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greengoblinswifey · 29 days ago

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Beneath Chaos II—Hwang In ho/Player 001 x Fem!Reader

summary— as the two of you become more intimate, you uncover Young-il is not who he claims to be. He’s revealed to be the Hwang In-ho, the mastermind behind the entire game. As he manipulates you with his affections, you begin to question everything you thought you knew about him with the line between love and manipulation becoming increasingly blurred

warnings— age gap(reader is in her 20s, he’s in his late 40s) the usual squid games violence mentions, manipulation and deceit, fingering, choking, nipple play, oral(f!receiving), praise kink, body worship, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— requests are open but i take a while to get to them, patience <3 like and reblog <3

Part I

It was a war zone. Screams and shouts echoed through the space as players turned on each other, desperation driving them to violence. You’d managed to stay out of it for the most part, keeping close to the quieter players, but tonight, the group had decided it was time to go after the organizers of the game.

“Stick with me,” Young-il, the player who had stuck by your side since the start, urged.

You nodded, clutching your arm. “Where are we going?”

He tightened his grip on your wrist. “Trust me. I’ll get you out of here.”

The two of you weaved through the chaos, narrowly dodging bullets as guards closed in. One of them lunged at you after having their gun taken, and before you could react, Young-il used a gun to shoot them.

“Keep moving,” he barked, his voice unusually firm.

As the two of you made your way through what you called a maze, a steel door loomed and you couldn’t help but notice how methodical Young-il was. He fought with precision, taking down and guards and helping the group as you pressed forward.

“In here!” he said, dragging you through a hidden corridor behind the door.

Your heart pounded as the sounds of chaos grew fainter. “Where are we going? How do you know about this place?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched as he led you through the dimly lit hallway. When two guards appeared, you froze, expecting them to attack, but Young-il stepped forward, raising his hands.

“It’s me,” he said coolly.

To your shock, they stepped aside, lowering their weapons.

“What the hell?” you whispered, staring at him in disbelief.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll explain everything. Just stay with me.”

You followed him through the hallway, each step filling you with dread. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a heavy door, revealing a sleek, high-tech room filled with monitors.

You froze in the doorway. The screens displayed every corner of the facility, the dormitory, the games, the guards. It was the command center.

“What is this?” you demanded, turning to him.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached to a table and picked up a black mask that had been hidden.

“You’re the organizer of the games?” you whispered, recognizing that he was what they were after.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “But I couldn’t. Not yet.”

“You’re the Front Man?” Your voice trembled as the realization hit you like a freight train. “You’ve been running this whole thing?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone laced with guilt. “I didn’t want you here. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped back. “You lied to me. All this time, I thought—I thought you were one of us. I slept with you!”

“I did what I had to do to protect you and—forget that,” he said, taking your hand firmly.

You pulled your hand away, anger bubbling to the surface. “And this is your idea of protection? Letting people die?”

“I’ve kept you alive, haven’t I?” His voice softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you thought you knew. “I brought you here because it’s the only safe place left. Please, just trust me.”

The heavy doors to his quarters slid open, and he guided you inside with a hand on your back. The room was cold and sterile, lined with screens showing every corner of the games. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as you realized how removed this place was from the chaos you’d just escaped.

He stood by the console, running a hand through his damp hair as his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. He was fighting to keep his expression neutral, but you noticed the faintest flicker of something else, a strain, like he was holding back.

“I need to explain,” he said, his tone carefully measured.

You crossed your arms, your voice trembling. “Explain what? That you lied to everyone? To me?”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he walked closer. “I had no choice. My name isn’t Young-il. It’s Hwang In-ho. I entered the game for a reason, to infiltrate and dismantle this from the inside.”

There it was again—that careful modulation of his voice, as if he was reading from a script. But the way he avoided your eyes gave him away.

The real truth you were unaware of was that he didn’t care about dismantling anything. The truth was, the deaths, the violence, it didn’t matter to him. The only thing he cared about was you. His sweet, pretty little thing.

“What about our friends?” you asked, cutting through the silence. Your voice cracked as you thought of the people you’d fought beside. “What happened to them?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t worry about them,” he said coldly. “It’s just me and you now.”

