinging to your skirt with the determination of someone seeking justice in her small, childish world.

"That's not true," Vaera retorted, her tone indignant, her voice reflecting the restlessness she also showed in her constant fidgeting as you tried to braid her hair.

"Vaera, stay still," you ordered her softly but firmly, your skilled hands deftly moving through her golden locks. Despite her agitation, your skill did not waver, and soon an impeccable braid began to form.

"Sweetheart, what you're wearing is very pretty too," you tried to negotiate with the little platinum-haired girl who was still clutching your dress.

"But I want it to be pink," insisted Vaerys, her lower lip trembling in a pout you knew all too well.

You sighed, knowing there would be no peace until the little one's wishes were fulfilled. "Alright," you relented, gesturing to one of your ladies-in-waiting. She hurried to tend to the twins, swapping their dresses with the efficiency born of routine. Meanwhile, your hands briefly rested on your swollen belly, caressing it with deep, protective love.

The sound of the doors opening behind you interrupted the moment, and you turned just in time to see Aerion, your only son, standing in the doorway. "Mommy," he called softly, almost hesitantly.

A gasp escaped your lips at the sight of your son. Your hands flew to your mouth, trying to contain the shock. The beautiful platinum and golden hair that used to fall in soft waves to Aerion's shoulders had disappeared, crudely cut. His face was smeared with smoke and dirt, as if he had been in the midst of a battle.

“Aerion, for the love of the gods, what happened?” you exclaimed, crossing the distance between you in an instant. You took your son by the shoulders, examining his face with concern as you searched for answers in his eyes.

One of the knights who had escorted Aerion to the room remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the shame was a weight he could not bear.

“What happened?” you insisted, your voice firm, seeking answers in the knight’s face.

The knight cleared his throat before responding, his voice full of a mixture of respect and concern. “Prince Aerion decided to escape from his training and ventured into the pit where Vhagar and Silverwing rest. We managed to pull him out of there before the dragon’s fire consumed him, but his hair caught fire in the process, and the maester decided to cut it to prevent further damage.”

He finished speaking with his gaze once again fixed on the ground, as if each word added more weight to his shoulders.

Before you could respond, Aerion quickly intervened, noticing the displeasure forming on your face. “But the maester said it will grow back!” he exclaimed with the desperation of a child seeking absolution, his large, anxious eyes searching yours.

You gestured for the guard to leave, and he obeyed with a bow before exiting the room. Then, you pressed your lips together, trying to stay calm as a storm of fear and anger swirled within you. The danger Aerion had exposed himself to was no small matter; the fact that he had emerged practically unscathed was a miracle. However, his recklessness could not be ignored or overlooked.

You took Aerion’s face in your hands, gently wiping the dirt from his cheeks, your gaze firm and worried. “Aerion,” you began, trying not to let your voice tremble with emotion, “we’ve talked about this before. Dragons are not pets. You cannot approach them as if they were dogs.”

“But I just wanted to see them,” your son responded in a whisper, his eyes fixed on the ground. Guilt weighed in his voice, and yet there was still a trace of his childish stubbornness. “I’m sorry, really,” he added, stepping forward and wrapping his small arms around your waist, seeking comfort and perhaps a way to avoid the punishment he feared.

You sighed, feeling the warmth of his embrace, but not letting it distract you from what needed to be said. “I know, my love, and I believe you. But you must understand that you cannot do this again. Dragons are powerful and dangerous creatures. I don’t want to lose you to a mistake.” With tenderness, you tilted your head and placed a gentle kiss on his head.

With the same softness, you pulled away slightly from him. “Now, go clean yourself up,” you ordered in a tone that left little room for objections.

One of your ladies-in-waiting approached and took Aerion’s hand with the usual deference, guiding him to the bath to prepare him for cleaning. As you watched them leave, you let out a slight groan of pain as you felt the baby in your womb give small kicks, reminding you of their presence with an energy that could not be ignored.

The door opened again, and as you looked up, you saw your husband, Aemond, who gave you a warm smile upon seeing you. There was a familiarity and affection in his gaze that always managed to calm your spirit. Carefully, he placed his sword on the table before approaching you, his presence filling the room with a tranquility only he could offer.

“Daddy!” Vaerys exclaimed with excitement, breaking the brief moment of silence. Without hesitation, the little girl jumped into her father’s arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck with the absolute confidence of a child who knows they will always be received with love.

Aemond lifted her effortlessly, holding her against his chest as his face softened even more. “And how is my little warrior today?” he asked playfully, as Vaerys laughed, delighted by her father’s attention.

Meanwhile, Vaera, who had remained silent, looked at her sister with bright eyes, waiting her turn to be hugged. With a gesture that showed Aemond’s natural skill in handling the dynamics between his children, he extended his other arm to draw Vaera to his side as well.

“Look at my dress,” Vaerys exclaimed, raising her arms to proudly show off her pink dress, waiting for her father's approval.

Aemond, always attentive to the details that mattered to his daughters, smiled and nodded appreciatively. “It’s a beautiful dress, Vaerys,” he commented with warmth that made the little girl’s eyes shine.

Not wanting to be left out, Vaera quickly interjected, spreading the folds of her own dress. “Look at mine too!” she proclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of enthusiasm and expectation.

