#but you know what. then i remembered that i also turned out fucking weird. i just hide it slightly better in public situations
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Sooooo... Birthday with ex-husband!Eddie!! I had this idea laying around, and since I still have to finish my thesis and I'm in the middle of moving, it was the perfect time to spend three hours writing this. I didn't have it in me to come up with a title, sorry.
I feel like this man feels like he lives in a movie. Also, he's just uncapable of leaving his love alone. I really missed him.
Ex-husband!Eddie loves being a rockstar. It has so many perks. Like thousands of people absolutely loving you. Fans who would devote their time and effort to him if he asked them to.
To be fair, he doesn’t usually take advantage of that. But sometimes he can’t stop himself. Especially when it’s about you.
Eddie was always great at gifts. It’s easy when he spends so much time thinking of you. He knows everything there is to know- and then a little more, because he knows even the things you don’t realize about yourself. And he’s a showman.
So it shouldn’t be as much of a surprise when, on your birthday, you turn the radio on to a cover of your favorite song by Corroded Coffin. Which is weird because your usual radio station doesn’t play music. That is actually the reason why you chose it- no ex-husband singing metal at 7 a.m. when you’re driving the kids to school.
Except it is a surprise.
One that goes on the whole day. First, when you change the station- once, twice, five times- and realize the goddamned song is playing in every fucking station. Okay. It’s okay, because you’ll pretend you didn’t notice. And you’ll turn the traitor radio off as soon as it ends. You won’t take any chances to find out what's playing next.
It happens again when you come out of the grocery store to a gigantic bouquet of your favorite flowers on top of the hood of your car. And when you look into your grocery bags and find your favorite ice cream with a little note that says “Happy Birthday!” on it, written in an awfully messy handriting you'd recognize anywhere; it's on your marriage certificate, after all. You didn’t buy ice cream. They don’t even sell this brand in the state: it’s Hawkin’s very own local ice cream shop recipe. Hadn’t the place shut down a few years back, anyway?
You seriously dread getting home after that. Who knows what Eddie might be up to? Because of course it’s him. As if it could be Jay, the guy you had dinner with a few times in the last month- who had failed to remember you were a vegetarian after sharing four meals. You hate that it’s him. You hate that he has the means to orchestrate this. The money, the time, the desire to do it.
Luckily- as if he knew your patience would be running short- your home is exactly as you left it. Maybe a little bit cleaner, but that’s probably just your paranoia.
Until you sit on the couch to reply to all the birthday texts and your finger slips and opens TikTok.
Rookie mistake.
You find yourself lost in a sea of stupid, viral, brand-new edits. It’s not new to have Corroded Coffin’s fans wish you a happy birthday, but this… This is a whole new level. And it’s a little terrifying, because there are videos of you blushing and smelling the flowers. You kick the stupid bouquet off the coffee table where you left it. And close the ice cream container with the spoon still inside. Bastard. There are videos of Eddie singing the stupid song on a radio station, live- God, you love that song. Why did he have to do that?
And why wasn’t that enough? One would think the very public display was a thing in itself. There is no need for even more paraphernalia, right? Wrong- at least Eddie thinks so. Because he’s there- surrounded by fans who also happen to be the same age as you, and parents to the kids your children go to school with- when you go to pick them up. Eddie shouldn’t be there. It’s your turn.
But he smiles when he sees you, running to hug you as if he had just encountered a long-lost friend. You’re not friends, but he definitely lost you. And he’ll take any chance to put his head in your neck to pretend you still want him there.
Oh, and there’s also another reason this time.
Yep, the flash mob he managed to choreograph for you that need a distraction to get into formation. The school is suddenly drowned in some kind of metal ballad and the group of fanatics turn out to be a very coordinated ballet. Eddie himself is dancing. Is that a microphone taped to his cheek? The bastard is live-singing while he dances.
Eddie grabs your hand and makes you spin like a million times. You clearly don’t know the choreography, but he’s just so good at making you hit the marks that it ends up looking seamless.
It’s easy for Eddie to forget. Dancing with you always feels like being by Lover’s Lake- like he’s never left, like he isn’t a day over eighteen. Like you’re still there to laugh at his missteps. Like home is still a person in his life. It’s so easy to forget about the times he wasn’t there to dance with you in the kitchen. The times where his missteps where just things you had to push through, things you had to fix, things that made you cry of exhaustion.
Especially when you smile at him without even realizing. That’s a special smile right there. The first and only Wonder of Hawkins: your happiness. He thanks a God he doesn’t believe in that he can still write a half decent song for your birthday. Eddie faintly wonders if he could do this for you once a week, and quickly decides it’s just not possible. He needs to see you smile once a day, at the very least.
It's not the first time he’s had that thought. Actually, Eddie screwed things up just one time less than he’s thought about your laugh. Guess he always has tomorrow to even the scores.
The music ends and he dips you.
It physically hurts, seeing the way you let yourself go in Eddie's arms. How stupidly you trust him. Even after everything. You seem to think the same, because you straighten up and fix your shirt in an attempt to step away from him.
It doesn’t work. It never does.
That night, Eddie cooks for everyone- everyone being you and the kids. It’s your favorite, and you're even wearing a cozy pijama instead of being all dolled up in a fancy restaurant. You have plans to do that on the weekend with your friends, anyway. Not like he knows that. Not like he needs to. You enjoy the homemade meal; the kids chat the whole time and Eddie pretends to eat. Then he brings out another impossible treat- Wayne’s two ingredient chocolate mousse, the one that requires off brand chocolate, only sold in Meldval’s General Store. He lit a candle, and all of them sing Happy Birthday in perfect tune.
After that, Eddie takes the kids to bed. It’s a weekday, after all. Not everyone has the eclectic schedule of a rockstar.
When Eddie comes back, you’re piling the dishes in the sink. It’s almost laughable, how he always ends up giving you more work, even if he’s just trying to make things about you. He pleads for you to let him clean. Just this once, you let him.
Instead of leaving to get ready for bed, you stay. Sitting atop of the counter. Again, Eddie has the weird feeling that he went back in time while dreaming. He remembers a night like this. It probably ended with you sleeping on his chest. He also remembers all the late nights he came home to you sleeping alone. Eddie cleans faster. This time, you don’t seem to care.
He tries to fill the silence telling you how Gareth sends his love, and all the stupid birthday gifts ideas he had to ban Dustin from bringing to fruition. You listen in silence. It’s like watching a black and white T.V. show. It looks like real life, even sounds like it. But there’s a clear difference.
Eddie finishes the dishes and goes on to clean the entire kitchen. At some point, even he lost track of what he was talking about. You keep quiet. He runs out of things to clean. It doesn’t feel as if he got rid of any part of the mess he made. You don’t look at him.
It’s almost twelve, if the kitchen clock hasn’t run out of batteries again. Maybe he should replace them soon. If you haven’t yet. You probably have. Never needed him to keep things working.
Eddie knows it’s late. As in, you should be sleeping already. So he goes to grab his jacket.
But you say “Thank you”.
Many things he doesn’t know. He never knew how to stop being a disaster. Never knew to be home on time, to get his life together, to be better. He also doesn’t know how to say no. Or how to stop himself.
One thing he knows is you.
As usual, it ends up great for him. His arms on your waist and back, his body between your sheets. He’s wearing an old t-shirt of his that evolved into your pajama. You smell like warmth. Your hair is soft against his clavicles, your weight stops his mind from wandering around like it usually does. It’s the right thing to do. After all those nights you fell asleep alone. The least he can do is lend you his chest to sleep tonight. Happy Birthday.
As usual, it ends up terribly for you. Your hands tug on his shirt, and this time he’s actually there. Eddie’s breathing cradles you to a calm night of sleep. You’re finally comfortable in that awfully big bed. Things aren't black and white anymore. It’s the worst thing he could have done. After all those nights you slept alone. The least he could do is leave you to try and fix yourself once and for all. Instead, he tried being nice again. And here you are, the next morning, having to clean up the mess he left.
#fanfiction#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#ex-husband!eddie#lennadanvers#eddie munson x you#eddie x reader#eddie munson x y/n#ex husband!eddie munson#angst#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#fluff#hurt#st#corroded coffin#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic
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CHAPTER TWENTY.ᐟ ── yeah i'm goated ik
SYNOPSIS: you and jay have been at each others throats for the whole time you've been enrolled at decelis university. the reason for the rivalry in question? the #1 rank on the academic leaderboard in the university. you went through your whole high school life being #1 on the academic leaderboard. you meet jay, who also had the same upbringing in high school. things then start to turn into a constant battle. leaving you constantly in second place and jay in first place every rank update.
word count; 2,471
“god what a mess…” leaning against the rough wall of the house i let out a stressed sigh.
being here at youngji’s party was a way for me to not think about addressing the conversation heeseung and i should have. but here i was once again avoiding him and the whole situation. my fingers comb through my hair as i frantically think about what to do now. keeho was right i shouldn’t have avoided the inevitable conversation for this long… why didn’t i just do the right thing and talk to heeseung right away. if i did i would have been able to enjoy this party. instead of being outside hiding from him… mentally beating myself up i was unaware of the sound of approaching footsteps.
“hey.”
my body jumped at the sudden deep voice. as well as a small yelp coming out from my mouth at the shock. my thoughts began to run about fearing that the person standing next to me could be heeseung. sooner or later i was gonna have to face the problem, but i didn’t think it would be while i frantically thought about it. slowly turning my head to the unknown person, a sigh of relief left my lips.
it was jay.
“god you fucking scared me.”
“sorry that’s my fault.”
“what do you want jay…” the tone i had towards him sounded cold. i softly bit my lip at the realization of the way i sounded
“i saw you out here all by yourself and wanted to check on you.” jay’s tone sounded unsure and regretful. in many ways it made me feel guilty for how i spoke to him. before i could say something else jay spoke up again.
“truthfully i’ve been worried about you… you haven’t been at the council meetings for a week. you’ve never missed a week worth of meetings before…” his voice trailed off as he realized he started to speak too much on the matter.
my eyes scanned him in confusion. jay had been a jackass for all i could remember. but lately he had been acting weird. sending me texts messages and then now showing concern for me.
“well truthfully to me why does it bother you?” i crossed my arms while raising my eyebrow at him.
i noticed jay letting a deep sigh out as he readied himself for what he wanted to say.
“look. yn. i know we’re not on good terms. i don’t blame you for being avoidant towards me. first i wasn’t nice about the ranking to begin with. second i created a meaningless competition between us when in reality i should’ve been way nicer from the start. not just with the rank but with you as well…”
my body froze in place as i listened to jay word vomit an apology towards me. out of everything that’s happened within the last two weeks. jay apologizing had to be the last thing that would go down these past two weeks. funny enough i listened attentively to his words.
“i’ve been a jackass from day one and i just really regret it. especially after i saw the way jake talked about how serious you take the rank. it made me reflect a lot on how i treated you and how i acted in council meetings as well. i’m really sorry yn truly…” jay’s head hung low as he stopped talking. i could tell he was worried about how i would react to his apology.
out of everything i had to hand it to jay. apologizing face to face takes a lot of courage. even though the action was small it made me find a new respect for jay. which was ironic compared to me not facing heeseung at all. i let the silence simmer a bit more before i eventually said something.
“thank you for the apology. honestly i’m a bit shocked. didn’t expect an apology from park jay at a lee youngji party.” i stifle out a small laugh as i remember where we are. jay laughed nervously as he too realized how bizarre the scenario was.
looking over to notice the way jay rubs his neck nervously had me smiling. in that short moment i couldn’t help but think jay was being cute. shocked at my own thoughts i mentally swat my thoughts away ignoring it entirely.
“does that mean we can be friends?”
my eyes met jay’s as he asked the question. his expression was so different then the one he usually had. it was more of a cat giving cute eyes versus the sharp look he always has. deep down i knew jay was genuinely serious.
“yes we can. but it’s gonna take me a bit to get used to this okay?”
jay shook his head happily hearing me agree to being his friend. seeing how much it made him happy made me smile once again at him. i noticed the way jay looked off into the distance noticing something or perhaps someone.
“oh i see heeseung do you want me to get him?” jay suddenly pointed to the end of the house. focusing my eyes on the figure at the end it was indeed heeseung.
“no don’t!” my voice was a bit loud as i answered jay in a bit of a panic. my hands were placed in his viewpoint as i waved no to him.
jay dropped his arm to look at me confused. my mind raced as i tried to find an excuse without truly letting jay know the real reason.
“i thought you guys were a thing?”
“uh it’s complicated right now…”
“do you wanna talk about it?” jay’s voice was filled with genuine concern as he noticed my mood drop.
a debate went off in my head at jay asking if i wanted to talk about it. i would love to talk about it. but i was unsure of telling jay about what exactly happened. but what else could i say to give the excuse of the quote on quote complication between me and heeseung. this was also something i didn’t want jake sharing with sohee, seunghan and sunghoon. but maybe. if jay was serious about being my friend i can test his trust with the truth behind everything. it was a lot to bet on, but part of me knew i needed to at least give jay some benefit of the doubt that he was serious about his apology and wanting to make amends.
“if i tell you. you have to promise not to tell anyone. i’m trusting you with this jay…”
“of course..” his voice was more serious. it made me feel better about telling jay and trusting him.
“i don’t wanna say it here though. can we go for a bit of a walk?”
jay nods his head in agreement and turns to start walking down the drive way. following close behind i quickly catch up to the side of him. as we walk a bit down the sidewalk in silence i finally speak up.
“okay… so the reason why it’s complicated between me and heeseung is because my uncle and his mom are getting married…” my pace slowed as i mustered out the sentence. jay matched my pace quickly. the air was silent as he processed the information.
“so that’s why you’ve been missing the meetings. you’re avoiding heeseung because of the fact you found out you were romantically into your soon to be cousin.”
i let out a groan of embarrassment as i relive the memories of what had happened two weeks ago.
“god i can’t believe i told you. you can laugh if you want.” my hands covered my face. stopping in my tracks i stand there as i wait for any kind of laugh to escape jay’s lips. i couldn’t help but once again mentally beat myself up.
“what’s there to laugh about? i’m sure you were really embarrassed… have you tried talking to him yet?”
my eyes widened at the way jay didn’t stifle out a teasing laugh or make jabs at the situation. not to mention he was spot on with how i had felt. it made me feel a bit happy to know that i wasn’t truly crazy for feeling the way i did.
“uh no…. i havent.”
“you should really try talking to him yn.. im not the best of friends with heeseung per say. but i’m sure he wants to figure it out with you. i’m positive he won’t have any ill intent about it. besides. maybe he’s embarrassed too. since the situation does go both ways…”
“fuck you’re right, why didn’t i stop to think how he felt too. i’m such an asshole oh my god… heeseung is a sweet guy he doesn’t deserve how i acted. i’ve just been too afraid to face it. but the more i ignore the situation the more im gonna hurt him too... who knew talking to you about this would make me feel better?”
“don’t know. must be a secret talent i have.”
“yeah okay.” i laugh as i roll my eyes at jay’s response.
“hey. since you told me that. i’ll share a secret with you too.”
“what is it?” my curiosity was peeked leaving no hesitation for me to ask about it right away.
“well first i can’t really say it. i’ve gotta show it to you.”
“you’re not gonna take me anywhere weird are you? keeho told me to be careful of weirdos.”
“first of all ouch. can’t believe you think i’m a weirdo now.”
“well if the shoe fits park jay.”
“second, you just gotta trust me on it okay?”
“fine. but the minute it is something weird i’m telling jake.”
jay had told me we would have to turn around and head back to the house and take his car. i was still standoffish but jay swore it was because where he wanted to take me wasn’t within walking distance. as we got back we bolted down the sidewalk in front of youngji’s house to get to the car. hoping to not be possibly spotted by heeseung. once settled inside the car i turned to jay to ask him something.
“if you took your car here. how are sunghoon and the other two gonna get home?”
jay started up the car as he laughed at my question.
“eh they’ll figure it out.”
the drive was silent but short. it was a nice type of silence, not too awkward but also comfortable enough to enjoy. jay ended up parking the car infront of a studio apartment complex.
“where are we?” getting out of the car i looked around the area. it was an unfamiliar neighborhood but i could tell by the street names it was close by the university.
“just wait yn. you’re not the patient type are you?”
“okay let’s calm down.”
escorting me into the lobby we headed straight to the elevator. once on the correct floor jay stepped out first ushering me to follow behind him. he stopped at one of the doors and pulled out a pair of keys.
“i’m pretty sure some of them are home.”
“who?”
jay didn’t answer my question as he continued to unlock the door. once entering i immediately noticed the drum set as well as a keyboard, two guitars, and bass settled up in the living room. taking off my shoes i walk over slowly to eye the instruments. unaware of anything else around me i nearly screamed at a unfamiliar voice breaking the silence in the air.
“jay? i thought you were busy tonight? and who is this?”
heart thumping in my chest i turn my head shakily to see a man with ash blonde hair sitting on the couch. he looked to be around my age as well. then i noticed the three other people sitting on the couch.
“ooooooh jay brought a girl over.” this time a man with longer black hair spoke up. his voice came off teasing to poke fun at jay.
“kai it’s not like that.” jay sighed out as he placed his jacket on the kitchen counter.
“so then who is she?” someone else spoke up this time. he also had black hair like the one named kai. but his hair was more shorter along with a very noticeable mole under his eye.
“she’s a friend from university.”
“never thought we’d see the day of jay introducing us to his friend from college!” the blonde haired guy sounded joyful but also held a teasing tone as well.
still confused on who these random people were. i tug onto jay’s arm having him look down at me. my eyes said it all to him. i wanted jay to explain to me what was going on. clearing his throat he spoke up.
“yn. i want to introduce you to my band mates.”
“band mates?!” my voice came out shocked and confused. i had zero recollection of jay being apart of a band.
“yeah. the one that scared you earlier is beomgyu. heuningkai is the one with the longer black hair. the other black haired guy is taerae. and then you have taerae’s little brother yujin.”
i took note of everyone’s appearances and names to remember. didn’t wanna make another embarrassing memory for myself by forgetting their names.
“it’s nice to meet you guys i’m yn.”