“Don’t worry?” you repeated, your voice rising. “They were our allies, our—”

“They don’t matter,” he interrupted, his tone hard. “You matter. I’ve done everything to protect you. Every choice I’ve made, every lie—it was all for you.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to believe the man in front of you. His eyes softened as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your arm. “I know it’s hard to trust me right now. But you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head, your mind racing. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

“You’ll see,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles as he took your hand. “You’ll see that everything I’ve done has been for you.”

He straightened, his voice firm again. “You can get cleaned up. There are clothes for you in the bathroom.”

You walked into the sleek bathroom, its stark white tiles almost blinding under the fluorescent lights. A stack of fresh clothes sat neatly on the counter, along with a towel. The sound of water running filled the room as you stepped under the stream, letting the heat wash away the violence of the night.

You hadn’t heard him enter until you felt his hands on your waist. “In-ho?” you gasped, turning to see him standing behind you, naked, water dripping down his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Before you could respond, his hand tilted your chin upward, and his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened it. You felt his other hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

“Is this your way of making me trust you?” you whispered against his lips, your breath hitching.

He chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Maybe.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Or maybe I just can’t stay away from you.”

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the warmth of his lips, the weight of his arms on your naked body. But in the back of your mind, the doubts lingered, like a dark cloud that wouldn’t leave. As his lips trailed down your neck, you fought to push the thoughts away, telling yourself you could question him later. You really wanted to argue, to pull away, but the warmth of his hands against your wet skin, the way his breath fanned across your neck, made your protests dissolve before they even formed.

“I can feel how tense you are,” he continued, his fingers tracing slow circles along your hip. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”

You swallowed hard, the heat from the water mixing with the heat of his touch. “I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Yes, you do,” he countered softly, his lips skimming your jaw. “You know I’ll make you feel good. I always do.”

His hand moved lower, his fingers slipping along your thigh and feeling a slick wetness completely different from the water, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you. “See?” he said. “Your body knows. It always knows.”

His fingers teased higher, the pads of his fingertips grazing your clit with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. You leaned against the tiled wall for support, your knees threatening to give out. Pleasure ran through your body and you opened your eyes to stare into his dark ones as they locked on you. They broke away from you, looking down at your breasts that were cascaded in warm water before leaning down and swirling his tongue over them, his fingers still rubbing your clit.

Soft whimpers left your lips even though you tried your hardest to suppress them. You bit your tongue as he took your nipple between his teeth and bit down gently, a finger now slipping inside your wet pussy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet praise. “So beautiful. So perfect for me. Your body is a masterpiece.”

Your head tipped back, water running down your face as his fingers found your sweet spot, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. “In-ho,” you breathed, your voice trembling with equal parts of protest and need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his free hand moving to cradle your face, tilting it toward him. “I won’t let you fall. Just trust me.”

He moved his hand back down to your breast, kneading it as you involuntarily arched into his touch. A small smirk played on his lips and he leaned down, placing a kiss on yours. Another finger found its way inside your pussy, as his thumb skillfully rubbed your clit, increasing your pleasure. His fingers curled, and he used his free fingers to gently pinch and pull on your nipples as you tried to stop the soft moans from leaving your lips.

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch unrelenting, and the praise spilling from his lips only heightened it. “That’s it my good little girl,” he coaxed, his lips brushing against yours before capturing them fully, swallowing the sounds that escaped you.

His kiss was possessive, almost desperate, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hearing you but him. His fingers thrusted faster inside you with an expert rhythm, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and intoxicating. “So perfect, every part of you. All mine.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as an orgasm built inside you. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Let me see you cum, just for me.”

His fingers went faster and your body gave in, the release was swift and all consuming, leaving you trembling and moaning his name in his arms. He held you close, his hands steadying you as your breathing slowed.

“See how good that felt?” In-ho murmured, his lips curving into a small smile. “It can get even better.”

A flicker of shame passed through you, how could you let him do this, knowing what was happening just outside these quarters? The chaos, the danger, the people you had left behind. But the moment his hands trailed down your waist, firm and grounding, the doubt began to dissolve.

“In-ho,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and soft.

“I know angel,” he said gently, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But don’t think about anything else right now. It’s just you and me here. No one else matters.”

Before you could reply, he dropped to his knees. The sight of him kneeling before you, his dark hair dripping with water, made your breath catch.