Aemond placed a loving kiss on Vaerys’s cheek, then another on Vaera’s cheek, making sure both felt his affection equally. The twins, satisfied with their father’s attention, moved away with playful laughter, their pink dresses fluttering as they disappeared into their own world of games and giggles.

Your husband approached you with a tenderness he only showed during the most intimate moments. Gently, he placed his hand on your swollen belly, caressing it with the same devotion he showed each day, as if already attuned to the new family member who was about to arrive.

“You look worried,” he murmured, his voice filled with concern as he pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture you shared when seeking comfort in each other’s closeness. “What’s wrong?”

The warmth of his skin and the familiarity of his touch reassured you, but the emotions you had been holding back began to surface. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting his presence calm your thoughts before you responded.

“It’s Aerion,” you confessed in a whisper, feeling the worry still weighing on your heart. “Today, he ran off and got too close to Vhagar and Silverwing. He almost… I can’t bear to think about what could have happened.”

“He’s a brave boy,” Aemond said, his voice soft but with the firmness of someone who understands the complex nature of his son. “I’ll talk to him.”

You nodded, knowing that Aemond, with his patience and wisdom, was the best person to guide Aerion in these moments. As the weight of your worry began to lift, you allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability, resting your head against Aemond’s chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear was a reassuring reminder of the strength and stability you always found in him.

Sensing your need for closeness, Aemond wrapped you in a warm embrace, his arms surrounding you with a tenderness that always surprised you, contrasting with his usual sternness. In that moment, the outside world, with all its worries and challenges, seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, connected in a silence full of understanding.

“You need to relax,” Aemond murmured, his voice caressing the air as gently as his hand moved up and down your back. The gesture was comforting, almost hypnotic, as if he wanted to erase the accumulated tension from every muscle in your body, leading you to a state of deep calm.

The warmth of his touch and the firmness with which he held you sent a wave of tranquility through you. You rested your head against his chest, letting yourself be carried by the steady rhythm of his breathing, which slowly synchronized with yours. You could feel his strength and protection enveloping you, offering you a refuge where you could rest without reservations.

“I’m here,” Aemond continued, his voice low, almost a whisper, resonating in your ear like an unbreakable promise. “You don’t have to carry all this weight alone. Together, we can handle anything.”

His words, laden with a love that didn’t need to be expressed with grand gestures, comforted you in a way that few things could. It was a reminder that, despite everything you faced, you weren’t alone in this journey. Aemond was by your side, sharing not only the joys but also the burdens that life imposed on you.

You felt his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back, a simple gesture that spoke of his desire to see you relaxed and at peace. Each caress seemed to take away a bit of the tension you had accumulated, and in response, you held onto him a little tighter, letting his presence envelop you completely.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear. You lifted your gaze to meet his eyes, those eyes that always offered you the certainty that, no matter what came your way, you would face it together.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | age gap, reader is nineteen | mild exhibitionism | size difference | choking | objectification (f receiving)

BRUCE WAYNE was in the hot seat. Well, more appropriately, Batman was in the hot seat. Which meant it was time for the billionaire playboy to make a public appearance so controversial, any press worth their tacks would cover his televised blunder rather than some depressing masked vigilante’s dealings. People prefer gossip over politics, and Bruce knows how to work an angle.

You’re a fresh adult, but the people already know you. A perfect Gotham sweetheart: a little darling on the front cover of lingerie magazines, starring as a bombshell in motion pictures, named the honor of the Ice Princess last month. You wore your little feathery outfit, next to nothing in the freezing cold, and turned on the city's giant Christmas tree lights just as the Ice Princess does every year. Known for your youth and beauty, Bruce knew you were the perfect candidate to take all the attention away from where it shouldn't be. Tabloids couldn't decide whether to praise the seasoned billionaire for landing a nineteen-year-old catch, or condemn him for having a mid-life crisis.

"Bruce Wayne seen with Gotham's Ice Princess." was everywhere anyone looked. It seemed the city had taken quite a protective role over you, which is exactly what Bruce needed.

Now that he's got you, he flaunts you. He lets you lug him around town, any local events that could be televised are his priorities. There, he makes a big show of touching you in ways only a lover is allowed to. Things that make you pat his huge bicep scoldingly. "Brucie!" you chide with a gasp, "You're so shameless." you say, but you fucking love it. How he openly mouths at your neck, lapping and sucking on your pulse point enough for lewd pretty sounds to slew from your parted lips. Little whimpers that any onlookers eat up.

He'll grope you unabashedly, big hand grabbing at your ass or giving it a swat. He needs those cameras to see how gross he is, how crazy he is about his nineteen-year-old situationship. If you get kissed, it's fucking sloppy. Mostly tongue, tongue outside the mouth as much as he can appropriately get away with. His "dirty sense of humor" will bleed into the public scene as well, hugging you from behind only to jokingly engulf your neck with his hand to fake a choke.

Every single one of these things he does for attention, leaves you hot and bothered. Frustrated from his treatment of you that's so warm when there are prying eyes, but so cold when you're finally alone together. You want Bruce Wayne to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but when doors are closed suddenly it's: "Something's come up." or "The sushi hit me wrong." Or the worst one of all: the polite, civilized, but uninterested act. You're all over him, begging for him to finally fuck you after stringing you along and teasing you so ardently all day, and he treats you as if you are an acquainted business associate who has overstayed her welcome. You don't get it. An hour ago he was pulling your neckline towards him for a peek down your dress, and now he's showing you the door with a smile on his face.