“it’s nice to meet you to! also yn you can call me hyuka!” heuningkai beamed as he rushed to stand infront of me and shake my hand enthusiastically.
“but jay i didn’t know you were in a band. i’ve never heard jake or the others mention it.” i leaned over to jay as i asked about the new learned information.
“yeah this is more of a on the side hobby thing.”
“we’re his side pieces he’s ashamed of.” the person who was named taerae pretended to wipe tears away from his eyes as he faked having his feelings hurt. jay let out a chuckle and rolled his eyes at taerae’s playful demeanor.
“so they don’t know then?”
“no not really. i don’t know why i never disclosed it to them. maybe having a secret band made it more fun in a way?” jay laughed a little as he finished his sentence.
“so since you told me your secret. here’s me showing you mine.”
i looked at him a little shocked that he would be so open with sharing this type of secret let alone information with me. he really was serious about making amends between us then. in some way it also made me happy that i was the only person in his life at college that knew about it.
“so what’s the band called?” my eyes gleamed with curiosity as i waited for jay’s reply.
“the band is called toenze.”
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a.note; okay was a bit iffy on this development of the story. but honestly adding toenze is a nice touch. erm i still need to figure out how to implement them a bit in the future so if you're wondering why i haven't updated the mlist chapters that is why. i was in a slump. but i am pushing the story out cause i wanna still stick to the schedule i have and stuff. but enough yapping hope y'all liked this chapter :3
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#myjjongie#myjjongie fighting for first#enhypen#enhypen social media au#enhypen smau#jay x reader#enhypen jay x reader#jay smau#enhypen x reader#park jongseong#park jongseong x reader#enhypen writers#enha x reader#park jay x reader#jay social media au#enhypen texts#park jongseong smau#enha jay x reader#enha jay#enhypen series
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Summary: During a party you're attending with Byung-hun, you run into an old flame. Thanks to a little too much booze you end up kissing him, but you are caught. Obviously, Byung-hun isn't too happy with this situation and he decides to teach you a lesson about who you belong to when you get home. Tags: Dom/sub, Knifeplay, Blood Kink, Restraints, Riding Crops, Spanking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fear Play, Butt Plugs, Slapping, Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Scarification, Marking, Explicit Language, Dirty Talk, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane Notes: This is meant as a fictional scenario and is not meant to reflect any sort of real life situation. It should be considered as extremely alternate universe.
"What is it about him huh? You couldn't just stop yourself?" He demands as you get back to the house. You sigh, it wasn't just as black and white as stopping yourself but you weren’t exactly sure how to explain it. There was some kind of history there, a weird one but still there. It wasn't like it was just a superficial crush. You had gotten to know him over time and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from one little kiss. Even if you knew it was wrong since you had someone else now.
"First of all, you need to sober up," You warn and head for the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water. He follows after you close behind; you know he’s not happy but you also understand why. You know the booze is making him more riled up than he normally would be, and that is only going to make it much harder to talk to him. You turn and hold the water out to him, he glares at you but takes it anyway. "Secondly, I mean okay he's an old friend, someone that I knew before I ever you and I still do happen to find him very attractive. Yeah, it’s stupid I may have had a crush on him at some point, I guess those feelings came back up. Happens to the best of us. He was a bad boy and I was young and stupid but I like that whole-"
"A bad boy..." He cuts you off as he opens the bottle of water, "That guy, that pretty guy in the suit, a bad boy?"
"Maybe, at one time, it was just a fantasy I guess. Obviously I wouldn't like him if he were really a-"
"Psycho killer is that what you want now?" He asks then takes a few gulps of water and moves to the counter pulling a knife from the wooden block where it’s sitting. He turns towards you holding it up to your face. "I can give you psycho killer, I'm fucking Lucifer if that’s what you want.”
"I-"
"You...your the one who gave me my power little girl." He grins. You can’t deny what he’s doing is really hot. It isn’t giving you a dangerous vibe at all, he knows you like this because you had flat out admitted it to him in a hot tub one night. Your fantasy, how badly you wanted it. The whole thing about pushing it to the extreme and not stopping unless you use the safe word. Though he is upset, or had been, you can see the shift. The air has changed. For whatever reason this had stirred up that part of him that feels he could fulfill the fantasy you have. Perhaps what it took to spark this feeling was seeing you do that. Kiss another man.
"My fantasy was about an actual human, not the devil." You say softly after another moment. "Also to be caught off guard and well...I like this whole thing but you're drunk and we shouldn't do this." It kind of pains you to say it. Boy do you want to do it. You even realize the thrill of doing it while he is less inhibited than usual, which isn’t even that much to start with. The danger of doing something that reckless is intoxicating but you know you shouldn't. It went against the rules and if they started to break the rules, then where would they be? You move past him, testing the waters a bit. Wanting to see if he remembers the rest of what you said. About not stopping until you call the safe word. No matter how much you protest. You hear him growl as you pass but you don’t hear him following. That’s kind of a bummer.
You head into the bathroom and strip out of your shoes and dress then walk over to the shower. You turn it on and step up to the sink so you can take your hair down. You’d gotten it done professionally for the party. They'd used all sorts of clips and pins and you didn't know where. It was much easier to take it down while looking in a mirror than trying to guess. As you pull the last pin from your hair the lights in there flicker and go out entirely. It wouldn't have been so bad other than the fact that it made things nearly pitch black. There is some light coming in through the window but not much.
"Byung-hun?" You call. Since it is summer and has been unusually hot, you wouldn't have been anywhere near surprised if there were rolling blackouts again. You sigh and start to blindly find your way back towards the bedroom. Eventually you find where you tossed your purse down and get your phone out. Flicking on the flashlight you shine it around the room. "BYUNG-HUN!" From outside you can hear a dog barking in the distance, though that only lasts a moment before it stops. You head out into the hallway, still just in your bra and panties. Stockings and garter belt as well. He seems to like that sort of thing so you’d worn it on purpose to the party to tease him.
Stepping into the hall you shine the flashlight one way, pausing to try to remember where the hell the fuse box is. It seems the lights are out in the entire house. You guess it could be a problem with that but maybe it was just another rolling blackout. You turn your phone so the screen is facing you, intending to Google blackouts in the area to confirm your theory. Out of nowhere, you are grabbed from behind. A leather gloved hand presses over your mouth tightly. It startles you enough to drop your phone as you are pulled back a few feet.
"I don't think anyone's here to help you. Haven't seen people around," The voice was definitely Byung-hun’s so at least that calms you. Slightly. To be fair, he'd done a good job of this and you really like the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "Now, you're going to do what I fucking say or you're going to fucking regret it. Understood?" You feel him shift and a second after that, the cold metal of a knife pressed to the side of your throat. You gasp softly, closing your eyes. He is really going for it, isn’t he?
"Y-yes..." You say into his hand even though it is considerably muffled.
"That's my good girl, now...I think we're going to start by showing me what you want to do with him hmmm? Bet you'd just love to be sucking his cock right now, huh?" He asks.
"No! I-"
"Of course you would you stupid whore..." He chuckles darkly. Oddly enough, as much as you recognized the voice as his it was still different. Like he is playing a character or something. It is deeper, smoother, much more savage. It’s just different enough to drive you crazy. You’ve never heard him speak in this manner before.
"Come on now, start walking." You don’t have a choice either way because he is so much bigger than you. You are just turned and he starts to force you down the hall towards where the bedroom is. When you are about 5 feet from the door he shoves you away from him and towards it. You stumble then turn to look back. He definitely has a knife. He must have kept it with him when you left the kitchen.
"Open it, go on." He shoves the knife in her face. You swallow hard and nod, reaching toward to grab the knob and twist it to push the door open. As it swings back he grabs you by the hair violently and pulls you inside with him, shoving you down onto your knees quickly. "Stay there, don't fucking move."
"Yes uh..."
"Sir is fine," He chuckles moving towards the dresser where you keep most of the toys you have around for fun. You turn your head to see what he’s doing. He hasn’t positioned you correctly for you to see exactly what might be going on. "DON'T FUCKING MOVE WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST TELL YOU?"
"S-Sorry." You yelp turning your head back so you are looking forward instead of over your shoulder.
"Repeat it, bitch, what did I just fucking tell you?" He insists.
"Not to move, sir." You say.
"So you can hear, good to know," He growls. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. This is far more intense than anything you’d ever experienced with him but you are loving it. You glance around the room then over to the door. Part of you wonders what he’ll do if you run. Would he keep going? Still play along? Get worse? You wait until he sounds distracted. Rifling through the items in the dresser. You scramble to your feet and yank the door open before racing out of there as fast as you can. "GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!"
You scream, tearing down the hall and going for the stairs. Just as you are about to reach them you are tackled to the ground, hard. He pins you there, pressing the palm of his hand to the side of your face. Pushing your cheek into the carpet. Your heart is pounding in your chest but she are loving every second of it.
"LET ME GO!" You scream at him, and like you mean it, trying to test him on this.
"Right, the guy with the fucking knife who came in here just to fuck that sweet ass is going to let you go. What fun would that be?" He taunts. You scream again but he just ignores it, pulling your arms back behind you and tying them in place. It seems like he more than likely had just picked up the rope when you made a break for it. Shit he is good at this.
"PLEASE! I'M SORRY!"
"Sorry about what? That you're such a goddamn, cock teasing whore?" He snarls, getting down by your face to do it, even drooling on you a bit. You cry out in disgust and he very easily pulls you up onto your feet again. You try to drag them, lock up, anything you can but it isn’t working. He is very easily able to pull you back to where you had been before because the stockings on your feet made it painfully simple to slide you around.
"What are you gonna do now? Huh? Tough guy? Hands are behind my back!" You snap at him. The door had shut behind him, and though you knew you probably shouldn't be a smart ass right now you want to test it. Since it is ultimately safe to do this with him, and you know it, you want to see what might happen. Challenge him a bit. Not letting go of you for a second he drags you into the bedroom and shoves you to your knees like he had before. "Stay the fuck there," He warns, shoving the knife in your face. "DON'T FUCKING MOVE!"
"OKAY!" You yell back. He growls again and steps away from you but only for a second. The next thing you know he is putting a blindfold over your eyes. A good one too. Something very specifically meant to block out your sight entirely. With your arms restrained as they are and this blindfold tied around your head you aren’t going anywhere he doesn’t let you, that is for sure. He pulls you back up to your feet and quite rudely shoves you onto the bed, pinning you down on your stomach.
"Now, bitch, I'm going to untie you, do not fucking try to fight me. You won't win. I'm gonna get exactly what the fuck I came here for." He warns you. You groan softly, unable to help it, as you feel the holds around your wrist release. You do jerk back and try to fight but he has you pinned too well. It only takes a few more movements to get you onto your back and yank your arms up over your head where he uses the rope to tie them in place to the headboard. "Try to get out of that you sneaky bitch."
"Let me go!" You whine loudly.
"Go? Oh I don't think so...party is just getting started sweetheart!" He says then laughs the most evil laugh you’ve heard yet. It sends chills through your body but, it doesn’t matter. You are hot. Burning. All you want is him and he probably knows it at that point. It is why he isn’t giving it to you. He is in control and he wants to prove it. He wants to win.
"Please...Master I-"
"You what?" He asks, "Think I need to teach you a damn lesson. You fight back, you run away from me and you think I'm going to be fucking nice?"
"I don't-"
"You don't what?" He snaps back at you. "Everyone saw you there tonight, you bitch...and I'm going to make sure you remember you always remember who your real Master is. Got that shit? ANSWER!"
"Yes sir!" You yell back instantly, mostly because his voice is jarring as hell. He makes it feel like your heart is going to leap right out of your throat. You only crave more.
"Good," He says, "Prepare for a night you won't soon forget, little girl." You hear him chuckle as he takes a few steps away from you. You whine loudly, a sound which only gets louder once you feel the cold metal of a blade pressing against your stomach. You shiver as he runs it over your skin. Down towards the waistband of your panties. He cuts them off roughly before pressing the flat of the blade over your clit. It is nearly enough to get you to cum but he pulls back just in time causing you to scream angrily.
"PLEASE!"
"You really think you deserve to cum that fast? Huh? Stupid bitch," He snarls and slaps your inner thigh. You squeal and struggle as he cuts off your bra next, crying out when he actually cuts you. Nothing too dangerous, feels only like a scratch. You moan, laying back, trying to relax but it is so hard. You didn't think you’d ever want to cum so badly in your life. "You look good like this, real good but you'd look even better with my initials carved into that pretty little body of yours."
"W-What?" You whisper. Oddly enough, you aren’t opposed to this. At least not in the moment but will he really do it? You are aware this is a terrible idea but fuck does it turn you on and you don’t want to stop him. You refuse to stop him. Being marked like that as his? Fuck you can’t think of a better suggestion. Plus you kind of want to see if he will do it. If he is still going by the set guidelines. Only stop if you call the safe word. Well, you weren’t going to call it just wait to see what might happen.
"Yeah how about...here?" He says moving the knife right to your neck, "Huh that would probably kill you. The blood would be amazing though...let's see...." He starts to trail the knife down towards more of the center of your chest, pressing hard enough that it was definitely leaving a mark just not slicing you open. He stops when he gets above your heart.
"Sir-"
"Shut the FUCK up you don't get a FUCKING say in this!" He roars at you. You mewl softly but shut your mouth, your hands clench into fists above your head. This is going to hurt but fuck do you want it. Will he do it though? Will he actually do it? You hold your breath. "Yes right here above that pretty little heart of yours." After that, he doesn’t hesitate to make the first cut. You scream but he just continues. You can feel the letters as he works, the shape of it. The knife is damn sharp so it is easy enough to do. The hot blood spills out over your skin. Enough to feel it but not enough that it’s gushing either. This will scar but it certainly won’t kill you. By the time he finishes you are so stunned he had actually done it you can barely speak. Your body is completely on fire with arousal. He is going to have to do very little to make you cum after that and you know it.
"There we go, much better. Now everyone's going to fucking know..." He snarls. There is a pause as he pills his gloves off. His fingers moving to dip into the blood and smear it down your chest over your stomach. You groaned, arching up towards his touch. "You're more of a fucking slut than I imagined."
"Please just-"
"What? Fuck you? Fuck you after all this shit? You think that's what you're getting? Oh no...not that easy bitch. You still gotta pay the price." He warns. "Gonna make sure you're screaming my name by the end of this, and it will only ever be my name again. Understood?"
"Y-Yes sir." You reply breathlessly.
"What name is that then? Huh?" He asks, slapping your cheeks roughly to get your attention, which is good because you were in such an aroused haze you can barely think.
“Byung-hun..."
"Damn fucking right it is." He says. You hear him take a few steps away from you, back towards the dresser before returning. "So what to do with you? Hmmm? I can see how bad you fucking wanted, I can smell it. Can't control yourself? No, no I knew that already. Little slut like you, have to watch you all the fucking time." Without any sort of warning he slaps your cunt with what feels like a riding crop he has grabbed. You squeal and twist under him before he does it again.
"I'm sorry!"
"No you're not but you're certainly going to be." He tells you, slapping you twice more. You scream in frustration. The slaps are enough to cause pleasure but the sting after takes away any ability for you to actually orgasm. You are right on the edge, trying to push up towards him but because of the stockings on your feet, you keep slipping. "You're just a worthless fucktoy you know, my worthless fucktoy. Say it!" He slaps your stomach with the crop. You let out a yelp.
"I-I'm your...your fucktoy." You breathe.
"What was that? Huh?" He demands slapping your stomach again.
"I'M YOUR WORTHLESS FUCKTOY SIR!" You scream. "That's right, here for my pleasure not yours not anyone else's but mine. Gonna learn that lesson tonight, gonna learn it real good." He says. He comes around the bed and unties you, making quick work of getting you back onto your knees. Not that you were even thinking about resisting him at that point. There is the sound of movement, you hear his slacks unzipping and he grabs the back of your head. "Open your fucking mouth." You do as you are told really easily and his cock is jammed in there seconds later.
You can feel how aroused he is by this, taste it. It only fuels you more. You try to work your mouth and tongue but he has another idea. His grip tightens and he starts to shove you down on him, then pull back. Up and down, up and down, rougher and rougher. You are gagging so harshly and so loudly you can barely catch your breath. Just when you think you might panic he stops, shoving you back. Like he can sense it somehow. You take in a gasp of air and start to cough, your hands moving up to your throat. As you try to catch your breath he yanks you up and shoves you over the bed. Pulling your hands in front of you again he restrains you so you are bent over across it, at the waist. He comes around behind you and slaps your ass roughly a few times. You cry out, jerking at the harsh treatment but, only wanting more. There is another pause and then something presses against your ass. You can feel the lube on it, and it isn’t huge. This is good cause you’d never done this before.
"Oh God..."
"What's that? You don't want this in your ass?" He asks, "You really think that shit matters right now?"
"Depends on what-"
"No...no it fucking doesn't." He cuts you off and shoves it in anyway. You scream, then moan, the moment it is in you know it is a plug. One of the smaller ones in your collection, because you hadn't really intended to use it. Even if previously you were convinced you’d hate this, at the moment it was nice. Very nice. Unexpectedly nice. Possibly because you are so damn aroused and it is some kind of penetration even if it is not the kind you want. "There we go."
"Oh God please just fuck me!" You scream, unable to keep yourself from shaking at that point.
"I really don't think you should be talking to Master that way if you want anything soon..." He warns you then slaps your ass again. You groan and press her cheek against the bed, closing your eyes tightly under the blindfold. He comes around so he is standing in front of you, using his hands to guide yours to his cock. You take it and start to stroke it firmly like he is attempting to show you to do. For some reason. "Feel this? Huh?"
"Y-Yes sir..." You whisper.
"Good, you want this? Cause you fucking did it." He growls.
"I-I know sir...please I-"
"You what? Hmmm?" He slapped her hands away, "You're a worthless fucktoy, aren't you?"
"Yes...yes sir."
"SAY IT!"
"I'm a worthless fucktoy." You breathe.
"And who does that fucktoy belong to?" He asks like he was talking to some kind of lap dog.
"You, Sir. I belong to you." You reply.