His hands found your thighs, spreading them slightly as his lips pressed kisses on your pussy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Let me show you.”

Your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands as his lips engulfed your throbbing clit. He worked with slow, deliberate care, his mouth trailing heat over your pussy.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his breath warm against you. “So good for me. You always are.”

His tongue flicked over your clit fast, better than your fingers or anyone else could ever feel on you. He licked from your entrance back up to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling like a starved man.

Your grip in his hair tightened as a low sound escaped you, and he let out a quiet chuckle, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

For a moment, all thoughts of the world outside were forgotten. The only thing that existed was the feel of his lips and the steady stream of praise falling from them.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice reverent yet commanding. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

He ate you out like he had something to prove. Like he was showing you that no one else could care for you so much that it reflected in how they pleasured you. His tongue slipped inside your pussy, thrusting gently as you shivered and let out soft whimpers that made his dick hard. All that clouded your mind now was his tongue, exploring every inch of your needy, quivering pussy, licking up and down and slurping on your clit.

Your grip in his hair tightened again as your breaths turned shallow, your body trembling under his touch. He moved with such precision, as though he knew exactly what your pussy ached for. The sound of the water cascading around you only heightened your senses, every touch, every flicker of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Come on sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, rumbling praise that sent a shiver up your spine. “Just cum for me. Be good for me.”

Your fingers clenched in his wet hair, and your body obeyed, your orgasm spilling over as the pleasure became too much to contain and you squirted in his mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your clit one last time before he stood, his hands trailing up your sides to pull you against him. You could feel the strength of him, solid, grounding you as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to your hips. “See how good I can make you feel?” he murmured against your lips.

Before you could respond, he turned you gently, guiding your hands to brace against the tile as the warmth of the water poured over you. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, trailing kisses along your neck as his hands explored your wet, naked body.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “I won’t stay away from you, you know that?”

As his hands gently groped your ass, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, his words soft but full of lust. “I need to fuck you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

“Please- please do,” you whimpered.

You could feel the way he was responding to you, his cock against your ass telling you everything you needed to know. Your pulse raced as you gave in to the moment, not wanting to fight the pull between you. You both let out low moans as he entered your tight pussy from behind, halting for a second to give you time to adjust to his sheer size. He was so thick, stretching and filling you in ways you knew no one else could.

He began steadily rutting into you, the sound of skin slapping amplified by the water making him chuckle lightly. His lips pressed against your neck as your pussy gripped his cock like it never wanted to let him go.

His voice was a little hoarse as he whispered, “You feel so fucking good.”

His hands shifted, one sliding around your neck, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. You leaned into it, feeling the pleasure rise inside you. With every thrust, he took his time, drawing out each moan, each squelch of your pussy that sent your heart racing.

He looked down at your ass bouncing against him, and you swore his cock throbbed inside you. With his hand still around your neck, the other reached in front, rubbing rough circles on your clit as his cock hit your g spot repeatedly.

“Relax,” he whispered softly. “I’ve got you. Cum on my cock.”

His words, his touch, it was all part of this undeniable force pulling you closer, and you gave in, your pussy soaking his cock buried inside you, surrendering to the moment, feeling more alive than you’d ever thought possible these last few days.

After drying off, the steam from the shower clung to your skin. The mirror fogged up just a bit from the warmth, but it only added to the intimacy of the moment. His hands gently cupped your waist as he stood close behind you. You could see his reflection in the mirror, his gaze intense as he met your eyes through the glass.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of your neck. His hands traced your sides slowly, memorizing every curve, every inch of you. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to protect you.”

The words made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions swirling within you. You’d never felt so seen, so cared for, as if everything about you mattered to him. He continued, his voice low, full of reverence, “You’re my priority. I would do anything for you. No one else matters but you.”

He stared at you in the mirror as his hard length entered you again. He moaned into your ear, the deep sound going to your pussy and making it throb as he began fucking you again. Your mouth fell open, the intimacy of the moment sending ripples of need through you. His large hands cupped your breasts, groping and tweaking your nipples as you met the roll of his hips, fucking him back as he pounded your pussy.

The mirror reflected the way his eyes softened as they traced your brown skin, his admiration for you evident in the way he held you. He kissed your shoulder, your neck and then your temple, the feel of his lips on you making you shiver.