[reidsfilm]

LIKE A GODDAMN PRAYER — LOGAN HOWLETT

WARNINGS: SMUT!!! (18+) age-gap (the reader is over 18+) p in v (wrap it up peeps) dirty talk, soft dom! logan, has no plot whatsoever, just straight-up filth petnames: baby, sweetheart, angel, darling, etc. fluff at the end. a tad bit of degarding.

WORD COUNT : 2k

Notes: i'm just now realizing how hot hugh jackman is.

Logan Howlett who swore he wouldn't stain a beautiful thing like you. With your sweet smiles, wide eyes, and flushed apple cheeks. He wouldn't, but the allure of you was too tempting.

And a visit to give him a basket of cookies led to something that couldn't be erased. But now, he wasn't sure if he wanted it removed at all.

Here you were, laying sprawled out underneath him, clothes strewn in piles on the floor, only a pair of white lacy panties covering your sweet pussy. God, it made his boxers feel all the tighter like they were suffocating him, literally and figuratively.

''Look at you... so pretty for me, huh?'' He cooed as his large and rough hand came up to grope at your tits, watching as they spilled between the gaps of his fingers. His eyes darkened further at the sight. A whiny moan left your lips as you wriggled underneath him, pushing your chest up, seeking more.

''S'okay... I got you. Gonna make you feel real good, darlin'.'' And you could only manage a whine, unable to form any words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. Logan tsked at you, head tilting to the side as he looked at you, eyes flickering from your flushed chest back up to your face, ''Haven't even fucked you yet, and your already going dumb?''

You nodded, slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, and Logan practically growled at the sight as his hand moved down, caressing your ribs, over your stomach, fingertips grazing against your belly button before moving lower.

Your breath hitched as he teased at the waistband of your panties, not quite going further and that made you only feel more desperate, and needy. ''These are cute. Did you wear them on purpose?'' He questioned, snapping it against your skin and eliciting a moan from your lips. ''Answer me, pretty angel.''

The nicknames were doing nothing to help the ache between your legs, instinctively making you rub your thighs together. ''Y-Yeah...'' You replied and he hummed.

''Can I take 'em off?'' And you wasted no time in nodding, bobbing your head up and down. God if you weren't so deeply rooted in this, you would've found yourself pathetic. And maybe you were, but you couldn't care less. You just wanted him. Like he was the answer to all your prayers. Someone you wouldn't think twice about listening to or worshipping.

You were a hundred percent sure this man was a God.

''Yeah, yeah please.'' You were quick to say and Logan didn't need more confirmation than that before he shuffled down a bit. His large hands planted on each side of your hips, ''Lift your hips f'me.'' And you did as he said, lifting up a bit from the soft mattress and allowing him to grip onto the material, dragging it down.

And he did it, oh so slowly. Tease.

''Logan...'' You whined as you watched him, how he kept those hazel eyes locked on your own pair as he tugged them down. ''Patience is a virtue.'' And you wanted to roll your eyes at the words as if you hadn't heard those before. You weren't in the mood for patience, not at all.

You just wanted him to fuck you until you could barely think straight.

''I'm not a patient person.'' You muttered as he slid them down to your ankles, before tossing them somewhere on the floor. His eyes met yours once more, ''Figures.'' He chuckles as he moves closer, grabbing underneath your thighs, and spreading your legs.

His eyes feast upon the sight of your glistening and awaiting pussy. His hazel eyes darken a tad as he takes you in. The prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes upon, and he almost feels ashamed for a split second. A man like him, who's brutal and lives within the darkness of his life, seeing something so eternal like you, it feels illegal.

Like you a forbidden fruit he shouldn't even have laid eyes on to begin with. But your voice pulls him from the depths of his mind.

''Something wrong? Am I not—'' He doesn't even let you finish your sentence, because god forbid something as angelic as you get to be insecure about yourself. ''No... no no. Just admiring the pretty sight laid before me.''

And you blush at his words, biting your lip. ''Yeah? Well if it's such a pretty sight, fuck me.'' You tried to sound confident, you really did. But the crack in your voice, the obvious desire yet nervousness was extremely evident.

And Logan was quick to catch onto it, a smirk gracing his lips, spurring the man on leaving any regret or anything like that behind as he dragged you closer to him by your thighs, making you let out a small squeal. ''Oh, I'll fuck you. Gonna make this pussy sing, yeah?''

He had a silver tongue on him, that's for sure. And it only made you wetter, if that was even possible. His hand slid down between your legs, making you shiver as his thick fingers inched closer to where you needed him most. And you spread your legs wider, opening up more for him.

Logan's rough, calloused fingers brushed against your slick folds, feeling the heat radiating from your core. He groaned at the sensation, his own desire rising rapidly. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already, darlin'," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

You whimpered, arching your back as Logan's fingers teased your entrance, not quite entering you but applying delicious pressure. "Please, Logan," you pleaded, your voice breathy and needy. "I need you."

Logan chuckled darkly, his eyes smoldering as he took in the sight of you sprawled out before him, your body on display, your breasts heaving with each shallow breath.