"That's my good girl." He chuckles. He steps away and you can hear his footsteps walk back around the other side of the bed then behind you. Then there is silence. A lot of it. You whine and struggle wondering what the fuck he is doing. This seems to drag on for an eternity before he grabs your hips and slams into your cunt from behind. It is enough to trigger an orgasm but he starts to pound into you relentlessly. Seeming not to actually care what you are enjoying and what you aren’t. Which only makes it better. You really were a fucktoy now but you were his. "Say it bitch...say it again..."
"I belong to…you…sir…"
"That's fucking right! WHO FUCKING OWNS YOU?"
"You do!!" You scream, your hands clenching into fists again trying to jerk upwards from the restraints.
"DAMN. FUCKING. RIGHT. IT. FUCKING. IS!" He yells back, punctuating each word with a brutal slap to your ass. He grabs your hips again, tightly enough that you are pretty sure you’ll have bruises there too. "Wanna cum again? Huh? Cum for Daddy like the worthless fucktoy you fucking are?"
"Yes-"
"What?"
"YES DADDY PLEASE!" You scream, slipping up as she you are unable to think clearly. He leans in closer to you, over you, a hand slipping under to get to your clit. He then literally bites into your shoulder, enough you feel the skin break in a few places. This coinciding with what his fingers are doing giving you the most intense orgasm you’d ever had in your life. You scream, bucking against him roughly, all the air leaving your lungs.
The very next thing you are aware of is him saying your name. Maybe. You heard his voice, not the sexy killer voice he'd been doing before but his actual voice. The fuck had happened? Had you blacked out?
"Are you okay?" This time it was far more clear.
"Shit....shit I'm fine I'm fine I swear..." You managed to spit out a moment later. "Fuck...oh god I didn't ruin it for you did I?"
"No..." He says breathlessly then you hear him laugh. The blindfold is untied from your head quickly after that. He comes around to the other side of the bed and reaches to untie you. "I uh....I mean I was paying attention but I uh...well I came right about when you did and kind of took me a moment to realize something was wrong so I mean it was great then kind of scary but not ruined."
"Oh...good." You whisper then try to stand up and immediately collapse onto the floor since your legs are too weak. He rushes over to the other side of the bed, picking you up from the floor and pulling you into his arms easily enough. You look at him, with what you assume is the dumbest smile on your face ever. "That was...amazing." You breathe.
"You're sure you're okay?" He asks, looking down at you with the most loving eyes you’ve ever seen.
"You have no idea," You whisper, "I fucking wanted that, needed it, and you delivered. You're amazing. You're sure I didn't...ruin it?"
"No...not even a little." He says and hugs you close. You wrap your arms around his neck a bit tighter, to help him out as he carries you through the door and into the bathroom. Resting against him, your eyes started to close. That had been insane, and pretty addictive. Though it wasn't something you think you really wanted to do all the time, you don’t regret a second of it. You are pretty sure that you have found the perfect match. Hopefully you’d be able to hold onto for a long time.
#hwang in ho#lee byung hun#squid game 2#squid game#RPF#I'm not sorry#Okay kind of sorry#why did I write this#feel free to ignore#fanfic
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~
#they speak!#it's probably just the illness that's making me extra irritable but like.#roommate kept coming up to me this morning going oh did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did. did i do that or no? i'm really sorry.#and i kept telling him to stop saying sorry because i didn't have the brain power to phrase#'you could've been more considerate of your volume but you also have the right to use the common space so it's whatever'#but he said it to me again before i went to my room just now and it's like. ok. shut up.#if you actually cared that much u would've just been quieter in the first place actually.#anyways. annoyed. there were some annoying customers in the store today but it was whatever.#i feel like my fucks to give had already worn out with all the ppl in my social circle/my parents and the recent ongoings of that#[redacted] was being passive aggressive to me in the group chat and it's like. ok! idk what u want from me.#and i'm grateful for them for coming over and helping me with cleaning last week#and it's those sorts of actions that let me know they care and want good things for me#but like. i haaaate telling them anything because even innocuous non-private things get turned into judgement with them.#also. more and more i can feel how i'm drifting away from h and now with retrospect i can see how we mutually hurt each other :)#i keep coming back to this one period where i really wanted to take them to try dimsum and they kept saying they were too scared to try it#and in their new friend group they regularly go out n get dimsum together. which on the surface is like. why didn't you want to go with /me#i told you i wanted to share what i liked and i would explain what things were and i could do the talking and you still said no#but it's also very much a reflection of how i always rolled over and enabled them. i never challenged them. i was always passive.#i also feel like i'm heavily neglecting e and a recently and i can tell how the physical distance is affecting us and idk. it's weird.#anyways. another post that should've been a journal entry! lol!#when [redacted] helped with cleaning they also buried my journal under my like#300 packets of sesame candies and i can't be bothered to dig it out. also my bandaids are missing now. <3#ik this also sounds passive aggressive but genuinely appreciate the help i just kinda hate how they think hidin everything in boxes is good#'we need to get you some more storage boxes and containers!!' actually i think that will be the opposite of helpful.#i need everything visible and on open surfaces so i can 1) remember they exist for me to use and 2) not have barriers for me to get to them
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it is a truth universally acknowledged that if you raise your child catholic they will turn out fucked up and strange. there are many ways in which this end can be achieved but rest assured no matter what path your child follows in life they'll always be weird about god
#ur kid can be a tortured poet (like me) or an overly eager kid who announces that they have religious trauma to the class (a classmate)#heard that guy go 'haha yeah i went to catholic school so i have that trauma' in an awkward little way to the entire class#and i thought 'my guy. don't say it like that...' (cringed)#but you know what. then i remembered that i also turned out fucking weird. i just hide it slightly better in public situations#and i definitely also talked about having beef with god in my small group discussion that day dfjgshd#bracken getting a little wild in the eyes talking about how it was never adam and eve's fault because they only learned right + wrong#from the apple. and how could they have known what was right or wrong before that. to people he met a week ago#so you know what. solidarity with me and that guy. catholic-raised kids who turned out as fucking weirdos#valentine notes#catholic tag
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sorry i just. need to rant for a second
#cause dude the whole joost situation is SO fucking upsetting#he's mentioned over and over again how overwhelming this whole overnight success thing has been for him and to respect his boundaries#and instead of yk respecting his wishes “fans” go and make things worse by constantly overstepping and being creepy and weird like hello???#like why can't we all just be normal and take a step back and enjoy things#these people are gonna end up driving him off the internet and i wouldn't blame him one bit#and the worst part is the people who should get the memo obviously don't (or refuse to) bc this isn't an isolated instance#like its been going on for a while now#idk man i just think about how hard it must be for him rn#one of the things that turned me into a joost fan (besides his music) was his personality#like i obviously dont know him on a personal basis#but from the little bits ive seen he comes across as a really genuine and sweet and kind dude#super thoughtful as well. like i just love the way he thinks and his take on things#like i remember watching his eurovision interviews and just thinking oh man this dude's a ray of sunshine LMFAO#also the literal definition of resilience like dude's been through so much stuff and hes always managed to come out on top despite of it#and thats something i really admire about him too. like the way he put it as not letting your traumas be just that#but also something that can drive you forward#but yeah dude's had more than enough like he deserves to be happy and have some peace and ppl keep ruining it for him and it makes me upset#like i actually slept like shit last night and woke up feeling terrible and i wonder if what went down yesterday w the whole live thing#has anything to do with it lmfao#and you may be like ok well youre taking it too personally and letting it affect you#and yeah maybe youre right LOL but i cant help it i care about the guy and i want him to be okay#he seems to have a really good support system though so i hope things blow over soon and he can finally have some peace#anyway. rant over! 💋#raquel speaks
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looked at old pics of myself at the wrong time and now im crying.,
#i always thot i was just kinda ugly and weird and lame and like. i wasnt. not that it would matter if i was but like. i wasnt i was just. me#in my memories im so mean to myself and then to like look back at who i was at that time is like. so hard like why was i so mean to myself#and why am i still so mean to myself. like who does it benefit to remember myself as awful and annoying and ugly and unlovable#like the only person in my life who thought i was all those things was me. like the only person that hated me that much was ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i hate it here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im fine :)#this was a nice wakeup call i suppose.#also all those old pics i looked so hot im crying actual tears im so mad i could have been getting so much pussy if i wasnt so depressed#idk im just like. trying to be nice to my inner child and my inner teenager is one thing but like. being nice to me early 20s is even harde#i always thought ppl hated me and its like no bitch..... You hated YOURSELF................... anyways im dehydrated#this blog turning 13 sent me into a real spiral ill tell u WHAT.#having spent all my formative years online to then become almost completely offline after getting a job. its drama to say grieving but like#idk it felt like looking at pics of a dead relative. like it looked like me and i could remember taking those pics. but like. thats not me.#GOD. GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD#AND ITS ESPECIALLY CRAZY TO LOOK BACK NOW HAVING GAINED ADULT BODY WEIGHT AT PICS OF ME AS A KID WHEN I THOUGHT I WAS FAT. AND I WASNT.#AGAINNNNNNNNNNN NOT THAT IT WOULD MATTER IF I WASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS#but i spent my whole life being treated as FAT without actually being fat. WHICH I AM NOW. and now im the happiest and fattest ive been.#like i actually wasnt a horrible ugly fat freak of nature. i just needed to get away from my mom#i really am rambling at this point. i know i need to Look Within and Figure Out Who I Want To Be and What Kind Of Person I Want To Become#but also i have work#and the answer is some kind of transgender. one of em. thats for sure. but like. im a waitress so like. rain check that convo....#anyways. i am not a bad person. and i wish i didnt spend so much of my life convincing myself i was. but u live and u learn i fucking GUESS
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This fucking guy
Played with a bunch of different rendering styles by drawing him a bunch, as you do.
(if you see a hand missing, uh, no you don't)
Also here's the original way the page was formated, i was working from a paper drawing but had to replace the thing in the middle (already digitalized it separately) so i tried to work shop a different placement. Still think the formatting looks weird
#Kakashi Hatake#also i spent longer in this than i should have dsjsjdj#but it was very fun!! i totally recommend doing more experimental stuff to try out brushed/filters#even if nothing looks really great#well actually the suken and Kakashi above it look fine even with the awkward positioning.#it's the two styles i'm more used to using hehe#(also i fucking love the pencil texture brushe. it's so fun to use)#i don't know what i'm talking about i'll shut up now#*Sukea#i wrote sukea as suken djdjdjjejejeje#actually should i tag him too? prolly#Sukea#'tag him too' that's the same guy you clown jjsjsjjs#alsoo if you read till here the weird shurinken one i colored in blue and used the bisel filter and the fun gradient one is a cool brush#i don't remember the name but it's towards the end of the ibispainx catalogue.#it has a fun pattern and turns into a gradient after you use it
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Oooooh I forgot how much I hate the end of Warcraft (ignoring the MMOs I don’t fuck with those djdjjd)
#hey gang- what happened to kel’thuzad???? where did he go? why was his character assassinated SO HARD?#Also hey hey hey Illidan fighting Arthus?? and not landing a single hit????? and Vashj and Kael not coming to his imidiate aid????#ALSO SYLVANUS NOT KILLING HIM???#look I’m sure some things like that get taken care off in WoW or something#but WOWZERS did that last bit of the game just feel straight up bad#like look Sylvanus can be racist because she’s complex and she isn’t a perfect hero#but I refuse to accept that five minutes after she’s freed from the Lich King’s control and goes on a whole monologue about how she is no#one’s slave- that she would turn around AND LITERALLY CALL OTHER PEOPLE HER SLAVES#LIKE SHE HAD A DEMON RIGHT FUCKING THERE- I forget his name- but have it force her hand! have the demon guy be like hey girl I know my#brothers and I know their armies and if you want even a chance against them you need more numbers#it just felt weird and bad to have her turn around and do that to other people without anyone pushing her to that??? she just did it?#and she didn’t seem the least bit remorseful???? also hey again kel’thuzad. what happened.#my favorite little guy got assassinated so hard. :(#you cannot tell me he would be friends with Arthus. you cannot tell me any sort of relationship that might have been there was not just for#him to use and manipulate. you cannot tell me he wouldn’t pry his way into the frozen wastes to get shit done and make some power plays#like nothing he has some suggests that he would just sit on the side lines and accept that he’s out of the game- he’s a goddamn lich#I’m upset djdjsjjsjsjsjs all of that felt weird and bad and I will forever be upset about the handling (or lack thereof) of kel’thuzad#and also how Vashj and Kael weren’t by Illidan’s side. they should’ve been sjsjsjjsjsjsjss it’s dumb that Arthus just got to kill him and be#done with it like. immediately#anyways I have a few complaints djdjdjjd clearly. mostly because Warcraft is a beloved childhood game and I didn’t remember the ending and#it just felt bad playing through it sjsjsjjs I love the games but o u c h was that upsetting#(also worse because kel’thuzad was my favorite and he just. wasn’t there djdjsjsjjs which I think is dumb- he’s power hungry and he deserves#to act like it. let him cause issues! more than he already has! sjsjsjsjskksksksm hhhhhhhhhhhh
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To The Devil I Know
bfd!joel miller x younger!reader
summary: your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, it's pussy spanking time again bc i do in fact like it a lot, praise/daddy kink sprinkled somewhere, reader calls him mr. miller A LOT, exhibition kink (v nasty), degradation kink (he calls her little slut), pantie sniffing, dirty talk (they have a sentence awaiting in horny jail), y/n grinds on joel's nose bc yeah i too want that, this is contradicting but lwk sub!joel bc that man's touch starved as HELL, may do a part two idk pls give it love, dad!bod joel bc i say so (yummy), no angst (wtf dilf-docs? the angst gods are so pissed off rn)
word count: 7,195 words
side note: this request got me HOOKED the moment i opened it and since i'm currently on a pedro hyperfixiation rn, we need to put the mental illness to good use. also, this is lwk based on the song by suki waterhouse devil i know! :) i'm seeing that i have two joel fics with devil in the title btw something something abt nickels and not being a lot but weird it happened twice also WE HIT 300 FOLLOWERS??? (and its 1am and i have to wake up at 4am is anyone surprised atp...)
part: prev | masterlist | next
"Sarah!" you shout, "get your ass out here you looser!"
It's probably eight in the morning, and here you are, honking and shouting in the middle of the quiet calm suburbs.
When you spot her curly head running towards you in a rush, you know she's pissed.
"Stop screaming!" she shouts back, "my neighbours will hate me"
You've known Sarah since you were kids. When you first moved to Texas, she was the only one who spoke to you in school. You grew up with her among white picket fences and scrapped knees, mantaining the friendship even as you moved away, until your return for college.
"Why would I even care? I don't live here!" you joke from the driver's seat, hopping off and giving her a hug. "I'm sorry but I can't help it. I'm just so excited for this trip, we've been planning it for ages!"
You keep talking excitedly about your plans, not noticing how her face falls.
"Yeah, about that..."
"You girls ready?" a third voice enters the picture, definitely not belonging to a girl.
"Uh, Sarah" you breath in, "Why the fuck is your dad here?"
In all his glory: Joel Miller, a guy you haven't seen in forever, too busy living in the dorms, girl dates with Sarah often out of her house. You wanted to explore the world: you weren't ten anymore, and the suburbs lost all of it's appeal they had when you were the age of Barbies and drawing on chalk.
"Listen, y/n. I tried, I really tried. But as soon as I opened my mouth, he started to pack his bags"
"Isn't your dad always busy at work?" you inquire, another one of the reasons Joel's face isn't a fresh memory in your head.
"That's part of the problem. He took all of the pending vacations he had at once" she sighs, sounding as dissapointed as you are. "I understand if you don't want to go"
"Are you being serious right now?" you chuckle dryly. "No, absolutely not. I saved for this trip, packed my favorite outfits and aced all my classes so my parents would allow me. Nothing is going to ruin this for me: not you, not your dad. So we'll go and we'll have all the fun we planned, yeah?" you express firmly, holding her hands. "We will have our girl summer, no matter what. Even if we have to ignore the elephant in the room..."
"Did you just call me fat?"
You turn around, and there he is: the uninvited. Joel Miller's aged face stands before you, strong arms flexing under the pressure of a couple of suitcases.
"No" you reply back, "just a nuissance"
He chuckles at your response, amused. "If you thought I'd let my babygirl go alone with you to the beach and get shit-faced drunk, you're not as smart as I remember, y/n"
Your name would always be on his tongue to call you out. Y/n, don't do that. Y/n apologize to the neighbours. Y/n, slow down. Y/n, don't be so stubborn. You were always a troublemaker, and his lips would only know how to pronounce your name if to berate you. But now, as his mouth says your name with a newly learned tone, dripping with dare and amusement, you can't help but feel a fire ignite that burns your skin.
"Dad!" Sarah calls out, taking you out of your thoughts. She flushes in embarrasment, and you scoff at the idea of giving too much of your time to think about Mr. Miller of all people. "I'm not ten anymore, we'll be just fine"
"You're barely of legal age!" he counters back. "What if somethin' was to happen to you, huh? I'd never forgive myself"
You get annoyed at his over-the-top reactions. What did he think you were gonna do? The wildest thing you had in mind was getting drunk while sitting in the sand. Not even in the water! You may be a wild spirit, but stupid you're not.
"Look, Mr. Miller" he cocks his head to the side, daringly so, almost as if waiting for you to try. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't Driveway Dolls" he looks at you confused, so you try again, "Or Thelma and Louise, whatever suits your fucking old ass. Alright? This is a girls trip, heard that? Just two bestfriends enjoying their youth and summer without boys around to ruin it for them"
"Boys?" he laughs. "Too bad, then, 'cause sweetheart, I'm a man"
Your breath hitches, but you're not going to let him win; you always need to have the last word.
"Well, man up and let your daughter be free for once!"
Sarah covers her face with her palms, clearly knowing her dad more. This is a lost battle.
"Stop, y/n. Please. Dad's impossible to bend"
"He's ruining our trip!" you protest, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.
"Take it or leave it" he leans against his truck, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart to the strained fabric of his sleeves, and when he chuckles, you don't know if he noticed or it's because of his imminent victory.