Logan's fingers continued their torturous teasing, circling your entrance without delving inside. He leaned down, his stubble grazing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your legs.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers up your spine. "I wanna savor this moment with you. Make it good for you."

You whined, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you as you tried to arch into Logan's touch. "Logan, please," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me."

Logan hummed, the vibrations traveling through your body. "So impatient," he chided, but there was no real disapproval in his tone. "Alright, darlin', I'll give you what you want."

He got to removing his boxers, and you swore your eyes were about to pop out of their sockets at the sight of him. His cock was so thick, fat, and decorated with veins. He was definitely a god, no going back on that now.

He shifted, positioning himself between your spread legs. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you. "You're fuckin' beautiful like this," he said, his voice low and rough. "Spread out for me, so eager for my cock."

You blushed at his words, but the embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the desire coursing through your veins. You needed him, needed to feel him inside you, needed to be filled and stretched and claimed by this man who had captured your heart, soul, and body.

Logan reached down, grasping his hard length in his hand. He stroked himself a few times, his eyes never leaving your face. "You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you breathed. "God, yes, Logan. Please, just fuck me already."

Logan chuckled, positioning himself at your entrance. "As you wish," he said, and then he was pushing forward, his thick length sliding into your slick heat inch by inch.

You cried out, your head falling back against the pillow as you felt Logan fill you up. He was so big, stretching you most deliciously, and you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he sank deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan groaned as he felt your tight warm heat envelop him, your walls clenching around his shaft as he bottomed out inside you. "Fuck, darlin'," he grunted, his hips stilling for a moment as he savored the sensation. "You're so fuckin' tight."

You whimpered beneath him, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Logan," you gasped, your hips rocking slightly as you adjusted to his size. "You're so big. I can feel you everywhere."

Logan chuckled breathlessly, his forehead pressing against yours as he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and rough. "Take my cock. Fuck, you feel so good."

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillow as Logan set a steady rhythm, his hips snapping forward in a way that had him hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust. "Yes, just like that," you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he increased his pace, driving into you harder and faster. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, the slap of skin on skin, your labored breaths, and needy moans.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last," Logan grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt his orgasm building. "You feel too fuckin' good, darlin'. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up."

You cried out, your body tensing as you felt your own release approaching. "Yes, Logan, yes," you chanted, your nails raking down his back. "Come inside me. I want to feel you come."

With a final, brutal thrust, Logan buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled his cum into your awaiting womb. You screamed, your body shaking as your own orgasm crashed over you, your walls clamping down around Logan's shaft, milking him for every last drop.

You stayed like that for a moment, Logan's weight pressing down on you as you both struggled to catch your breath. Finally, he rolled off of you, pulling you into his arms and holding you close.

"That was...'' Logan trailed off, large hand caressing against your back.

''Amazing.'' You finished the sentence for him, head snuggling up against his chest, his chest hair tickling against your cheek. Your legs were still twitching, spasming at the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Logan's chest rumbled with a chuckle, his arm tightening around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, his voice a low, satisfied growl. "You're amazing. Fuckin' incredible."

You felt yourself blush at his words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "You're not so bad yourself," you teased, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "For an old man."

Logan scoffed, his hand coming up to tickle your side. "Old man? I'll show you who's an old man," he threatened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I can go again, you know. And again, and again."

You giggled, squirming in his arms as his fingers danced over your ribs. "I'm sure you can," you said, your voice breathless with laughter. "But I think I need a break first. You kind of wrecked me."

Logan's expression softened, his hand stilling on your skin. "Sorry, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I didn't mean to be too rough."

You shook your head, reaching up to cover his hand with your own. "No, it was perfect," you assured him, your eyes locking with his. "I loved every second of it."

Logan's gaze searched your face for a moment as if trying to determine the truth of your words. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

When he pulled back, his eyes were warm and soft, a rare vulnerability shining through. "You're something else, angel," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm fuckin' grateful for it."

Your heart swelled at his words, your own eyes growing misty with emotion. "I'm the lucky one," you whispered, your hand coming up to cup his cheek.

And you were, having a man such as himself, making you reach heights you never thought you would, says a lot. And you'd seek him out more, eager and needing more of him.

[tacticalprincess]

messy blowjobs with mean, older boyfriend könig. because as much as he loves your innocence and lack of experience, he can't help but shame you for it, if only to see the way you pout and feign off tears at his harsh words and patronizing tone. he'll nitpick everything you do; if you're too eager, he'll scold you for being greedy (you might accidentally bite him!) and if you're too hesitant, he'll taunt you for being afraid to handle his size, or guilt trip you for not wanting to pleasure him.

he works you up and teases you with his words and cock for what seems like hours at a time, until you're frustrated and sniffling back your embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to please him correctly. and only then, when you’re nearly choking on your drool and tears, will he loosen the reigns. pity lacing the way he cards through your hair, but his eyes are glazed over with desire as he watches you lick and suck around his girthy, meaty cock, your movements so unpracticed and genuinely curious. sweet little thing, barely concealing a whine when he pulls out to give you a few lovetaps on your cheek and tongue, dirtying your cute face with a mix of your spit and his precum.

"there you go. see? you just need a firm hand, maus. it's the only way you'll learn."

alternatively — ‘throat training’, where he gives you no warning before he’s trying to force himself down your virgin throat, shushing the panicked whimpers that muffle around your sudden mouthful. relishes in the way you gag on his girth, your gummy throat constricting around his dick and creating the perfect suction.

“don’t fight it, little one, you can take it. be good and swallow what i give you, ja?”

apologizes for his brute behavior by kissing your mascara soaked cheeks and holding you close, after you make him cum, of course.

it’s rare nowadays, for a man to be so willing to put up with this degree of naivety and inexperience, the least you can do to show you appreciate his patience by relaxing your throat and warming his cock properly.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Nasty Girl ⟡˖ Older!Rafe Cameron x Perv!Reader ⟡˖

✰ Rafe is an arrogant dick, over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him. So why can’t you stay away? ✰

۶♡ৎ This is a request from my angel @babygorewhore I love you sm, this one’s for you pookie ۶♡ৎ

✰ Age gap (Rafe is early 40s reader is mid 20s), Obsessive behaviors, perverted acts involving panties, gagging, choking, spit kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, pillow humping, pussy eating, cum eating, size kink 18+MNDI ✰

You can’t stand Rafe Cameron. And the fact that you’re so obsessed with him only makes you hate him more. No matter how much you hated the way he walked around like he owned the world, or the rotating door of women he brings around, you can’t shake this irresistible pull he has on you. You shouldn’t feel this way, not only is Rafe a huge dick he’s also over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss. It started off small, stealing glances at him every time you visited your dad at work, dressing in your most revealing dresses and skirts to his work events, making off handed comments and brushing past him when there was clearly room to go around. It wasn’t until you caught him in a bathroom with some lanky blonde bent over the counter while noises that resembled a crow left her body that you finally lost it.

You decided to leave the company charity event early, making sure to pass Rafe’s car and leave your tiny pink thong on his side-view mirror. He wouldn’t know they were yours, but he would know that they didn’t belong to the girl he was currently balls deep inside of because you saw her coral thong pushed to the side. After that it was like you couldn’t stop. You started leaving your panties anywhere you’d think Rafe would find them. In his office on his desk or the chair, his car became a favorite, you even managed to loop one around his drink while he wasn’t looking at the country club once. After the first few pairs you started leaving dirty photos of yourself along with them. Not showing your face, of course. Just shots of your ass and tits, always matching the underwear you planned to leave. You thought about maybe just texting or even emailing them to him but your dad gave him both of those things “in case of emergency”. So you decided to do it old school and take photos on your Polaroid. It was sexier that way, anyway.

But you haven’t done anything like what you’re about to do. You’re upstairs with the sound of loud voices all drowned together barely making it through the thick, high floors beneath you. It didn’t take you long to find Rafe’s room. A double door at the end of the long hall with gold ornate knobs was very clearly the master. You also weren’t surprised he had a keypad lock on his door, especially throwing a party like this. Your dad and his coworkers are everyday businessmen to the sivlian eye but behind closed doors they’re into some pretty deep criminal shit. Luckily you already managed to break into his laptop. It was almost too easy, he navigates technology like a grandpa even though he’s only forty. You had a passing thought about teaching him a more efficient way to organize his work laptop but you quickly shut it down. You’re supposed to hate him. Even if you him to fuck you until you can hardly breathe. He had a whole entire document of passwords and key combinations and you may have written all of them down. So you easily slipped inside after entering the numbers on the keypad.

You spent some time looking around and it was about what you expected. Sleek, expensive furniture, no decorations, the white walls bare aside from a random picture of a boat near the window. It's so clean it almost seems like no one lives here but you assume that’s probably due to the cleaners. You go through his drawers, nothing of interest really, unless you count all the clothes you could potentially steal. His bathroom is just as clean as his room and you can’t help but smirk when you notice a full skin care routine sitting on his counter. So vain. But, you can’t deny a man who is invested in his hygiene is extremely sexy. You smell his expensive colognes, his body wash, even his fucking shampoo. You inhale every single one like it’s your drug of choice. Though, you’re sure they smell a million times better on his skin, mixed with his musk.

After spending some time snooping, your focus turns back to the real reason you came in here. You walk into his large walk-in closet and flick on the light. There’s a glass jewelry case in the middle, filled with designer watches, rings, chains, and sunglasses. You approach it and try to pull open the top drawer when you’re met with resistance, you notice another combination lock. But a lightbulb goes off in your head, remembering the key code marked “jewelry case” before pulling out your phone, finding the numbers and unlocking the drawer with a click. The first drawer is, as expected, more jewelry that matches the items in the display case above. The second drawer though, that’s a different story. When you slide it open instead of expensive designer, it’s filled with lace and silk.

Every single pair of your panties you’ve left for him are in this drawer, along with the Polaroids stacked neatly. Upon closer inspection you notice that they’re covered not just in your cum, but his too. It has your pussy nearly dripping, you were already wet from the minute you saw him earlier tonight but now you can feel your slick dripping down your inner thighs, causing them to stick together under your micro dress. You have to practically drag yourself away from the sight of your underwear under lock and key, almost like they’re treasure, covered in a mixture of Rafe's cum and your own.