"Fine!" you throw your hands in the air, dramatically so. "Welcome on board, intruder"
Joel Miller smiles, and maybe it's the rare sight, not even common back in the day, that makes your heart skip a beat.
"And we're taking my truck"
"Are you being serious right now?!" Was this man going to take away all your freedom?
He laughs, mockingly. Rage bubbles in your chest, along something darker you aren't going to admit just yet.
"There is no way my daughter is going on a fucking hatchback to the beach"
You try to distract yourself talking to Sarah in the backseat, but her dad's prying glances time to time from the rear view mirror have you shifting uncomfortably on your seat.
He's persistent, always has been. Joel Miller, just as Sarah said, wasn't a man who could be bent. You'd remember thinking he was a sort of superhero: unbreakable. Whenever Sarah needed help, a pair of strong arms would be there, ready to take the weight off of her shoulders. He was now older, as you have noticed: grey and wrinkles sprayed all over his face. And now, the worst part of it all:
Age had made him infuriatingly attractive.
Unfair, you think, that a man so bitter that only seemed to worry and nag, was blessed with the rare quality of aging like wine. You can deny it anymore: whatever Joel Miller has now that he didn't before is working on you like a lovesick spell.
You look again to the front, just in time to catch one of his subtle (not really) stares. You keep the eye contact, only he tears away his gaze first, something akin to regret and fear circling on his warm brown orbs. The fire from before cracks inside of your belly, and the anticipation begins.
If he was going to ruin your trip, you might as well return the favor.
"M' gonna stop for gas" he says after some minutes of silence, deviating towards a gas station.
You take the opportunity to get out of the truck to strech your legs. Sarah does so too, but then whispers into your ear:
"Tell my dad I need to go to the bathroom. Don't want him worrying"
As if you'll talk to him. Despite that, you nod and she leaves you alone with her annoying dad.
"Reckless too, huh?" Joel appears by your side, almost making you drop your phone. "You know you're not s'pposed to use the damn phone on a gas station? Good thing I ain't let my daughter go alone with you"
You put your phone down. "Reckless? I know what I'm doing" but you sound nervous, for some reason.
"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Joel says, his voice surprisingly soft.
You heart gets stuck in your throat at the sudden shift, "I suppose not"
"I get that you hate me" he confesses, done filling the tank, "but I couldn't let the two of you go alone"
Your cheeks turn pink at the accusation, "I don't hate you"
He laughs, and the sound has something stirring in the lower of your belly. Why is Joel Miller of all people provoking feelings in you no other boy has ever provoked? You're used to playing with boys as you please, and you come to realize that's where the difference lies: you don't know how to handle a man.
A man so strong, your eyes don't leave him as his arms flex while pumping the gas, the delicious peek his simple white shirt gives you not going unnoticed; droplets of sweat on his temple, sliding down his jawline then getting lost down the crook of his neck. You lick your lips on instinct, horrified when you realize what you've just thought and done.
"Damn right you don't"
You could say you've reached some kind of truce, but then Sarah comes back, and when you look at Joel again, he's reverted to that annoying apathic state of his, but instead of bothering you, it only makes you want more.
"Hey" he says to Sarah, "where you went?"
"I had to pee, dad. Relax" she dismisses, shooting at you a can-you-believe-it look.
He walks away, ready to jump in the driver's seat again, when he turns around to whisper to Sarah:
"Don't ever leave me again" tone stern, "not with her"
But you hear.
You arrived late, the sun hiding behind the large body of water that seemed infinite.
"I can't believe we missed the first sunset!" you whine. "It was going to look so good on my Instagram stories..."
"This generation and their problems" Joel scoffs, taking the suitcases to the house you've rented for the next two days.
The answer is right at the tip of your tongue, but you decide to be the bigger person and remain quiet. If he wants to play, you better play smart.
"Dad, please" Sarah calls him out, and you have to hide a laugh. "Don't fight with y/n"
"I ain't doing shit" he sneers, crossing his bulking arms.
Sarah walks past him, muttering against his childishness. That angers Joel, who tries to remain cool.
"I know you hate me" you suddenly appear by his side. Your vainilla scent gets up on his nose, invading his body of you. "I just think you should try, for Sarah"
"I don't hate you" he answers, and now it's your turn to laugh.
"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it, Mr. Miller" it comes out before you can stop it, and there's something dark lurking behind his brown eyes piercing through you.
"I don't" sounding more sure this time. Serious too.
"You'll have to prove that"
You enjoy the surprise on his face and the light pink sprinkled across his cheeks.
"Prove that?"
You nod, finding all of this suddenly funny.
"Hmh, you heard me. Prove it, Mr. Miller. That you don't hate me"
But before he can respond, your bestfriend is back.
"Y/n, come on! You need to check the house. It has a shared balcony!" Sarah beams giddy.
You let her excitement infect you, taking her hand as you go inside the house. Joel stays back, your words ringing on his ears.
On the other hand, Sarah and you check the room together.
"Look this" she points at one of the mirrors in the room: it has details that remind you of the sea. "Isn't it cute?"
"It is" you agree, "we should take a picture"
"Okay. But use your phone" she says, "mine died on the road"
You're about to pull it out when you feel your pockets empty.
"It's... not here"
"You might have left it in the car" she tries to help.
"Yeah" you try to remain level-headed, "I'll go search for it"
You return to the truck, pressing your head against the window. Just like your friend guessed, it's there, abandoned on the seat.
"Lost somethin'?"
You gasp, turning around. Joel Miller's face is centimeters away from yours, breathing heavily as his body cages your smaller frame against the truck's doors.
"My phone" you find your voice after what feels like eternity, "it's inside the car"
"Need help with that?" his voice sounds low, whisper easily to be confused with a growl.
You don't know how to answer, scared for the first time of where your mouth could take you. So your solution is to nod, and step aside for him to open the car.
"There you go" he's dropping it in your hands, fingers lightly brushing yours. There's a shiver down your spine despite the cool weather, and you know damn well it's all his fault. He may feel it too, by the way he takes a step back, putting some distance.
"Need anything else?" but it feels like a slap to the face, as if he's challenging you to speak what you've been thinking but are too coward to do when he stands before you.
"No" you mentally slap yourself for how pathetic you sound, "this is all I needed, Mr. Miller. Thanks"
You look back one last time, despite it all. And there it is: that same look he gave you in the car.
"Anytime" but it falls deaf to your ears, as you basically ran away from him.
Him and his imposing presence, enough to make your legs tremble and your mind to stop working. Him and his smell, that brings you back to simpler times and reminds you of a a secret place in the woods, musk getting under your skin. Him and his breath, hitching when you touch hands. Him and his beating heart, just as loud as yours.
"Took you long" Sarah comments when you return, "I was already falling asleep"
She doesn't know or suspect, you tell yourself, but that doesn't stop you from feeling sick.
That night, as Sarah lays by your side and you try to sleep, all you can think about is his big hands, the lingering feeling of a warm touch. And then Joel, stepping back―coming to his senses, as if something is holding him back.
Anytime.
You can't help but wonder what stopped him.
Days have blurred between drinks by the poolside, waves crashing, wet sand in your fingers and sun carressing skin.
Despite what happened, Joel remains in the shadows, letting you and Sarah enjoy your trip in peace. You may be spending time with your bestfriend, but his presence hangs in the air, impregnated with his strong pine and whisky smell, looming over you like a shadow; suffocating, like his scent is all you can breath. You hate how your mind keeps going back to him, because despite your inicial claims to ruin him, that wasn't the purpose of this vacation, yet Joel seems to have infected you with a need that corners your mind to think of him and him only. The greed you feel is unnatural, like a spell has been cast upon you. He may be far, just as you wanted, and you should enjoy that, but it's that very same distance that is driving you insane.
Today, you and Sarah decided to go diving and then play volleyball.
The day ends, the sun sets, and so does the tiredness. But as Sarah's snores fill your ears, you toss around the bed, trying to conceal sleep to no avail.
Staring at the ceiling, you kept drifting back to Joel, mind wondering and heart racing at thoughts of strong arms caging you, warmth in your body that the breeze creeping through flowing curtains fails to provide.
The sound of wood creaking jolts you awake. His silhoutte is hard to miss, and your eyes follow it cross your bedroom. You pretend to be asleep, his scent up your nose as he walks in careful measured steps, trying not to wake you up. He looks back at Sarah, and the moonlight betrays him when it shines over his eyes, revealing an adoration that gnaws your chest.
He keeps walking, until he reaches the shared balcony. It's then that you make a choice, heart pounding in your chest as you race yourself from bed, going his way.
You go outside, finding him resting his arms on the balcony, facing the beach in silence. Soft waves crash against the wet sand, but not even that can overpower the sound of your beating heart.
"What're you doin' here?" he's asking, even if you haven't moved from your spot. Seems like your friend wasn't joking about his heightened senses, despite his old age. "Thought y'were 'sleep"
"Well, Sarah is a fast sleeper" you answer, walking to his side.
"She sure is" and the faintest of a smile appears on his face.
Joel Miller is a mystery to you: the most closed off man you've ever met, hiding behind his apparent apathy that only seems to be gone whenever Sarah is around. She's the apple of his eye, and those soft traces of a more tamed character that come to light have truly picked your interest, begging for more crumbs that will help you puzzle who he really is: he, that is as handsome as a mystery. The worst is, you don't know what attracts you more.
But you won't let him win.
"Mr. Miller?"
"Yeah?"
"Were you married?"
He looks at you, dark eyes partly iluminated by the moonlight.
"Aren't you a bit too young to be bold?"
"And aren't you too hot to be all alone?" you reply in an instant, rendering him speechless.
He chuckles, but it sounds defeated rather than amused.
"Trust me, kid" he's back at facing the ocean. Goddamn coward. "This isn't what you want"
"Don't call me kid" you berate, almost repulsed at it. "I'm twenty one"
He scoffs. "Still hella young"
"But I know what I want" a wavering hand ready to trace over his pecs, but he's stopped you before it descends. Before it's too late.
"You don't" he assures, grip on your hand stronger, without knowing how much you're enjoying this. Or maybe he does. "See? That's the problem with you kids: you think you do, but you don't"
You loose your patience.
"Tell me then, Mr. Miller. Would a kid do this?"
Taking the distraction, the same hand flies now to grop his dick, and to your surprise, it's already hard.
"Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they want"
"Stop" he warns, hissing when your eager fingers unbuckle his belt. It's huge, for some reason, and you can't help but feel an ardent throb at the thought of grinding on it.
When your eyes look at Joel, he swears he sees you devilishly smirk, almost as if you were mocking him.
"Stop?" you bite your lip, feigning innocence as doe eyes look where dark ones had done before. "If that's what you want, you aren't even trying"
You kneel down, and the position gives you the perfect side of his adam's apple bobbing in a nervous gulp. He grows insecure under your intense stare, breath hitching when the wind hits his now free member as you pull down his underwear, revealing it hard and leaking with precum. You laugh delighted, with victory, and he finds himself trapped between the moon and your games, drowning on a sea feet away.
"I think I know what you want"
"How? You don't even know what you want" barely fighting it.
Your fingers grace over his soft abdomen, tracing down his belly and happy trail. Your teeth nip at the skin scattered with soft rosy lines, peppering the skin with fluttering kisses to entertain your mouth until your digits touch his hard cock. Joel whines, squirming, and you're delighted with the receptiveness, needy sounds escaping his lips.
You haven't even started yet.
"You're right, I don't" you agree. "All I know is you piss me off and that you ruined our trip, so I'm gonna take my anger out on you one way... or another"
You take your first lick, savouring the dark red head. His hips buck, a shaky gasp robbed from his chapped lips.
"Fuck" he exhales weakly, lost against the sound of water.
"Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I'll take good care of you" admiring his girth. He looks down on you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Joel can't lie and say he isn't fascinated with the way you look at him, not believing so much appetite can fit in such a small young body. Not even his partners before you, had looked at him like he was the best thing in the world, and now here you were: the loud-mouthed brat best friend of his daughter, sucking his cock while Sarah slept just a few meters away. Just yersteday he was bickering with you, not standing your spoiled attituted and juvenile spirit that can't be tamed and won't shut up. Hell, you had even disrespected him. But here he is, not being able to find the words or actions to stop you: because he doesn't want to.
It was all so fucked up.
But then you're closing your lips around his swollen head, and he knows there's no point in fighting it anymore, his whole body urging him to give in.
"Oh, fuck" he pants, getting all worked up as you take him deeper. "Keep goin'. You're doin' a great job, sweetheart"
The praise gets to you, even if not needed.
Your tongue swirls, running the muscle with wet slides, up and down, tip to base, some pressure applied. You proceed to take in his balls, feeling him tense up. You wanted to mock him badly, but your mouth was full of his dick, so that wasn’t happening.
"D-don't stop" he pleads, sounding more like a whine.
He's deep enough that it hits your throat. You've never been this greedy, but also, have never tried with a dick so big. You feel him in the roof of your mouth, your lips at the base of the tip, brushing against skin. Joel can't keep up: breath hitching, moans ragged and consumed, barely standing if it wasn't for your hands digging in his thighs for support.
You keep building pace, seeing Joel's face scrunch up.
"M' close" his voice comes out strained, his head tilting back, wild soft locks from before now plastered against his forehead, dripping with sweat. His muscles tense, you can feel it, and it's just about time before he's coming inside your mouth.
You want it. To taste more of him, who you claim to hate but feels oh so good. Strong, just as his presence.
"So good, fuck, you're so good" in a tone so needy and desperate. It falls out of his lips, followed by more unintelligible praises dripping from his tongue.
And then, in a shaky breath, lost to the wind:
"Y/n"
You gasp, and he feels it, the air ticklish on his sensitive skin.
Joel said your name.
Your name, in a way it had never been said before. Uttered like a prayer, submerged in devotion. Your name, melting into his moans, deep within him, the calling full of a primal desire. The experience is intoxicating, making you crave more.
Joel comes with a groan, head falling back. Your name dies on his lips as his hips thrust up with your lips closing in. Thick spurts of cum mix with saliva in the back of your throat. You pull out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his dick. He looks down on you, body shaking as much as yours. Without breaking eye contact, he wipes some of the mess drooling from your lips, his calloused thumbs carresing you with a softness you didn't think was possible. The contrast makes you falter a bit, and you know Joel notices.
"There you go" your voice comes out hoarse, avoiding his eyes, "now you know what you want"
He chuckles, giving you a hand to stand up. As you raise to your feet, his face is barely inches away from yours. You can see the lines time has marked across his face, the grays coloring hair you remember to be brown, and those eyes―piercing through you like they know you better than you know yourself.
"But do you?"
Joel Miller doesn't know what is regret.
He didn't feel it when Sarah arrived unexpectedly at the ripe age of twenty, forcing him out of college. He didn't feel it when Sarah's mother left him alone to raise his daughter all by himself, aware he had tried it all to make it work. He surely didn't feel it when you came back after leaving Texas, long gone the childlike wonder and features that made him see you as an extension of his daughter, his gaze lingering a bit too long on this familiar face in a beautiful blooming new body.
But this is different, and he isn't sure if, for the first time, he's finally known what is regret.
Joel Miller also doesn't know when to back out of a fight.
He remember his brother Tommy, practically begging to let go of some asshole that dared to pick up on him, knuckles bloody no matter if he was young then and old as stubborn now, the same red painted across his willfull hands.
But now those hands prickle and sweat, no matter how much he runs them over the fabric of his jeans. And now, as your dangerous stare pierces through him across the small table, Sarah oblivious to the game as she quietly munchs her cereal, Joel Miller backs down, his gaze the first to look away.
He realizes just now why he was so afraid to look up to the sky after you left. The same stars that stared back from the high of the dark night are akin to the ones dancing in your eyes.
"Mr. Miller" your voice breaks his train of thoughts.
"Where's Sarah?" he asks in a panicked voice, realizing you've been left alone.
"Brushing her teeth" you answer, slightly taken back by his tone. "We were going out today, remember?"
Ah, yes. A little tour to an island not to far away from there.
"M' not goin'. Sorry, kid" he's decided. Before you can speak, Sarah returns and asks the question herself.
"M' tired. That's all" but it sounds rather an excuse.
"Are you sure, dad?" Sarah presses, not sure why he had changed his mind at the last minute.
"Yeah" he insists, all while avoiding those eyes of yours, unsatisfied and searching for answers of questions qithout a voice. "You girls go and have fun"
So you do.
You go and feel like you're inside of Mamma Mia (your favorite movie; both of you learned ABBA's discography thanks to it, something that offended your parents), the sun reflecting in the water, the little island with its green and sun, and the flowers that dust their petals into the shore where your boat arrives.
But when the trip is over and soft waves rock your return, you think of Joel.
You think you should feel at least a little ashamed of becoming so obssesed with a man in barely two days, who, on top of it all, is your bestfriend's dad. But then you remember the taste of him inside your mouth, how his dick had rasped against your throat, his seed warm in the tip of your tongue. And then his eyes, promises meant to be broken locked away behind tides of fear, that do an excellent job of reminding you how easy is to drown; to fall for how in hazel flickers, Joel seems he'd give you the world.
"Let's get drunk" you deadpan once you're back at the shore.
Sarah laughs at your determination, then realizes you're serious.
"What?"
"Yeah, it's our last day here" you reason. "Besides, your dad isn't here. What's he going to say?"
If you sound between angry and dissapointed at his absence, Sarah remains quiet.
"We're running away" she tries one last time, but by the look in your eyes, you've made your choice.
"Are we? We're twenty-one, Sarah. We can do whatever the fuck we want" you feel rebellious all of a sudden, "what? Don't you wanna give this trip a grand finale?"
So you crash into the nearest bar and waste the night away, drinking and dancing. But you're ordering a drink you don't like, and in every glass of whiskey down your throat, his name hangs in the air like the memory of his smell, locked behind a vault as if it's too sacred to say. But when Sarah gets a boy to dance and lends his friend to you, you wish there was rough where soft meets your skin, and chapped when you kiss his lips. Your body burns ablaze with sweat, alcohol and regret, a dangerous combination that makes you pull Sarah out of the bar when you feel you're about to black out. She complains, but you're set on making it to the bed before your eyelids shut.