You look around the rest of the space and the entire span of the closet is lined with his clothes hanging on wracks. One side is clearly business attire and the other is more casual. Though there isn’t a huge difference, you’ve never seen Rafe in jeans and a t-shirt. You can’t decide if the thought is more sexy or comical. It’s hard to imagine him being well, relaxed. You grab a black button up before exiting the closet, undoing the buttons as you go. A thousand dirty fantasies run through your mind as your eyes roam over the king sized bed. But there’s one you can make a reality right now. The whole reason you came in here. You grab one of his silk pillows and wrap his shirt around it before placing it in the middle of the bed. You turn around to grab your Polaroid out of your bag and then crawl onto the mattress, mounting the pillow. You don’t bother taking your fuzzy platform heels off either, he can sleep on the grime from the bottom of your shoes along with the juices from your pussy for all you care.

You start off slow, running your hands along your body, groping your tits through the faux leather of your dress, imagining that they’re Rafe’s much larger hands. It doesn’t take you long to get worked up, your juices starting to make the cloth underneath you slick. You're so wet that when you start to jerk your hips back and forth on the pillow that you practically glide. The lace of your thong gets pulled tighter, adding extra pressure to your puffy clit. Your dress rides up your hips, revealing your ass and the plush of your thighs as your hips start to speed up. Once you start to really get into it you pull your panties to the side and yank the zipper that goes all the way down the front of your dress down your chest so your tits can spill out. You switch up the movement of your hips every few moments, rotating between using the pillow for leverage and running your hands down your body.

You start to get so lost in the throes of pleasure you almost forget where you are entirely until your white sock covered shin smacks against your pink polaroid camera. You smirk to yourself in remembrance as you pluck it from the bed and turn it on. You hold it above yourself while you press your tits together and spread your legs far enough to show your mound on top of his shirt and snap a photo. You take more than one this time, using almost the entire roll taking pictures of your body from various angles. You shove your fingers in your mouth. Take photos of your tiny thong string nestled between your ass. You even take one with his shirt held up between your teeth. That ends up being the last photo because the smell of his cologne hits your nostrils and it has you inhaling deeply while your hips start to subconsciously grind down again.

Rafe practically felt like a madman as he tried for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes to get out of this conversation with your father and their business partner. Every single time he tried to slip away he was pulled back in somehow. But that didn’t stop his eyes from traveling to the tantalizing view on his phone screen every ten seconds. He felt like a cat who caught a mouse it’s been chasing for months. All without even trying. You lead yourself into a trap he didn’t even set and it couldn’t be more fucking perfect. The fact that you had no idea that his entire house was bugged with cameras that he could see directly in the palm of his hand made his cock twitch. Rafe checked his phone the minute he got the notification that someone was unlocking his bedroom door, ready to send security up there to grab a thief. But he was oh so pleasantly surprised when he saw it was you. You weren’t like any of the other girls he’s ever seen in all his time living on this island. Your platform shoes and dark make-up were utterly enticing to him and your bratty attitude made him want to bend you over his knee until you cried. He also knew you were a naughty girl, with a dirty little secret only he knew. Rafe’s obsession for you only grew by the day and now it was at an all time high.

He decided to let it play out for a bit. He watched as you surveyed his blank walls and rummaged through his drawers. Then you made your way into the bathroom and he watched as you greedily inhaled his colognes and body washes. You went into his closet and somehow unlocked his jewelry case. He’d have to figure out how you managed to learn his key codes later. His heartbeat sped up when you reached for the second drawer but the way you looked down at the trophies you had ever so graciously gifted him with elation only made his appetite for you nearly unbearable. What really sent him over the edge though was how you were currently strandling his pillow as you bucked your hips with his shirt held to your nose.

The entire scene had him losing his mind with lust and you just kept taking it further. He watched you pull your tits out, the way you took all those slutty pictures for him and he wished more than anything in the world he could turn his phone up to full volume so he could hear the pretty little moans leaving your lips. He could tell from the avid speed of your hips and the way your eyes are rolled back that you’re close to your end and he’ll be damned if he isn’t there to see it. He finally excuses himself under the guise of having to go to the bathroom and slips up the large staircase with ease.

You're so close. The pace of your hips is so quick that the entire bed shakes underneath you as delicious euphoria is seconds away. You have the corner of Rafe’s shirt grasped tightly in your fist as you hold it up to your nose. The cloth is pulled taunt against your clit just right, drool drips down your chin onto the black material as you take in Rafe’s scent. Heat washes over you and you moan with reckless abandon, too lost in your tidal wave of an orgasm to care if anyone can hear you.

“I knew you were a dirty girl, but this is even better than anything my mind ever could’a dreamed up…” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you practically scream and you clutch his shirt over your chest on instinct. Your entire body heats as you take in his large form leaning against the closed bedroom door. His arms are crossed and he has probably the most smug smirk you’ve ever seen in your life painted on his face as he looks over at you through hooded eyes.

“Rafe! I - aren’t you supposed to be hosting a party?” You scoff and roll your eyes, clearly trying to change the subject when you’re the one who broke into his room.

“Well… you see…” Rafe stalks over to you like a predator that caught his prey and stops at the end of the bed. He places his large hands on the mattress so he can lean down only inches from your face, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes travel down your body before connecting with your own. “This little unassuming mouse wandered into my den without even considering that I have eyes on every inch of this house.”

“How - how long have you been watching?” You clutch onto the shirt tighter, hiding your boobs and bare pussy even though he’s already seen both on multiple occasions. Something about him knowing it was you was making you suddenly nervous.

“Oh, sweetheart, I get a notification when someone opens that door… I saw everything. What do we have here?” His eyes are blue fire as they land on the Polaroids and he picks one up with delight before picking up another and another until he’s seen every single one. He sets them aside in a neat stack before abruptly gripping onto the shirt covering you and ripping it down your body with a growl. You gasp in surprise and use your arms to cover your nipples while slamming your legs shut. “Oh, no, none of that. Don’t get all shy on me now, I’ve already seen it all.” Rafe grabs the pillow and pulls it from underneath you causing you to fall backwards on the bed onto your ass. “Would you look at that…” He looks down at the pillow with hungry fascination as a low groan rumbles through his chest. You watch as he runs the pad of his finger through the creamy wetness before bringing it to his mouth and holding eye contact with you as he sucks it between his lips. His eyes immediately roll back when your taste hits his tongue. “Fuckin’ delicious. But I’m always tastin’ you secondhand.. I can’t wait to taste that sweet pussy directly from the source.”

You’re utterly stunned for a moment. You look up at him with your jaw hanging open while you do your best to cover your most intimate parts when all you want to do is throw your legs open and fully submit to him. You always told yourself if he ever caught you that you would make him work for it. But with the way he’s looking at you now? You can already feel yourself slipping and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Who - who said I was going to let you taste me? And what do you mean secondhand?” You tried to say it in a biting tone but your voice squeaks and betrays your facade immediately.

“Oh, little mouse… this little back and forth we’ve been playing has been fun and all. But now you’ve wandered right into my bed and I’m done playing games.” Rafe abruptly grabs onto your ankles, pulling you down to the edge of the bed until your feet are dangling off and you try to pull your knees together again but he grips onto them and pulls them back open. “Quit hiding from me.”

His hands grip tightly onto the meat of your thighs, the gold rings on his fingers pinching your skin in a way that has you holding back a moan. The look in Rafe’s eyes is nearly animalistic as he stares down at your puffy, wet pussy. Your little black thong pushed to the side, covered in creamy, white juices. His fingertips travel down your legs gripping hard enough to bruise with every inch. He brings his thumbs to the crevices of your thighs and presses his fingers hard on either side of your folds, pushing your pussy lips together. You can’t hold in the tiny mewl that leaves the back of your throat. He punches your slick cunt together roughly a few times before pulling you apart. Your pussy clicks for him from your wetness as he pulls you open.

“Been waiting for this moment, ya know?” Rafe runs his thumb along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing his thumbs to rub along the sides of your lips, teasing you. “I knew it was you. I had my suspicions from the beginning. Ever since you walked in on me in the bathroom…”

“How?” Your voice is a broken whisper, any thoughts of fighting back slipping further and further from your mind. Embarrassingly enough, you feel like you could come from just this.

“Well, I was almost positive after that cute little cherry thong…” Rafe grazes over your clit for just a moment before going back to teasing you. “Earlier that day you were wearing these sexy little jeans and when you bent over I got a view of that same thong. Then, to my surprise, the very same pair ended up in my office later that day.” He presses hard on your clit, giving it a few strokes and you think his teasing has finally come to an end but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. And he goes back to teasing your pussy tantalizingly. “But then, about a week later I saw you sneaking out of my office and I decided to let you get away with it.”

“You decided?” You push yourself up on your elbows and scoff with your eyebrow raised, your irritation with him returning. Rafe just smirks before shoving his thumb knuckle deep in your pussy and curving it against your walls. It makes your eyes roll back while you wriggle underneath him.

“Yes, princess, I decided.” His other thumb presses on your clit hard but doesn’t move. “Once I was positive it was you, I wasn’t ready for it to stop. Especially once you started leaving those little pictures for me. Who knew you were such a dirty slut.” He pulls his fingers from you before landing a harsh smack on your clit causing you to yelp.

“So you knew it was me and didn’t say anything? And then proceeded to keep them in a treasure box and jerk off all over them? Pervert.” Rafe slaps your pussy again, three times in succession.

“Stop being a fuckin’ brat. If I’m a pervert, what does that make you, huh?” He slaps your pussy even harder and then brings both of his hands down on your inner thighs with a loud smack. “Leaving me your panties, takin’ dirty photos for me, I saw you inhaling my cologne like it was a line of coke. And now I caught you in my bed, coming all over my pillow. You’re a nasty. Little. Girl.” He punctuates each word with a slap to your cunt and you can’t help but moan loudly for him.

“Yeah? Well you’re a nasty old man.” Your chest heaves but you still manage to paint a cheshire smirk on your face, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you use the last of your resolve against him.

“You know what? I’m sick of your bratty fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe grips onto the thin strings of your panties and pulls them down your legs before balling them up and shoving them in your mouth. The sudden intrusion makes you gag, but it’s not unwelcome. The act of dominance and the taste of yourself on your tongue has any and all attitude in you evaporating from your body. He grabs your chin and roughly shakes your head side to side. “That’s better. You gonna be a good girl and let me taste that perfect cunt now or do I need to beat the attitude out of you?”

You moan around the lace in your mouth and drop your knees to the sides, offering yourself to him. Rafe looks at you devilishly as he lays on his stomach on the mattress and throws your legs over his shoulders. He runs his nose along your inner thigh as he takes in your sweet scent before hovering over your pussy and inhaling deeply.