Maybe it's because you always had what you wanted, or maybe it was the forbidden, but whatever reason had pushed you in Joel's orbit, refused to let you go.
And maybe you're imagining his voice, scolding you like a kid. Maybe you're seven again, and in the shadows of the bed, you've gone back to your childhood days. Y/n, y/n, y/n. That sick berating tone of his, acting like you're stupid and small.
"Fucking brat" he spats, drops of his angry scowl landing on your cheek. You then realize he's hovering over you, and it's real, not a product of your foggy mind. So you stand up, sobering up a bit, when he charges back again. "Makin' my daughter pass out? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Could've ended in the middle of the street. You're s'pposed to go to the damn island and then come back!"
Your mouth tastes like sand, but even if you've passed out a couple hours ago, the fire doesn't die. So your tongue is back, finding it's voice to say:
"Well, if you hadn't left us alone, this wouldn't have happened"
He chuckles, darkly. Humorless. "I see"
"What?" you challenge, a shiver down your spine that looses itself somewhere else.
"You got my daughter drunk as revenge"
You're mortified at the accusation, the remnants of alcohol now long gone of your system.
"Do you think I'd risk me and my friends' safety for you? Out of all people, you?" not caring if you sound bitter.
The truth sticks to your skin as uncomfortably as the sweat.
"I dunno, sweetheart. That's why I'm asking you" the pet name rolls effortlessly, in a rough voice that creates a wet spot in your panties. He gets closer, and you can see the tremble of his lips as he lets out a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and answer"
"I won't tell you shit" you spit.
"You little minx, thinkin' you can run your tongue like it ain't been 'round my cock before" you look like a deer caught in headlights, and Joel's enjoying this more than he should. "That's right, what'd Sarah think knowing her friend's a little slut for'er daddy's cock?"
The electric current that crosses your body sparks the fire of the woods hiding behind his auburn storms.
Now you're feeling high on a forest fire. You want the flames to engulf you, even if ashes is all there'll be left.
"Tell me you want this" his forehead clashes against yours, and the whole world falls silent, except for your ringing ears.
"I want this" and he's just as surprised as you are by the unwavering conviction. "I need you, Mr. Miller"
You try to get up, but he pushes you with full force back into your bed. Then, the base creaks, and he's on top of you, his weight pressing you against the mattress.
"What are you-"
"You think I'd let you get away easily? Have things your way? Naive lil' girl" he tuts, "I'll punish you for that"
As on cue, drowned out snores are heard from your side.
"But, Sarah-" you try to protest, his body caging you under his mercy.
"That'll mean you're behavin', right?" he runs his thumb across your lips, gently pulling them down, as if the chase was thrilling as eating the prey. "I know you don't want to wake her up and see her slut of a friend bangin' her daddy"
You tense, remaining silent at the threat, even if your body reacts other ways.
"Good girl"
He’s quick to get rid you of your shorts.
"Fuckin' hell" he murmurs against your neck, the clothing discarded somewhere in the room. "Wearin' this little shitty bottoms to rail me up, knowin' damn well when to bent and get me hard. Been thinkin' of takin' them off ever since you wore 'em first"
The confession makes you whine, and Joel's delighted by the sound, and just how putty you are under his big rough hands.
"Let's see what we got here" his large hands caress your thighs as he settles between your legs. "Black lace, baby? Such a fuckin' tease. Wore 'em for me?"
You shake your head, but his calloused digits dig on the plush skin of your thighs, making you wince at the pain.
"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. You'd said you'll be a good girl, yeah?" you nod, soaking wet, painfully so.
"Yes, I'll be"
"Show me your manners, then" he presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, close to where you need his graying beard to tickle, "and I'll show you mine"
"Just eat me, Joel" you demand breathlessly. "Fuck. Need you, Mr. Miller, so bad"
"And why should I reward you, impatient little slut? Eager to get daddy's filthy mouth between that pretty pussy" Joel bites the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of your strength to avoid becoming a moaning mess. "You've been bad, sweetheart. A brat"
You deny it, but his head dissappears between your legs, licking the wet spot on your panties. You squirm under the teasing of his tongue, legs shutting close on instinct. You drown a whimper in your palm as he yanks your panties away.
"Don't do anything I ain't tell you to" demanding, and if you weren't this horny and out of your mind, you'd probably be scared. "There'll be consequences"
You try to obey. But then his nose, that big nose you want covered in your slick as you grind off of it between your legs, sniffs your panties. He gives it one big sniff, and then two, fingers going white as he holds the piece of fabric with too much force, shoving it on his face.
"Ye'r too fuckin' sweet, I'll give you that" he mumbles in a drunken haze. "Need to taste that drippin' cunt of yours 'night"
The bed creaks again, or maybe it's the sound of his bones starting to give in to old age, but Joel is sucking your clit, tongue pushed inside of your puffy folds. You hide a moan against his lips, hands traveling to grip his hair.
"Joel" you breathe out.
He parts your folds easily, and before you know it, a rugged finger circles your entrance. Your back arches, and then he leaves place for his mouth again, flicking your sensitive core with his tongue. A moan a little too loud escapes your lips, making his eyes darken when the bed next to you shifts, Sarah tossing in her sleep.
"You dumb fuckin' brat. What'd I say?" his hand slams against your pussy, a sting you've never felt before, both showered in pain and pleasure, spreading across your cunt. "Don't disobey me. Apologize, now"
He stops his minstrations, and you're so achingly close to your orgasm, that the answer falls easy and rushed from your lips.
"Sorry, Mr. Miller"
"Good girl" Joel praises as he pushes his finger in, next to his tongue on your clit.
But the orgasm is so deliciously close, and you can't wait for more. So now you're grinding in his face by reflex, rubbing against his big nose just like you'd imagined. You whine at the sensation, and Joel rests his tongue flat on your clit with surprise.
"Who gave you permission to do that?" but his voice sounds more amused than nagging. "That imagination of yours is somethin' else. Have you been thinkin' bout it all this time, hmh, greedy dirty slut?"
The orgasm looms closer, hitting when Joel pushes a second rough finger in, walls clenching against his digits. He pulls away, licking his fingers with his tongue.
"Such a perfect pussy you got there, sweetheart. As sweet as you when you ain't bein' a pain in the ass"
You laugh breathless, trying to recover.
"Wanna taste?"
So now he's kissing you for the first time, his lips rough against plush skin, nibbling with your lower lips between his teeth, his tongue still tasting like you roaming free inside your mouth, like he wants to mark every corner; imprint himself in you. You've never wanted anything, hell, anyone more. The kiss leaves you hanging, heart racing at the closeness of his face and the warmhearted feeling of his lips on yours, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.
"There you go" he chuckles, enamoured at the sight of your puffy lips. "Now it's my turn"
He's quick to get rid of the jeans and belt (oh well, it'll be another day) until he's over you, just wearing his boxers.
You'd never seen Joel naked before, why would you? But there's a vague memory of hot summer days, trying to survive the heat in the town's pool, just as the rest. He was there, eye candy for the mothers and horny teens. You hadn't understand back then, when he was all muscle, but you do know, where the mighty strenght is still hidden there, somewhere between his sturdy arms and chest as soft as his belly, round as it pushes above the only piece of cloth that forbids you to see his dick. His chest is full of hair, and God, you feel so dirty wanting to bury your face in the sweat drenched patch.
"Stop lookin' at me like that" he teases, but there is a small voice of insecurity hiding its undertones beneath his smirk under your stare.
"You're so fucking hot, Joel" comes out before you can stop it, now mouth acting up on its own.
Fuck, he thinks, he's too far gone. There's no point of return.
Your eager fingers pull down the underwear, fingers grazing the softness of his length. You slowly grabs his dick as he comes closer, never seeing anything as big and provoking as it. That makes you tighten your grip on his dick, which stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin.
He positions himself between your legs again.
"Let's put this big bad boy to use, huh?"
He grunts at your words, large hands finding your thighs for support, as he caresses up and down the skin littered with marks and kisses.
Joel pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck.
"Tell me if it hurts" all softness on his eyes, his forehead falling against yours, as if he hadn't been punishing you just minutes ago. Your heart races at the gesture, tender meeting the rough of his edges.
The real question isn't asked, but you're on the pill and you trust him. You just want to fill him inside of you, all of him.
"I will, Mr. Miller"
He slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, quickly muffled by his palm as he stays buried deep inside of you, givimg you time to adjust to his size. It burns, but you enjoy the way the pain feels. He slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your slick folds take him, and he grunts, supporting his aching body by the forehead against yours one more time.
"So tight, sweetheart. Ain't nobody ruinin' this pussy but me" his growl comes out possesive as Joel establishes a steady rhythm. You softly moan as he keeps moving, pounding into you, hitting a spot no one had before, making you see stars. It gets harder to stay quiet, but Joel caputres every little sound that comes out of you in a kiss, as if that way he could preserve them better and forever.
You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close as your walls clench around him, his thrusts harder yet slower as he keeps going, ramming into you.
"Look at you, coatin' my dick like a fuckin' meltin' ice cream" he gently pushes it again between your folds, rubbing his dick on your clit. "So fuckin' wet, for me"
His lips are slightly parted and his eyes looked all fogged up, lost in the fire, thrusts becoming sloppier as he too feels it coming.
"So fuckin' pretty" drips from his mouth, and there's the stars in your eyes and the light you insist he's always had, even if he'd prefere the darkness. "The prettiest girl in the world with the sweetest pussy, givin' it all to this ol' perverted fuck"
The words and his big dick inside of you makes your eyes flutter shut on instinct.
"Don't sleep on me, baby" he coos, a hand brushing damp hair from your face. You recognize the look: the same in the car, on the balcony and on the poarch of his house, after letting the years go by. Back then, you thought you had dreamed it, but now that the secret saccharine sweetness reveals herself as he slams into you, you know it was real.
This is real.
You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he pounds you so gently yet so rough, trying to show him without words that whatever this wrong and sick feeling was, you felt the same.
"Such'a good girl, takin' me so well" Joel grunts, slamming to the hilt. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna-"
His dick twitches inside of you, walls spasming around his cock as your pussy takes it all, milking him dry.
"Take it all, like the good girl you are"
Both of you pant, and it takes him a while to realize the sun is raising again until its rays hurt his eyesight.
He's about to tell you how this shouldn't be, how he, at such an old age shouldn't be pinning for his daughter's friend: so young, sweet and loud-mouthed. No matter if you felt the same, or if your body was marked in and out by him, No, because wanting isn't enough, and no tide could wash away his sins from the shore.
"Listen, y/n-" your name like he has never said it before: no scold, no malice nor lust. Just a softness he hadn't felt in years, asleep under thick layers of cold.
But your soft snores fill the silence between the beats of his heart.
tags: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrosgrogu thank you sm for reading! hope u enjoy it :)
#dilfistwrites#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#bfd!joel miller#bfd!joel#tlou#tlou fanfiction#to the devil i know series
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Guys. Hear me out.
Remember when in Cyberverse everyone got their minds transferred into fake artificial digital simulation of an infinite fucking parade while their bodies were imprisoned? Now. Imagine Shockwave trying to pull that kind of move on First aid.
Under the cut:)
First aid feels wrong.
Which isn't weird, but this kind of wrong is brand new. It's not nausea from drugs or weird withdrawals after neural connection. It also doesn't feel like a concussion.
It feels like he's a lab mouse running through a maze.
There's the cheese. There's the electric shocks. There's no way out and never has been.
He thinks it might be the fault of Pharma's new drug. Or his fucking pilot position is finally eating away at him, or Vortex is finally done playing with him and just broke his brain.
There are people running around him, each of whom definitely knows what their place is and where they need to go. Everyone has a purpose and a position and some important job to do. They hardly even talk to each other, just nod and run on.
Amazing synchronization.
First..Felix feels like a kid lost in the mall.
He has. He has to do something, right? What does he need to do? Fuck. What day is today anyway?
He heads over to the schedule board and stares at it like an idiot for a couple minutes. It's Tuesday. The work day is in full swing. All the shifts are here. But he doesn't recognize the names of the employees. All the pilots are accounted for, but his name isn't on their list.
Must be a mistake?
He turns away from the board and looks around the room once more, this time more carefully. He just needs to find someone to ask. Preferably someone familiar.
He can’t recognise anyone.
The feeling of strangeness doesn't get any less.
The uniforms on the people around him are similar. But not the same.
The badges are all another color.
And he's surprised by this, but at the same time some part of his brain tells him that it's all familiar and he's seen it before.
“.... then I thought, we could do something different, you know?”
Felix flinches as Swindle and Onslaught walk past him. They are clearly in the middle of some sort of discussion and don't notice Felix staring at them.
Swindle is wearing a pilot's suit. Onslaught is wearing one, too.
Screw the weird schedule. THIS is wrong.
Onslaught frowns, but when he opens his mouth there's a strange amused respect in his tone
“You slippery eel.”
Swindle smiles. His smile, Felix notices, is not the same at all. He doesn't look like an actor from a commercial. He looks like a worn-out but proud of himself man.
It's wrong, but he's seen it before, it's strange but it's familiar. He wants to go up to Swindle and ask what's going on. He wants to understand the damn schedule. He wants to...
…
First Aid feels wrong.
Which isn't weird, but this kind of wrong is brand new. It's not the nausea from the drugs or the weird withdrawals after a neural connection. It also doesn't feel like a concussion.
It feels like being a lab mouse running through a maze.
You got the cheese. And here's the electric shocks. No escape. Never has been.
It's all the same.
He's not sure where he's going. Everyone around him seems very busy. Running about their own business, not paying attention to him and--
What is he supposed to do? He can't remember what day of the week it is. Shit. Is it Tuesday? He can't remember.
Does he need to find a schedule?
Everything feels weird.
By the schedule board, he almost crashes into Swindle.
“...You realize, if we can both get out of this shit, we can get others out too.”
Onslaught...still looking strange in his pilot suit instead of his usual uniform. Swindle pokes him in the side with his elbow as they both walk past Felix, completely ignoring him
“You just. Think about it. Even if you can't fire Offy from the pilots, you can at least free him from these disgusting experiments.”
Felix wants to go over and say hello. Politely and unobtrusively. And also kindly ask, “what the hell, boss?”
But you see it every day, his brain tells him. Have you forgotten?
It makes him feel wrong.
Here's the board, here's the schedule, just lift your stupid head up and see what you're supposed to be doing.
He looks at the board. It's Tuesday. It's dumb sheets that don't have his name on them. He wants to go up to Swindle, he should go up to Swindle, right?
…
It's all wrong, but it's a new kind of wrong. It's not from drugs or neural connection. And it's almost certainly not a concussion.
He's feeling.... hell, what day of the week is it? Tuesday right? He looked at the blackboard yesterday.
He stops. And makes a titanic effort to concentrate the jelly his head is now filled with instead of his brain.
Today is Tuesday because?...because yesterday was Tuesday? And the day before that, too? This is some kind of trippy shit, not a broken neural connection….
He's not looking for the schedule. He's seen the schedule a million times and he knows what's gonna be on it.
He's not sure where he's even going. The layout of the base is different. Not much, but enough to confuse him. He's still stubbornly checking out every familiar place he can find.
He doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't.
He still doesn't see a single damn familiar face.
Ambulon's gone, Pharma's disappeared somewhere too. No Tailgate or Wheeljack anywhere to be seen. And the layout is a little different and all the badges are the wrong color and Felix can't even read what's written on them because every time he tries all the letters blend into an indistinguishable blur.
He's trying to talk to someone. Anyone. But everyone either brushes him off or straight up ignores him. It's like he's a ghost or a lunatic or all of the above.
Everything is so familiar, but at the same time it isn't and his brain frantically clings to the last possibly familiar thing.
Vortex. He needs to find Vortex.
Even if it is him who is going insane and not everyone around him. Vortex is insane in his own, unique way, but he won't ignore him. He may get a good laugh, but it's still better than blindly poking around every corner by himself.
First Aid feels wrong.
Which isn't weird, but this kind of wrong is brand new. It's not nausea from drugs or weird withdrawals after neural connection. It also doesn't feel like a concussion....
He snaps at himself. NO. Hell no.
Vortex. He needs to find Vortex.
The hangar looks surprisingly dark. The people look unfamiliar. And another schedule board beckons him to come over and check to see if it really is Tuesday, but he ignores everything and heads straight for his Mech.
Vortex hasn't changed a bit. Even the radius at which people avoid him is exactly the same.
And looking at him doesn't give Felix that fucking sense of wrongness.
He sees Vortex a lot. He just knows it. The thought is natural, in contrast to the others. That's good, that... It may sound strange, but Vortex is the most normal thing he can perceive right now.
He feels like he's grown little wings. His feet carry him up to the open cockpit and he barely notices the steps beneath him.
Vortex is here and he will understand and even if he doesn't, at least he won't ignore him. Vortex gets bored too quickly so he never minds distractions, no matter how absurd and...weird..they…
Huh…
Felix almost climbs into the cockpit, but freezes, right on the way in.
It's empty.
He crashes into that realization like an invisible wall.
The cockpit.... is clean.
It doesn't smell of chemicals or scrubbing agent. There are no thin streaks of old browned blood in the seams and crevices. There are no dents or stains on the edge of the visor.
The cameras are dead still and the screens are off.
There's no smell of stale blood or decay.
There's no one here.
But the back of his neck still tingles with the sensation of someone else's eyes staring at him.
“The fuck do you think you're doing?“
First Aid flinches startled and turns around.
There is a pilot standing a few feet away from him with a cigarette in his hand.
“..I’m..”
“I wouldn't stand there if I were you” smiles the stranger eying him with a suspiciously bloodthirsty smile “those things are glitchy as fuck. Might chop off something important.”
First Aid continues to stand just under the open visor. Maybe it's surprise or maybe he's too used to the idea that Vortex won't cut him in half. The pilot in front of him looks.... geez, where has he seen him???
Has he ever seen him at all? That green suit looks awfully familiar.
And the voice. There should be more mechanical notes in that voice, First Aid thinks. It should have more static and reverb and squeaks and rumbles and clicks and that quiet hum that sounds when the cockpit systems are turned on...