“Smell so fuckin’ sweet, bet you taste even sweeter.” The flat Rafe’s runs through your folds up to your clit before circling it a few times. He nips it with his teeth and shoves his tongue as far as it can go inside of you causing you to cry out and arch your back off the mattress.

“Quit wiggling.” Rafe growls into your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His large hand splay on your hip, holding you down as he eats you like a man starved. He circles two fingers at your entrance before pressing them knuckle deep inside of you. He caresses your sweet spot while sucking your clit into his mouth and it has an explosion of pleasure washing over your body as your orgasm consumes you.

Rafe pulls off of you when you come down from your high and brings the fingers that were just inside you to his chin dripping with your juices. He smears it around before sucking his fingers clean, groaning like he just ate the best meal of his life. He leans forward and plucks the panties from your mouth before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is dominating and he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swirling it around and coating your taste buds with your own cum. He leans back to admire you and he feels like his cock is going to burst. Your hair is a mess, your dark lipstick is smudged and slick, and the zipper on that tight little dress is barely hanging on. Your tits are on full display as you lay like a perverted little angel with your legs spread beneath him.

“God damn. I’ve gotta fuck that pussy, baby.” Rafe pulls the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down before leaning up on his knees and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Take that shit off. Leave the socks and shoes though.”

He licks his lips as he continues to unbutton his shirt while his eyes practically swallow you whole. You quickly rid yourself of your dress and push yourself up onto your knees to watch him undress. You have to stop yourself from jumping him when he gets his shirt all the way off, his perfectly toned body towering over you. When he gets his pants down enough to get his cock out you can’t even hold in your gasp. He’s huge. So thick you aren’t sure you could wrap a single hand around him and so long that you aren’t sure if you could take him all down your throat.

“Fuck. I don’t know if that’s going to fit…” Your eyes are the sizes of saucers as you stare at his cock with your jaw slack. Those words make Rafe feel like he’s going to go insane and his hand flies to your hair, grasping onto it at the nape of your neck and yanking your head back.

“Oh, it’ll fit.” His tongue slides over his teeth and he takes his shaft in his hand so he can rub his precum along your lips, adding to the mess. Rafe uses his grip on your head to manhandle you onto your back before throwing your legs over his shoulders. He smirks down at you while he pumps himself in his hand. “You want it?”

“Yes, fuck. I want it so bad.” You tilt your hips towards him searching for any kind of friction but his hand presses down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“Oh, come on, baby doll. You can do better than that. How bad do you want it?” He taps the head of his cock against your clit a few times before running it through your folds. You try to angle your hips to push him further inside of you and he just tuts at you like you did something naughty before pulling his cock away entirely. “Let me hear it, beg.”

“Please, daddy, I want it so bad.” Rafe breathes out heavily through his nostrils and grips onto your throat, leaning down so his face is inches from yours.

“Oh, little mouse.. you’re just full of surprises, huh? I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” Rafe chuckles darkly and leans back up onto his knees, positioning his cock at your entrance. He presses his head into you and he’s so thick you already feel so full by the time he’s only a few inches in.

“Oh, god. I don’t - I really don’t know if it’s all going to fit.” The air is nearly taken out of your lungs when he thrusts his hips forward and you’re sure he’s all the way inside of you now but he pulls almost all the way out before slamming his cock into you to the hilt with his hips flush against yours. “Holy shit, oh my god.”

“I thought you wanted it so bad, now you’re whining that it won’t fit? I’m gonna fuckin’ make it fit and you’re gonna take it like the dirty little slut you are.” Rafe rams his hips into yours at a brutal pace as he grips onto your throat again and squeezes tightly. His free hand comes to rub circles on your clit and it makes your vision blur. “Yeah fuckin, take it. You gonna come for me? I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Yes, fuck daddy, please make me cum.” Your voice is a broken sob as your makeup smears messily down your face. “I’m so fucking full.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sweet thing. Give me your cum.” That’s all it takes to have an all consuming orgasm washing over you. Your walls convulse around Rafe’s thick length and he picks up his thrusts, chasing his own high. He uses his grip on your throat to press you down into the mattress and your legs fall down onto his hips. You lace them around him and this new angle has him hitting so deep you swear you’re going to feel him for days. The hand not on your throat hooks onto your bottom teeth, pulling your jaw open so he can spit on your tongue. You swallow without asking and then suck his fingers into your mouth greedily.

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, ya know that? Letting your dad’s boss fuck you till you cry while he’s right down stairs. Leaving me your little fuckin’ panties. This perfect god damn pussy.” Rafe is babbling like a man possessed as he pumps into you hard and deep until his cock starts to twitch inside you. He growls as he fills you with ropes of his cum. When he pulls out you feel nearly hollow and then he shoves his fingers knuckle deep inside of you, collecting some of his cum on his fingers. You pull his hand back to your mouth and lick his fingers, moaning at your combined tastes.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you, little mouse.” Rafe stares down at you with a hunger that’s laced with obsession and you don’t even care because you’re just as obsessed as he is. “You’re mine now.”

Taglist: @nemesyaaa @strawberrydolly333 @sturnioloshacker @loserboysandlithium @gri959 @rafeinterlude @xoxohoneymoongirl @tacymbcm @bunnies-p1tst0p @starkeysprincess

Dividers by @anitalenia