First Aid jumps off the Mech.
“Vortex...?”
The pilot casts him only a slightly surprised look at first, but a moment later recognition flares in his eyes.
“What the fuck....AID??”
First Aid instantly takes a swing and punches him in the face hard enough to send him wiping the dust on the floor.
“You!!!”
“Ha,” says Vortex from the floor. “Hahahahah ooooh Do it again! ”
First Aid kicks him. Vortex laughs like he's been told the world's happiest joke.
He sounds…alive. Alive and human and there’s no metal in his voice and
“What the fuck?”
Vortex stops laughing, but still doesn't get up off the floor
“What's the last thing you remember?”
First Aid still does nothing but stare at Vortex stunned. The human Vortex. Victor? Shit
“Until Tuesday, you mean?”
Vortex hums
”Till Tuesday.”
What was before Tuesday?
Another Tuesday. And another and another and another and another.
Someone from downstairs bangs loudly on the railing and berates Vortex for a safety violation, ordering him to put his cigarette away.
Vortex points his middle finger down somewhere and throws the cigarette over the railing.
Oh god. Oh shit.
First Aid swallows nervously.
“Shockwave...he used something...to control you-Mech...I mean. He did something, I think. I remember I couldn’t move couldn’t do anything. And now I’m in this hhhhplace? I don’t really recognise it.”
Vortex twitches the corner of his mouth and finally rises from the floor.
“Well I do.”
He looks like he is sick, First Aid thinks. He looks sick and he looks human and he has arms and legs and eyes and that stupid curly strand of dark hair sticking out from under his helmet and the dark eye bags.
“The bastard made up some sort of dumpster to transfer your consciousness in while he does shit to your body.”
First Aid clenches his hands together
“But there were two of us in the neural connection. And it took two of us to transfer here too...”
It suddenly dawns on him
“Wait. This base, these, everything. This is what the Mech project looked like in your time?? And Swindle and Onslaught and the staff is different and...”
Vortex raises his eyebrows smugly.
“...Here you are ...you're a human...” finishes First Aid.
Vortex pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
From somewhere below, a loud angry bang is heard again
“Tex, you bastard stop smoking in here.”
“Fuck you, Off,” Vortex yells back.
Then shrugs his shoulders
“I've always been human. No matter how hard Shockwave and his science shithole try to change that.”
He holds out an opened pack to First Aid
“Want some?”
First Aid feels awful. Terrible as if from the drugs, terrible as if from the neural connection. Terrible as if he had a concussion times two.
But Vortex is here and Vortex believes him and even if it turns out they're the ones who are crazy and not the world around them, at least they're crazy together.
First Aid takes a cigarette
“Thanks...”
_______________
Previous
#transformers#texaid#wait….is this a texaid fic that doesn’t need trigger warnings??#is that legal??#vortex#first aid#tf mecha universe#mecha writing#mecha ta writing#swindle#onslaught#blast off#on/off#mecha kef writing
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frosted kisses
pt. ii to texas sweet
summary: after some serious distance, a nightmarish evening at the miller household leaves you and joel closer than before.
tags: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, fingering, pulling out, missionary, almost oral, joel is a consent king, gentle!joel, soft!joel, proud dad joel returns, tommy is here, so are sarah and ellie, don't ask how old they are i really can't tell you, tension, sexual tension, kind of angst(?), realistic sex, reader is in a panic as usual, but joel is really sweet, kissing, neck kisses, biting, scratching, mention of joel's dad gut (yum), joel in a wifepleaser, use of darlin' and baby and honey, one use of good girl, praise kink (a little), takes place during july (texas sweet was in june)
a/n: thank you to my biggest cheerleaders @mochamadeleines and @pascalssbabyy <3 also thank you to everyone for being so patient for this sequel. i hope you all enjoy !! :]
texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist
wc: 7.6k (sorry :3)
It is way too hot outside to be doing anything but laying in an ice bath, yet here you are leaving at 9am for your shift. The walk to the bus stop isn’t bad, but it does mean you have to walk by Joel’s house.
Joel.
He never followed through on that promise of taking you out for dinner, but it’s only been a month since that night. The two of you had been friendly in passing, since it’s hard to avoid one another, but you can see the avoidance in his eyes. A little while ago you looked up when “neighbours day” was, remembering how he said to let him know. But, it turns out that’s all the way in May, and it’s currently July… So.
So you’ve been avoiding each other a little. That’s fine, it was a weird situation for the two of you to find yourselves in. You stared at Joel’s grey-blue truck when it rolled back down the street that night, the headlights flashing yellow on your walls. The hand resting on your chin still smelled like him, like his dick.
Honestly, everything on you smelled like him for a little while, your shirt especially, but also your skin. Joel wouldn’t leave you alone, even though he physically was. Watching him from your window started to become an obsession, seeing the sweat soak through his t-shirt when he’d mow the lawn on the weekends. You couldn’t stop watching him, remembering how needy he was.
Your achy need for him was a constant at night, only competing for dominance over your mind by wondering how needy Joel was.
Nothing could drive the memory of his whimpers and groans out of your mind, the throb of his cock in your hand, and the way his hands twitched and grasped at nothing when he came. It would attack you at random times throughout the day, especially when you were on the bus coming home from work. Most of your days are boring, repetitive. The same texts from your mom, the same job, the same… everything. Joel was the most exciting thing for you, but that was short lived. It was just one evening.
It’s kind of fucked up how you just have to move on, sweaty palmed every morning as you pass by Joel’s house. It isn’t even like he’s home when you walk by, he starts work at around 8am. You would know because Tommy’s truck is noisy as all hell, it works great as a last minute alarm.
Or at least he isn’t usually home.
“Mornin’ darlin,” calls Joel as you step off your porch.
His voice is just as warm and sweet as ever, like the sun today if it were kinder, but there’s an extra cheerful lilt in it. Turning your head, you see Joel still in his pajamas. It’s a weekday, so that’s odd, but what’s more odd is that he’s hanging balloons outside.
A light grey wife pleaser stretches around his torso, showing off his thick arms and shoulders. This is not something you’ve seen Joel wear before, but he must have slept in it if the plaid pajama pants are anything to go by.
It’s the polite thing to do to go over there and say hello, right? That’s what your mom would want you to do, to be neighborly. You’re not going over there to check him out. That would be crazy.
Crossing the grass from your house to his is easy, but spit is all caught in your throat by the time you get over to him. Jesus, are you drooling?
“Hi Joel,” you manage to reply to his greeting as he tapes another balloon up to the overhang of his garage, “what are the balloons for?”
He grunts as he twists to fix the tape, the balloon nearly falling on his head. The way he’s stretching up is making the wife pleaser stretch up, exposing the skin of his waist. Your fingers twitch, wanting to touch there again. It makes your mind spin, thinking about how your hands have been there, that he knows what it’s like to have you on him. An explicit secret that neither of you share. You wish he was facing the other way so you could see his tummy, the plushness of it was so comfy against your arm.
“S’for Sarah,” he finally responds, turning to face you.
And oh… oh that’s why he’s so damn happy. He had talked about it in passing a few times during the small talk you had made. Sarah’s birthday was in July and she planned on coming home for it, Joel was so bright everytime he talked about it. His smile is so much bigger when he talks about his daughters.
“Is she coming home today?” You ask, shifting on your feet. Joel nods, tearing off another piece of tape with his teeth.
“Uh-huh, pickin’ her up around noon. We’re doin’ a dinner tonight,” he says. You can see how his eyes are a little unfocused, excited. He sticks the tape to the knot of the balloon and starts to continue his sentence, but is cut off by the front door opening.
The sound catches your attention, your eyes flicking to the door. You didn’t see his truck in the driveway, but there’s Tommy Miller in all his glory.
You won’t lie to yourself, the Miller family clearly has good genetics. Tommy’s got these gorgeous waves in his black hair, and a charming smile too. But, he isn’t nearly as soft as Joel is. Not a player, but Joel’s been worn in by 2 daughters and a divorce, like a well loved plushie. Tommy hasn’t been worn in by anything, in fact he’s known for wearing things out. As much as you’ve heard the whispers at neighborhood events, the other Miller brother has never interested you. Tommy, of course, has shown interest in you once or twice. A few bottles in and he’ll talk to anything.
Today though, Tommy is behaving. He flashes you a kind smile, and nods.
“Hey neighbor-girl,” he greets.
You almost snort. You know Tommy knows your name, but he’s being weird. Did Joel tell him? Probably not. Do brothers share that sort of information? You’re getting sweaty again–
“Saw the flowers y’bought Ole Joel,” Tommy grins, “thought maybe his ex’d dropped by.”
Oh. Oh thank god. Thank god the flowers gave it away.
Joel snorts and then scowls at Tommy, shaking his head. He mutters something about you “having a name,” and suddenly all you can hear is the blood in your veins. A hot rush flies over you, but you’re flushed from the sun anyways. What difference will a blush make? It’s not that obvious.
Distracted with your anxiety around the two, you barely realize that Tommy is scolding Joel now.
“S’nice girl gave you flowers and y’ain’t even invited her to the dinner tonight?” Tommy scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. Your eyes flash to his arms and Jesus does being brothers mean you’re both built as fuck?
“Tommy,” Joel says, voice tight, “I was midway through a conversation with’er. Was just about to.”
They exchange a look you can’t really decipher. Tommy raises his eyebrows and Joel curls his lip in response. Then, Tommy turns on his heel and goes back in the house.
The heat outside is already uncomfortable, but now you feel awkward. You didn’t realize that Joel would invite you to something. Maybe he didn’t even want to, he just didn’t want to look like an asshat in front of Tommy. Joel looks sheepish in his pajamas, downturned frown neutralizing to a softer smile. He breathes in to speak, but now you don’t want his invite.
“Joel,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to invite me. I’d hate to intrude on your family time with Sarah.”
You really thought that you’d want to speak to Joel after all this time, but this feels humiliating. A pity invite to his daughter’s birthday dinner? It’s not what you expected, or wanted. As much as you’d like to see Sarah, something about it feels wrong. What would you say?
“Hey, it's been awhile. How’s college been? Good! Aw, I’m glad. Yeah last time I saw your dad I jerked him off. Oh, you’re in STEM?”
No, that’s not what you want. He looks like he’s going to protest, but you have to shut him down. You’ve never really spoken to his other daughter, Ellie. It feels like a nightmare waiting to happen.
“I’m just your neighbor,” you wave your hand, as if you could make this go away.
Joel’s brows furrow, his mustache curling back downwards with his frown. Skittishly, his eyes flick away.
“I… I’d like it if y’came. Even if we’re just neighbors,” Joel says. He seems embarrassed about inviting you, a red hue glowing beneath the sweat on his neck.
Alone, in front of the garage, it feels like he’s under you again. Why is he so shy? So bashful? Something in you is frustrated. You’ve been waiting for a month for any scraps, anything more than neighborly chit-chat, and now you have to turn him down. Doesn’t he realize you’ve been waiting for him?
You don’t want to be just neighbors with this Joel, you want more. You want to know him more than just as “hot-single-dad-next-door.”
You want to know him the way you did when you were behind him on the couch.
But… Maybe this is Joel. You saw the pictures all over his house, and he runs a company with his brother. Family is clearly everything to him, and even if this isn’t a dinner-date like he promised, this is something more. It’s closer for him, this is his own version of pulling you in.
Besides, your mom would want you to say yes. It’s polite, right?
You concede to Joel’s wishes, as much as you want something else. He smiles really big when you agree, a shy “okay” leaving you. It’s not like you could ignore him anyways, not with the way his wife pleaser is stretched around him so… pleasingly.
He tells you that there’s a colour theme of black and blue, since Sarah wants everyone to match in the pictures. Joel starts to blab about what a good photographer she is, but you actually shut him down this time, so as to not miss your bus.
—
Somehow, standing on Joel’s porch is a lot worse than last time. You don’t have a bunch of flowers for your neighborly crush, or a set of hands to ease his back. All you have is the guilt in your gut for showing up at his daughter’s birthday dinner.
It took you almost 45 minutes to pick an outfit. He mentioned blue and black, but didn’t mention what shade of blue. Everything you had felt either too dressy, or was literally pajamas. Eventually you found something that worked, but now you’re in your own head. Will Joel think this is nice? Does Joel even think you’re pretty in the first place? You can’t remember, your mind is blanking.
Jesus, chill out. You’re going over for dinner, and this isn’t even about you.
Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you knock.
“I’ll get it!!” A voice yells from inside. Not Joel’s.
Tommy grins at you after he swings open the door. He’s done his hair back, instead of tying it back, and he’s wearing a blue and black, plaid, flannel. The Miller brothers seem to have a flannel for every occasion.
“Well helloo Neighbor-Girl,” Tommy greets. His smile is devious as he stands in the doorway.
Loud footsteps rush up behind Tommy and he’s suddenly being yanked out of your view by a hand.
“Christ, Tommy, leave’er alone.” Joel grunts.
He isn’t wearing a flannel, which surprises you. His usual casual clothes have been replaced by a nice, black, western shirt. The stitching across the chest is done in black as well. Not unlike Tommy, is his slicked back hair. It’s short still, but it looks good pushed back.
He tells you to keep your shoes on as he leads you to the backyard. You can’t keep your eyes off him as he and Tommy walk ahead of you. That black shirt, stretched across his back, the curls that lick upwards where his hair isn’t slicked. God, he looks stupidly good.
The house looks about the same. Same couch where you jerked him off, same table where the flowers used to sit, same pictures of his family on the walls. Everything feels different. Why doesn’t it look different?
Finally your eyes reach the backyard, and it looks magical. Various lights have been set up to create a relaxed atmosphere, with some comfortable lawn furniture set up on the deck. The barbecue is clearly cooking something, and Tommy walks to it automatically.
Sarah and Ellie seem to be giggling to themselves, hunched over in secrecy. The sisters whisper to one another, but part once they see you.
“Hi,” Ellie says immediately, her bright eyes looking at you excitedly. You greet her in return, then wish Sarah a happy birthday.
She’s wearing a matching shirt to Joel’s, which is adorable. You know for a fact that Joel wouldn’t dress up past a button up or flannel for most occasions, meaning Sarah probably begged him for this. Even the wash of their jeans are the same.
You’re just about to strike up a conversation with the two girls when Joel comes up behind you and squeezes your upper arm gently.
“‘M sittin’ over there, if you’d like to join,” he motions to an outdoor couch identical to the one Sarah and Ellie are sitting on.
It’s close enough that you could go back to talking with the girls, but once you’ve sat down beside Joel, they’re back to giggling.
—
It feels like everybody knows.
This fear from earlier has manifested in front of your eyes, this awful anxiety growing. You could barely finish your food, even though it was delicious. Your mouth is dry all the time, you can’t stop drinking water. You hyperfocus on every little action you take, feeling crazy,
Tommy has been staring at you like he’s holding a secret, his eyes seem to say “I know something you don’t,” and every time you turn your back Sarah and Ellie are giggling again. For them, you try to cut some slack. Ellie is a teen, and Sarah isn’t a lot older than her, they’re young girls, of course they’re giggling. It’s Tommy who’s making you anxious, especially with the scolding scowls that Joel keeps sending him.
The conversations are fine once you stop eating, mostly with you listening and observing the dynamic in the family. Tommy talks about this recent client he and Joel have been working with as you all eat cake, but it’s hard to focus when it feels like everybody knows what you did.
Joel seems to notice this anxiety over the course of the night, looking at you with mild concern a few times. He even asks if you’re alright at some point, holding the “darlin” for once, and you just tell him you had a rough day at work. Total lie, the only rough thing about this day is how you feel like you’re going to throw up all your food anytime someone in his family starts to perceive you.
Later in the evening, Joel rests his hand on your knee when he reaches for his beer, and you flinch. He seems caught off guard by this, but luckily nobody else notices. His eyes are apologetic as he looks at you, all brown and sappy.
Shame is burning in your veins. He’s invited you here to spend this special night with his daughter and family. He's been so kind to feed you too, but now you’ve made him feel weird too. It feels like your anxiety is leaking out of your pores, a haze of guilt clouding your mind and flooding his. Joel hasn’t seemed bothered at all tonight, or at least he hasn’t shown it.
But there he is, accommodating you as he leans a little closer and asks;
“S’gettin’ late. I could walk y’home.”
There he is, there’s your Joel. Your Joel, the one who you know as a caring man. In any other situation this would feel like someone politely requesting you leave the party early, but not with Joel. He’s conscious of your emotions, and he can tell you’re too overwhelmed to be here anymore. There’s your sweet boy, reeling you in before it gets to be too much.
You only nod in response.
It’s a few more minutes before you get out of there, with Tommy and Ellie stacking copious amounts of leftovers for you onto paper plates, lidding them with tin foil. You use this time to talk a little with Sarah, asking about her time in college. She’s happy to share with you, and you can see Joel in her. She has the welcoming energy, the same warmth in her that pools in her eyes. Even without the outfits they would match.
Ellie, however, must be spending too much time with Tommy. They both wear shit eating grins as they hand you the stack of plates stuffed with leftovers, with Tommy asking you to “Come back anytime.”
Blood rushes to your face fast, and you toddle off to the door quickly after saying thank you.
—
The air on the porch is cooler, but your adrenaline is making you run hot. You want to stop sweating, but all the looks and giggles and comments from the night are running through your mind repeatedly. What did they know? How did they know? Joel wouldn’t tell them anything like that, would he? Thank God you didn’t stay long enough to be in those pictures that Sarah wanted to take.
The front door thuds shut a moment later. Joel’s steps fall heavy behind you, then he’s beside you. He’s barely touched you tonight, and even now he keeps his distance. You’re glad for it, you couldn’t have handled it anyways.
You both walk the short distance to your house, using the pathway rather than cutting through the grass like you usually do. It feels like you should be enjoying these extra seconds of time with him, but all you feel is embarrassed.
He breathes in the cool air of the summer night through his nose, chest puffing, then blows it out.
“I am so, so, fuckin’ sorry,” he says.
It takes you off guard immediately. You felt like you were acting crazy all night just by your own overthinking, but it was also fuelled by Joel’s non-chalantness about everything. He didn’t seem to notice anything all night but you and how anxious you were. This feels like the start of a conversation, so you put the leftovers down on the bottom step of your porch.
“I– Ellie, when I brought her home after you were over last,” he begins, “she got home and saw the flowers right away. I told her not to make nothin’ of it, but she went and rattled off to Sarah and Tommy.”
Oh, okay. It was just the flowers. That’s good, at least they think you’re a lovesick loser, rather than the neighborhood floozy.
“I told them to act right tonight, begged’em to. The three of’em have been torturing me about it, I think it’s why I avoided you,” Joel admits quietly.
He’s doing it again, soothing your worries without meaning to. He’s a cooling balm on your burning brain, a sense of sanity cleansing you.
Joel wasn’t ashamed of what happened between you two, his family was just being shitstirrers about him receiving flowers. It wasn’t on purpose, and most importantly–
“I’m really sorry, angel. I should have called or– or somethin. Askin’ you to come tonight was askin’ for trouble from them. My daughter’s birthday ain’t makin’ up for shit, ‘specially not when they’re actin’ like that.”
An apology. Joel Miller seemed like a solid man before, one that was dependable, polite, and kind, but now he seems near-perfect. He’s taking accountability, admitting how he acted and why, and apologizing. No wonder he has two incredible daughters, both of whom love him dearly.
You stand there for a minute, a little speechless. You can’t remember a time that a man apologized to you and seemed to really mean it, or at least understand what he did wrong. But there’s Joel, in his black western shirt that’s rolled up his thick forearms, eyes soft and sorry as he looks at you in the blue-black night. He’s not like any man you’ve met before, not like your dad, friends back home, or your ex-boyfriend.
Tonight isn’t like any night you’ve had in Texas so far, but for so many different reasons. You’ve had a few weird nights, sure. Like what you shared with Joel, or the time you took the wrong bus home and got lost downtown, but it’s weird in a good way.
Tonight, you get to accept an apology from a man who truly seems sorry. Who’s admitted his wrongs, explained what happened, and more than that he’s been earnest about it. You didn’t have to beg for this apology, or argue why he should apologize. He did that on his own, made up his mind, and said sorry like a real man would.
It’s hard to make up your mind on what to do though, whether you should throw yourself at him and kiss him dizzy, or to just say “It’s alright, no hard feelings.”
You settle somewhere in the middle, taking his hands into your own. Your thumb pads rest in the centre of his palms, pushing down and massaging his hands.
“It’s okay,” you say finally, voice unsteady.
Joel isn’t at fault for his family being devious and obviously way too interested in his love life. What he is at fault for, is avoiding you. Brave enough to apologize, pussy enough to avoid the girl he likes. You keep talking.
“I wish you would have spoken to me about this, it made me feel awkward,” you tell him.
He looks up from your joined hands then, looking at you face on. Shame is painting his features, but he’s trying to be courageous, you can tell.
There is no “I know I should have,” or “I’m sorry you felt that way.” Just his voice saying, “I’m sorry.”
No if’s, and’s, or but’s. He’s sorry without excuse or pride.
The night air is still brisk on your skin, but Joel is warm everywhere. If you laid a hand onto his cheek you would feel hot flesh burning you back. His eyes flit from your own for a moment, decisive.
“I’d really, really, like to have dinner with you sometime. I know tonight was a disaster, so I won’t be offended if y’say no, but… I wanna make this up to you.”
This feels so much realer than last time, like he’s gripping your heart in his hand and squeezing as it beats. Joel isn’t just saying this in passing after he’s come in your hand, he’s not awkward and politely asking to return a favor. Joel wants this, wants you, wants to have dinner with you. It probably should have occurred to you when he invited you to his daughter’s birthday dinner, but it’s only hitting you right now. No more pity invites, he wants this.
Joel Miller wants this, he wants you, and he’s standing there with your hands in his, with his stupid soft eyes and with his heart on the line. He’s beautiful right now, standing with you as sorry as he can be. You’ll let him have this, he’s asking for it himself. Joel’s being so much braver this time around.
“I think we could do that,” you reply quietly.
His shoulders relax, brow unfurrowing. You can see the relief flood over him instantly, and he looks beautiful then too.
It’s easy from there. Joel’s voice is so soft when he’s grateful, quiet as he thanks and arranges a date-night with you. The two of you decide that a night in would be fine, since Joel ends up working late pretty often. You’re fine with this, and would honestly rather have him to yourself anyways. No more prying eyes when you’re with him, no more over-bearing perceptions that make your brain fizzle out with anxiety. Just you and Joel.
Admittedly, this silly crush on Joel began at a pretty surface level. Not shallow, but all you knew about him was that he was a hot dad and a nice guy. Now, though? Now he’s proven himself, shown you that there’s something in him that you can reach for. Everything’s bigger in Texas, but so far it’s only made you feel small. Being around Joel hushes you, like a kiss to a scrape. You want to know him deeper.
He squeezes your hands, then drops them so you can pick up your leftovers. You feel a little shy turning your back to him as you make it up to your door, but then he speaks.
“You looked real pretty tonight, angel, more’n usual.”
You hope he can’t hear the squeak you make when the door shuts behind you.
—
It’s a few days later, and Joel is supposed to be coming soon. He warned that he’s been working late recently, that he probably won’t be off work until eight that evening. You don’t care, you made him dinner.
It’s sitting in the kitchen, ready to be rewarmed when he gets to your house. It’s 8:30 now, he should be here soon. You’re tucked away on the couch, settled after recooling the house with your air conditioner. To be honest it should be illegal to cook during summers like this. You sweated so much you thought about taking another shower, but it wouldn’t have helped.
Besides, Joel’s showing up to your house in probably 10 minutes, sweaty and gross from work. It won’t be like you’re any grosser in comparison.
As predicted, he does show up ten minutes later. His hair is a mess and he smells like hard work, but it doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters when he’s in your doorway, toeing off his boots, and asking how your day was. Joel’s eyes keep shyly meeting yours as you lead him to your living room and turn to face him. He’s nervous, clearly, but it’s sweet. You’re both out of your element again, this time in your house instead.
Joel’s eyes flit around the room when he’s avoiding your eyes, taking in your home similar to how you did his when you were there not so long ago. You wonder what he’s thinking, hoping he doesn’t find you to be boring. He keeps clenching and unclenching his fists and laughing nervously, and you keep watching how his adam's apple bobs in his throat, and how he vibrates with his laughter. He looks puppylike in the soft light of your home, brown eyes glistening.
“Are you hungry?” You ask him, tilting your head upwards. He looks so huge in your little space.
Joel nods sheepishly, and so you lead him into the kitchen.
—
They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and maybe Joel is the reason they say that. He groaned his way through dinner, with his eyes rolled back and compliments flying off his tongue when he wasn’t chewing. He listened to every word you said intently, taking his time with the food you had made. It had taken almost 40 minutes for him to finish that plate of food, and you saw just earlier that week how fast he could pound back a meal.
He’s savoring you with this silent praise you’ve never experienced.
And now he’s sat beside you on the couch, arm around your shoulders, and you’re snuggled back into him. The remote seems like a prop as you use it, aimlessly scrolling through a streaming service for a movie. Your thumbs are just rubbing over the rubber buttons now, your eyes focused on how his chest rises and falls.
“I really don’t mind what you wanna watch, baby,” He says.
His voice seems so much nicer up close like this, when his face is just above yours and you’re beside him.
“Or we don’t have to watch anything at all, we can just talk.”
How are you supposed to control yourself around him? How can he just walk into your home and fit right into your space, and look that good and be so warm? It feels like your bones are fighting against your skin to move, like the blood in your veins is yearning to jump rope. Joel is turning you on in a way you didn’t think possible, in a way where he’s never touched you, but you need him all at once. He’s softening the both of you.
It’s the middle of the hottest July of your entire life, but you’ve never felt warmer than right now.
“I’m sorry, was that weird? I jus’ like to hear you talk an–” Fuck he’s so nervous. Why is he so nervous? You want him loose and pliant again, like he was on the couch.
“You should kiss me,” you blurt out.
It’s funny how this is not the most insane thing you’ve suggested. The first crazy thing you suggested was “helping” him out with his boner when you went to his house on father’s day.
Still, Joel is surprised.
“You think so? I jus’ ate, I probably taste like food,” he says it like it’s an excuse.
You shift your body so you can face him better, chin tilted up so you can see his face. He’s not blushing, but he does seem surprised. This is much different than the embarrassed girl he walked home not even a week ago.
“Joel, I’m sure. I just– I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you bumble out.
He’s shaking his head, eyebrows pinched in that stupid way that makes his eyes look like a baby animals.
“No, no, baby, it’s alright I’m just gross from work and I…” He drops eye contact with you.
“I don’t want you to think that all I want from you is physical. You’re beautiful in a lot more ways than that.”
Fuck this guy, seriously. He’s so nervous, and clearly still thinks he’s fumbling this. Your bones are still vibrating, you’re so close to jumping out of your skin and into his.
“Joel you’re incredible too, but I just really need you to kiss me,” you breathe.
He seems to get it then. You clearly have deeper feelings, but after so long apart, and that disaster with his family, you’re pent up. Joel knows he’s kept you waiting long enough.
His first kiss is hesitant, just a small one that ends in a mumbled apology.
“S’been awhile,” he excuses before going back in.
And from there, it escalates. He’s controlled in his kisses, and seems to be avoiding tongue kissing you. Joel’s hesitancy from eating earlier is there, and you appreciate the courtesy. He makes it up though, when you push him further back on the couch and slide into his lap, arms looped around his neck.
Kisses are dotted from your lips, down your chin, and to the soft skin of your neck, where his mouth nips and kisses gently. Your hands are in his hair as you roll your head back, wanting to allow him however much space he needs to kiss you. There’s no hesitancy for either of you to be quiet, with him groaning as he smothers your neck in kisses, and you whining as he finds your sensitive points.
It only takes a few ruts of your hips against his for him to be asking you if you want to go upstairs. He’s out of breath beneath you, cheeks flushed, and you can feel how hard he’s gotten.
“Y-yeah, my room,” you agree weakly, sliding off his lap.
Joel can barely keep his hands off you as you scamper up the stairs, grasping at your thighs and laughing softly when you squeak.
It feels so juvenile, the way he grabs for you as soon as you enter your room. His lips are back on yours even as you try to tug up his shirt and he shakes his head slightly.
“You first, I have a lot to make up for,” he mumbles, nodding his head towards the bed.
He undresses you once you’ve laid down, with eyes that drag over you in awe and pure attraction. Joel doesn’t mind your plain cotton undies, or the hairs that poke out the front. It’s sweet and homelike, it’s normal.
He kisses where your hip bone is, murmuring into the fabric that covers it.
“I really want to eat you out, beautiful. Is that okay with you?”
For the first time in this entire evening, his voice seems to sober you rather than intoxicate you more. Your lungs finally catch up with the rest of you, and you can breathe enough to get some actual oxygen into your brain, so you can think.
Obviously the answer should be yes, but you don’t feel totally comfortable with that yet. You’re not someone who prefers to be shaven, it’s inconvenient, but your bush is a little much even for you right now. On top of that, you’ve been sweating like crazy all day, so you don’t even wanna know what it’s like down there. And if you don’t wanna know what it’s like, then you don’t want Joel to know what it’s like, even if he really wants to.
So you shake your head.
Perfect boy he is, Joel nods and says “that’s alright, baby, thank you for bein’ honest,” as he slides back up your body after placing one more kiss on your hip bone.
You are okay with him lifting your shirt off, and then unclipping your bra. He palms at your breasts lovingly, kissing them all over and lapping at your nipples. All of his touches are so gentle, but stupidly impactful. He seems to know that you don’t want this to be rough, that you enjoy his sweetness. He’s understanding you without even trying, and it feels like you’re being loved for the first time.
Joel is being careful in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you’re being overdramatic, or fragile. He’s watching your movements so he can do this right, but at the same time you’re getting impatient.
“Joel,” you pant as he sucks your nipple back into his mouth, “Joel, take your clothes off, please?”
He’s stupidly excited as he scrambles off your bed, tugging his jeans down and almost getting caught in his shirt when he pulls it off wrong. Joel touches his boxers and then looks at you with questioning eyes. This is where he hesitates.
“We can turn the lights off,” you offer gently.
You remember his hesitancy on the couch, how he didn’t want you to look at him, to see him. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark in your room when this happens, so long as it’s him in the bed with you.
Joel turns and shuts the lights off, plunging the room into darkness for a moment before your eyes adjust. In another moment, you feel him on top of you again, his warm skin touching yours. It’s very lucky you cracked your window open earlier, so now your bedroom has become a manageable temperature.
He’s comfortable on top of you, with his plush tummy pressing against the softness of your own. Your legs tangle as you struggle to strip your undies off, and you give up when they get caught around your ankle. His nose is pressed to your cheek as he just hovers above you for a second.
“I know I said this earlier, but it really has been a long time,” he admits quietly.
It shouldn’t warm your heart the way it does, but the idea of him not sharing himself with anyone for so long until you… it’s special.
“That’s okay. Are you okay?” You ask.
He nods, from what you can feel, and then pulls back onto his knees. Joel isn’t totally visible in the light of your room, but he’s still gorgeous from what you can tell. The pouch of his tummy is so cute, so real, and you hope that you can bite it one day.
“I’m just going to prep you a little, is that okay darlin?” Joel says carefully, trailing a hand down your thigh.
Maybe from the outside this looks like two awkward people having sex, or maybe even like you don’t want each other at all. It sounds like there’s so much hesitancy in the room, but it’s not like that. The two of you are just reassuring one another, Joel to you because he was gone for so long, and you to him because it’s been so long for him.
So it isn’t awkward, when he plunges his finger into you. He starts with one, gentle as ever, and works up to three very slowly. Joel leans down to your cheek and murmurs the nicest things to you, telling you how nice you feel, thanking you for being so kind to him.
“So patient with me, baby. Don’t know why you are, but it’s so kind,” he says quietly as he curls his fingers in you. They feel so much bigger than your own, but they fit fine. Fuller than you’re used to, but fulfilled in a new way. The feeling chokes your breath and all you can do is whimper softly at him, eyes wide.
“M’gonna be makin’ up my mistakes for a long time to you, an’ not just like this,” he promises, slowing his movements but making them more deliberate, a little harder. Nothing is burning like it usually does, there’s no sting of pain, it’s just a melting pot of pleasure between your legs as he gives himself to you and you to him.
“Is that okay with you? Is it okay if I wanna make this up to you for a long time?” Joel asks.
You know what he’s asking. You know you want it too, you know you haven’t felt this wanted since you moved to Texas, probably even before. Nothing has felt like this in your life, and he’s requesting you to have it.
“Yes, yes, Joel, that’s okay with me,” you say.
He leans down and kisses you once, then lets you scoot up and over on the bed so you can fumble in your drawer for the lube. Your hand passes over a silicone toy in your bedside table and you smile at the fact that it will soon be long abandoned as you pass the lube to him.
“Might be cold,” Joel warns before pouring some onto his fingers and applying it to you.
Then, he applies some to himself and settles comfortably between your legs. He drags the head of his cock over your hole and up to your clit, like a teasing warning. He had felt big in your palm before, but he feels even bigger now. He was right to prep you.
Finally, he notches himself and slowly pushes in, letting your locked ankles on his lower back guide the speed at which he slides in. Joel is breathing really heavily, and when he finally feels his pelvis meet yours, he collapses down onto his elbows.
“Fuck,” he cusses.
It feels better than you thought it would. He’s big, but not so much that you want him to pull back a little. You physically feel as comfortable and fulfilled as he makes you feel emotionally.
“So good, oh my god–” you sigh softly, hands reaching up and catching his curls in your fingers. You drag him down, your beautiful boy, and kiss him gently.
But he isn’t moving. You can feel his thighs shaking and how he’s still breathing heavily.
“Hey,” you start softly after pulling back from the kiss, but he shakes his head.
“If I move I think– I think I’m gonna come,” he sputters out embarrassedly.
Oh.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry baby. You’re just so fucking pretty and it’s been so long and you feel so goddamn good, I don’t know, I can’t move.”
His nose is near enough to yours that you can brush them together, nuzzling the side of his face.
“Joel it’s okay, I’m not going to be upset,” you tell him. It’s oddly sweet for him to have such an overwhelming reaction to you.
“No, I know that I just… I really wanna make you come. I wanna feel it," he admits.
And so you wait. Your unending patience seems to extend to him again in this moment and you lay there kissing him until he can finally begin to move at an even pace.
It’s so worth it.
Joel is so loving as he fucks you, with deep thrusts as he groans and bites at your neck tenderly. His hands come up and palm your breasts, rolling his thumbs over his nipples as he tells you how pretty you are, how grateful and sorry he is.
He apologizes a lot. For the party, for his distance, for how stupid he was to not see how beautiful you were from the day you moved in next door. He’s noisy and apologetic as he keeps a stable pace as he fucks you into your mattress.
Your mind is entirely fucked for him. You’re whimpering and mewling beneath him, babbling “it’s okay,” and “i forgive you,” everytime he says he’s sorry. Why is he even sorry anymore? Can’t he tell how much you love this?
The more he talks the closer you get, your body clenching around him as he buries himself deep repeatedly. The stable pace he set should ground you, should keep your head on your shoulders, but it’s actually making it worse. You don’t need it any faster or harder than he’s giving it to you, not with how noisy he is, and how attentive his hands are.
“Do you forgive me?” he rumbles into your ear, dropped on one elbow as his other hand is reached down and gently rubbing your clit.
You nod desperately, accidentally knocking your head into his. It makes him laugh, asking “yeah?” as he continues to pin his hips into your own.
“I forgive you, Joel, I swear,” you choke out weakly.
“Then will you come for me, honey? Please?” he asks.
It’s maybe the dirtiest thing he’s said all night, or maybe it just feels like it in the heat of the moment, but it sends you over the edge right away. You spasm around him and claw at his broad back, gasping for air and squeaking out noises you haven’t made before. Tears prick at your eyes as he works you through it with his fingers and cock.
“Fuck, yeah, there you are baby, that’s a good girl. God– Can I come? Is that okay?” Joel asks once you start to come down. You’re still in your head enough to nod, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.
It doesn’t take long at all, you’re surprised he was able to last as long as he did with everything considered. Joel takes less than a minute before he’s pulling out and letting out deep grunts and breaths as he comes on your tummy, looking down at you with adoring eyes.
“Thank you, thank you baby, God.” He huffs out as he catches his breath. He’s kneeling between your legs with his chest puffing.
He continues thanking you as he cleans you up with a washcloth. You had to guide him to it by yelling instructions as he walked on shaky legs to your linen closet, not wanting to spill his mess everywhere.
Once you’re finally cleaned up, he nestles into bed with you. Your head lays on his still clammy shoulder as he tucks you beneath his arm and presses kisses to your hairline.
“M’so grateful for you, darlin’, I hope you know that,” he mumbles to you.
You tell him that you know, that he just proved it to you, and he laughs. The noise is so warm in your room, like it was meant to be there.
“Okay, that’s fair, but if you need anything else,” he tells you.
A thought does pop into your mind, but it doesn’t seem totally appropriate. You’re enjoying this peaceful moment with Joel, in your quiet room. His hand is tapping its fingers on your stomach, squeezing the flesh once or twice.
You decide not to say anything, but your tummy does. She growls loud and proud, forcing an embarrassed blush onto your face.
“Um… I think I’m kinda hungry,” you admit.
—
That’s how you and Joel end the night, in the kitchen.
You’re sitting on your countertop while he leans against it about a foot away. The paper plate that Ellie loaded up with cake is sat between the two of you, and your forks steal big lumps out of it.
Joel has frosting in his moustache, but it looks so cute there that you don’t have the heart to tell him. Instead, you just lean over and kiss him.
“N’ what was that for?” He asks through a mouthful of cake.
You just giggle and shrug, admiring him.
“I just like you,” you tell him.
He looks like he might roll his eyes, but instead he steps closer to you and kisses you on the cheek. You can feel the residue of the frosting on your skin.
“Yeah, I think I like you too, baby.”
i don't have a taglist, but i'll just tag people who commented on texas sweet :p @mochamadeleines @pascalssbabyy @taeslarityy @stefanibear003 @slutty-express @theweedisasterxoxo @knockk0ut @axshadows @lumpatto @aquanatalie @peekyourinterest @moel-jiller @ghostofzion @joeylovestofu @hellishjoel @pedropeach @pawnshopb1ues
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader smut#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou#tlou fanfiction#tlouhbo#pedroverse#ellie writes
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i wish literally anyone else except for me would in depth care about my pathfinder character and would know like. all the lore and be in the sessions BUT i still wanna do it without the Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known
#myposts#like nemja is so coded into my own expieriences of growing up and is kind of a way for me to channel and deal w some stuff#like he is so much based on this expierience of being a young woman with a mental illness and this lack of any authority that comes w that#like. and he is insanely socially akward and shy but in this way where you are never taken seriously#like. the expierience of being a young adult who isnt really comfortable around Adults With Authority#like a driving instructor or your boss or whomever and you just feel akward and uncomfortable having to interact with this person#but who also has no ideal about social cues & is just really Weird but in the way people dont like yk#and whose impulsiveness and thoughlessness and general lacking understanding of consequences#creates horribly akward situations for himself like 24/7#which also includes situations where other people are mad at him afterwards and it kinda feeds into a weird cycle of self-hatred#like while learning and growing up he feels so viscerally on a display case where everyone can watch him fuck up and stumble around 24/7#and he also feels way too old to be going through this process and is horribly embarrassed (hes 22 but doesnt remember 7 years of his life#so hes emotionally kind of like 16-17 but also hes kind of 22 in some aspects so hes kind of embarrassed by how little he knows)#and also in his design he has these huge ass horns that make it impossible for him to ever really disguise himself#and not immediately stand out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes#and this visceral awareness that gives him of being percieved and the idea of never really having the choice to not be noticed#like as a woman growing up with alopecia being in any public place everyone will notice/look at you all the time#like no matter what you do like you can never turn it off and him being a rogue and good at stealth and shit#is kind of like an ironic wish fulfillment because as a kid i really did have this thing#where i thought invisibility would be the best superpower#but like. it's nice to not be seen but it always makes you an observer looking in and not a member of any group#this character is my absolute everything ok?#nemja
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dare to be stupid
summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session
tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)
a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk
part 2
“Truth or dare?”
It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.
And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes.
She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?”
You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed.
Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.”
Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.”
You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.”
“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?”
Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips.
Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?”
Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?”
“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?”
Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.”
Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?”
Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.”
There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in.
In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress.
When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?”
You grinned. “$200.”
Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.”
“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”
Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.”
You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips.
“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling.
“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.”
You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”
Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.”
Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor.
Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”
Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?”
You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!”
Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.”
You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder.
“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone.
“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”
Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning.
“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away.
Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.”
You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you.
This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”)
“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you.
Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?”
She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.
“Don’t-”
“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!”
“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-”
“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?”
“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?”
Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.”
Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?”
Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.”
“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.
And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing.
“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints.
You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.”
“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light.
You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”
You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies.
“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar.
It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own.
So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?”
She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands-
“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?”
And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited.
You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse.
You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk.
You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat.
For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.
“How would you rate your last kiss?”
You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.”
Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.”
“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic.
Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.”
Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else.
Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.”
Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.”
You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart.
“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there.
Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.”
And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.”
You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover.
And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer.
Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face.
Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth.
That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp.
“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest.
And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving?
Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.”
And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body.
Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue.
“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.”
She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone.
The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.”
Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin.
“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips.
“What?”
“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no.
“Truth,” you sighed.
One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?”
You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy.
“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing.
It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs.
Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?”
This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips.
And you decided to play her game.
“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes.
Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.”
You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.”
She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment?
But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue.
“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach.
You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.”
The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.
“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.”
Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple.
“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones.
You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease.
She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again.
Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.”
Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan.
You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye.
You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.”
Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission.
“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence?
And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them.
Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been.
Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs.
You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place.
You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….”
And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job.
And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-”
And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted.
Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-”
It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.
Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-
A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs.
Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity.
When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple.
The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?”
Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?”
You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?”
Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.”
You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”
The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin.
Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again.
You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you.
When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.”
You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.”
Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?”
You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.”
Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?”
“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you.
She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.
You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.”
You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.
Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.”
#listen i'm writing a novel rn so i forgot how to write short things#ellie tlou#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#ellie x fem reader#lesbian smut#ellie x you#ellie the last of us#ellie williams tlou#tlou smut#idk man#tlou 2 x reader#i might change the title idk i couldn't think of anything#i haven't written fanfiction in. like 8 or 9 years i think lol
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do you believe me now? | 4
in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.
series masterlist
18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses
(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!
“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”
You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.
“That one is complicated.”
You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.
“You don’t know.”
“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”
“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”
“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”
“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”
Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.
You look at it.
And then you set your phone down.
“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.
Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.
“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”
Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.
“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”
“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”
“Yes, I have.”
It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.
“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”
You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.
He looks good. Almost too good.
“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.
“Something… naked?”
His grin widens and he shakes his head.
“Me naked or you naked?”
Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Mm… why not both?”
“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”
The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.
“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”
He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”
He grabs your wrist carefully.
“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”
“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”
He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”
Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.
“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”
“So business as usual?”
He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.
“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”
A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.
Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.
You cover his hand with your own.
“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.
“What? No!”
“Are you going to cheat on me?”
“Absolutely not, I—”
“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”
“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have��begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”
It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.
“Every time?”
“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.
“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”
You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.
“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”
“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”
You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.
“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”
Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.
“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”
You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.
“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”
He kisses your palm.
“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”
“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”
Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”
He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.
“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.
“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”
Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.
“You want to know what I’d do to you?”
“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.
“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”
As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.
“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”
You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.
“What are you gonna do after that?”
“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”
Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.
“Yes, please.”
He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.
“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”
“Why careful? I don’t want that.”
He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.
“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”
The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.
“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”
It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.
Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—
And then his phone rings.
You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.
He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.
“I’m sorry.”
Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.
“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.
If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.
“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”
He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.
“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.
You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.
“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”
He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.
“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”
You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.
Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.
“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”
“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”
You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.
But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.
Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.
In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.
“Spencer?”
“Hm?”
It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.
“I…”
Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.
He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.
“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.
“I forget.”
FUUUUUUCK.
Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.
He knows.
He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.
Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.
“Well, let me know if you remember.”
It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.
Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.
You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.
But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?
Maybe you have it all wrong.
Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.
You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.
24 hours go by.
24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.
Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.
Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)
Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.
You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.
“Hello?”
Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.
“Shit, did I wake you?”
“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.
“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”
“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”
“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.
“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”
A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.
“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.
“Oh. Is everything okay?”
“As much as it can be.”
“Right.”
More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.
“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”
“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”
“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.
“What? Why?”
“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”
Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.
“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks.
“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”
Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”
“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.
“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”
When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.
“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”
“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”
You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.
“Guess whose bed.”
Silence.
“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”
“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”
“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”
“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”
Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.
“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”
“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.
“No, not you. You are always the exception.”
“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”
Spencer groans.
“You’re killing me.”
“What? What did I do!”
“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”
“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”
But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.
“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”
“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?” you frown.
“Tell me what this is.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.
“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”
Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.
“I don’t know. I miss you.”
He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.
“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”
“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”
“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”
Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…
“I’m not taking anything out on you.”
“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”
Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.
“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.
“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”
“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.
“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”
“I—”
“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”
The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.
“What… what thoughts?”
“None that you need to concern yourself with.”
“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.
“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.
“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”
“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”
“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”
“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.
Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—
“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”
You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.
“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”
He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.
“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”
“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”
“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”
You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.
“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”
It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.
“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.
“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”
You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.
“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”
The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.
“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”
“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say��it! You make me sound so weird!”
“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”
“Do we have to?”
The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.
“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”
“But you’re… you’re good, right?”
Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.
“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”
“And I’m good. So...”
“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”
You groan in frustration.
“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”
“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”
“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”
The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.
“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”
“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”
“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”
You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.
“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.
“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”
“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”
He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.
“You want me to come inside you?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.
—
On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.
“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”
“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”
You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—
“’M not.”
Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.
“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”
You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.
“Where are you touching?”
“Um—over my clothes.”
Cute.
“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”
It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”
He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.
“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”
Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.
“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.
“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”
“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”
“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”
He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.
“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”
The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.
“Did you find it?”
“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”
“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”
“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”
He gets the general sentiment.
“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Mhm!”
“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”
“Yes,” you cry.
“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”
“Spencer!”
He knows.
“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”
The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.
“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”
“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”
He’s barely kidding.
“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.
“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”
You laugh. He blushes even more.
“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”
“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”
“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”
The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.
“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”
“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.
Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.
For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.
—
A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.
You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?
“Spencer?” you murmur.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.
“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”
Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.
“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”
“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”
Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.
“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”
Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.
“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”
“But…?”
Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.
“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”
The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.
“You regret your first time?”
Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.
“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”
Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.
Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.
What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.
You want to scream bloody murder.
But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”
Maybe that’s worse.
Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.
“I didn’t realize you…”
I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.
I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.
I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.
If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.
“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.
More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.
“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”
Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?
What does one even wear to a breakup date?
“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.
Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.
“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”
“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.
“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.
So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.
“Goodnight.”
-
part five
#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic
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Yandere Stalker x you
Rated 18 + — mature short content !
Includes: Stalking, blood, fem reader, stealing, he’s weird as fuck, male masturbation, he’s infatuated with you.
*This fic is influenced by You—a great tv show btw. I’m trying to give him a joe goldberg vibe. I really thought of the weirdest and freakiest shit he could do… Here is part two! He is referred to as “your stalker” and this is purely fictional writing!*
Synopsis: Your stalker goes to extreme lengths to feel close to you. Nothing really phases him, and that includes your period blood.
What’s more dangerous than a man madly in love?
He stalked you to a coffee shop. He sat a couple tables away from you, and he ordered a random drink. He never really cared for the overpriced concoctions these baristas made, and he really was here for you. He watched your white straw turn into a different color when you sip on your drink, and he sighed happily as he thought you looked hot with your lips puckered.
Sure enough, every sip was like a punch to your bladder. You got up from your seat and you walked to the restroom.
Was this disgusting? He asked himself as his cheek hit the cold tile floor. He was currently hiding in the women’s bathroom, spying on you as you did your business. And to his elation, you were on your period. He watched as you pulled down your pants, and you sat down onto the toilet, his eyes honing in on the pad that lays on your panties. As you changed your sanitary pad and wrapped up the old one, you pulled your pants back up and walked out of the stall. His eyes following the sight of your shoes and you stopped at the trash can, he hears a faint noise, and then the sound of the water turning on.
When you finally left, he walked out of the stall he was hiding in, and he approached the trash can. He gently pushed the opening, and his arm traveled down inside to look for the pad you threw away. He prayed that all of the wet substances that he was feeling was just soggy paper towels.
He then feels a plastic film, and it was sort of short but thick in width, and he grabbed onto it. He pulled it out and he inspected the orange colored wrapper. He was curious since he didn’t have a uterus, and also didn’t know what it was like to have a period, and he then sniffed it.
It definitely smelled odd… It sort of tingled his senses, the aroma of metallic blood and the natural scent of your body was…. sort of triggering a deep rooted instinct inside him. But that didn’t stop him from stashing it away into his pocket. He quickly put his hood up and he walked out of the restroom.
He had to jog a bit to catch up with you, he saw you sharply turn the corner, and he almost panicked when he couldn’t see you anymore. The last time this had happened, a crowd swarmed him and he hasn’t seen you in months. For five hellish months he had to try to find you again. It certainly wasn’t easy to find someone that didn’t document every single moment of their life on the internet.
A year prior before he started to stalk you in person, he wanted to stalk you online. He was pretty sure everyone stalks their crush on their socials, he remembers seeing your name on the coffee cup you were holding, and he scrolled through endless usernames. He squinted his eyes and he tried to look at the tiny profile pictures.
None of them looked like you.
He couldn’t find your perfect face anywhere! He slammed his fists onto his desk, and his mind was racked with potential username ideas. Maybe you liked flowers? He started to name every single flower he knows, and he typed that with your name. He frowned when the page ended up empty, zero profiles showing up.
He soon found out you had zero social media presence.
He shoves his way through, bumping into seemingly everyone’s shoulder, and after handing out half hearted apologies…he finally saw you enter a store.
He looked up at the sign: “Rated: Adventurous,” it said. There was apparently a huge sale going on… whips and leashes half off… wait what?
He didn’t peg you to be the kinky type, but to be fair he didn’t know much about you. You keep your cards close and have a small knit of friends. He walked into a different aisle from you, trying to look normal by grabbing a random adult toy as he glanced at you. His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as you held a ten inch dildo in your hands, jesus. He looked down at his own crotch, his cheeks burning red and he cleared his throat. He put away the leather mask in his hand, and he inched a bit closer to you when you walk to the cashier. He notes that you mostly pay in cash, rarely using your card, and he noticed how you barely look around your surroundings. You didn’t even look his way—even when he was standing right in front of you, you just brushed past him and walked out of the store.
Huh.
He stands a couple of feet behind you as you hailed a cab, he makes sure to take a good look at the driver, and he saw you get in and buckle up. It’s not safe in the city, and even cab drivers had partaken in dangerous and criminal activities. Just last week a driver kidnapped a couple and fled out of the state. If you were to disappear—he knows exactly who to blame.
He quickly ran to his car and he followed after you. Running a couple of red lights doesn’t hurt anybody— maybe his wallet— but it’s worth it if it means protecting you.
He felt like he could finally relax as you made it home safely. He is now sitting in his parked car, idly fiddling with his fingers as you walked up to your front door.
He hoped that when you were pleasuring yourself you were imagining a man like him. Because he thinks of you when his pants are down.
Night has fallen and he’s been parked outside of your house for hours. He liked that it was dark out, because when he stares into your lamp lit apartment- all he could see is you and everything else is blocked out. You’ve always been a little tease, and the outfits you wore were always a bit scantily clad. But even now… it was like you were purposefully trying to trigger a response from him. You were just standing there, your arms crossed, and dressed in just a robe.
Just a tiny peek of your ankles and calves sent chills down his body. His hands started to work to unbuckle his belt, his zipper becomes unzipped, and he pulled out his hardened cock.
He wished you would’ve flashed him right there and then. He wanted a glimpse of your tits, just to see if they sag or if they were perky, and to see if your nipples were pink or brown. He would want to hold them in his hands. He wonders if you are shaven down there, or perhaps you liked to grow a bush. He wonders if your blood continued to flow out of you, dripping down your leg for him to lick and lap up. Would you like that? For him to spread your legs and help soothe your cramps?
He wouldn’t mind to have his fingers turn red, to have his hands and mouth stained of your heavenly essence. He wouldn’t mind if you got frustrated that his fingers couldn’t reach the deepest part of you, and that you wanted him to use his dick to impale you. A little blood never hurt. His eyes rolled back, and the muscles in his arms tightening as they furiously worked hard to jerk him off.
“Shit baby, that feels so good…” He groaned, his back arching as he was teeming for his release. His imagination running wild with the thought of you coming to his car to pleasure him. “I’m close I’m close I’m close—“
He used his other hand to reach into his pocket and he fished out the used pad, his teeth ripping the plastic, and his nose digs into the cotton. He let out a loud moan, your scent bringing him comfort, and his cock twitched as he came all over. His cum dribbling down his shaft, and dripping onto his hand. He sighed, and he cleaned himself up. He kept a box of tissues in the glove box, he wiped himself down and he looked in the mirror. There was a bit of your blood on his nose and chin, his tongue swiping at the area and he savored the taste.
The orgasm was so good that it lulled him to sleep, his soft cock still in his palm, and he snored away.
#Allurilove yandere writing#tw stalking#cw blood#yandere x female reader#yandere x you#yandere x fem reader#yandere x y/n#male yandere x reader#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere oc#smut writing#obsessive love#yandere fic#yandere stalking#yandere male#yandere smut#he’s gross#smutty smut smut#yandere writing#he wants you so bad
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