“No one else matters. They don’t fucking matter, only my pretty little angel,” he murmured

With every thrust, he showed you just how much you meant to him, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. You could feel the care, the devotion, and the unwavering desire to be close to you, to cherish you in some lowkey sick and twisted way. It was a rare and overwhelming feeling, one that made your heart race and your pulse quicken.

“Every.part.of.you,” he murmured, thrusting with word, his lips brushing against your ear, “is.perfect.to.me.”

You couldn’t hold on much longer. He was right at the edge waiting too. Your hand reached behind him, bringing his head down to suck on your neck, his eyes still locked onto yours in the mirror as you squirted on his cock. Your pussy drenched him, your juices trailing down your thighs and his as you convulsed with him still inside you.

“That’s my good girl, fuck, I’m gonna cum too, deep inside this tight pussy. Take it for me sweetheart,” he groaned.

He let out a deep, guttural moan and you hummed in content, feeling his hot load fill you to the brim.

As your highs passed, you could feel the air between you slowly easing. His lips brushed against your temple, soft and tender, grounding you. His voice was gentle but firm, “I’m here. It’s just us now. That’s all that matters.”

His words were soothing you in a way that only he could. With delicate care, he cleaned you up, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just happened. Then, he led you to the bed, helping you lie down as he dressed you slowly, making sure you were comfortable.

“You’ll get all the answers you need,” he said quietly, his hand brushing a strand of your curls away from your face, “in due time. Just trust me. Be patient.”

You let out a soft breath, not fully understanding everything, but something in his words made you want to believe him. Trust. What a word. It was so simple yet so heavy. Could you really place it in his hands, when everything else felt so uncertain?

You looked up at him. “Trust,” you echoed, “you’re really good at making that sound easy.”

He returned your smile, though it was tinged with something darker, something unreadable. “I don’t need you to trust me now. Just know I’ll never let you go.”

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orestesimp · 2 years ago

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 12

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you follow Marc out into the night. Or alternatively: 🎵 Fighting evil by moonlight. Winning love by daylight 🎵

Content: Cthulu horror, violence, blood and gore, angst, yikes overall.

Word Count: 6.2k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

You’re not thinking straight.

Somehow you’re already at the end of the hallway, pushing the button for the lift and having a staring contest with the red floor indicator, and you don’t even know if you managed to lock up behind you.

The lift is stuck at the ground floor, apparently unwilling to do the one bloody thing a lift is supposed to do and lift itself. You can’t be bothered to wait. Before you even properly register making a decision, you’re already down the five flights of stairs, out the building's front door and onto the street, cheeks stinging from the bone-chilling cold.

Usually, the residual heat from the bustle of city life coupled with fumes from the busy traffic will keep London warm enough even in the dead of night. But now, as you make your way down the cramped street, it’s so cold that your breath is frosting in front of you.

It’s eerily quiet for Central London. The only sound is the one made by your feet carelessly splashing through the puddles of rainwater filling the potholes in the cracked pavement, and it seems to echo off the tall concrete walls on either side of you.

You don’t know what you’re doing.

It would be better, safer, smarter for you to go back upstairs where you could stay comfortably warm under the covers while you wait for Steven to return to you in the morning.

You know all of this, but you don’t turn around. Don’t even hesitate. One foot after the other, you stride determinedly down the narrowing passageway that’s lined with pungent beer bottles and deep fried chicken bones, until you reach a fork in the street.

This is all so stupid.

You don’t know which direction Marc went—right or left—don’t know what his intended destination is or if he even came this way at all. But you do know one thing.

Marc Spector loves you.

His quiet voice still echoes between your ears. ‘I love you too’, he’d said, and it was real.

You chance left into an even smaller alleyway. You don’t know why, other than that the dark tapered alley seems like a more likely place for Marc to have slunk off to in the middle of the night.

There are no street lights here, and the walls on both sides seem to narrow in on you, until you feel like they're practically scraping against your shoulders. Somehow, even though you’ve been more or less living in this area as of late, you’ve not ever come across this path before.

A foetid smell lingers in the air, like someone’s left rotten eggs out in the sun. London’s never exactly smelled good, but the sudden overwhelming odour stings your nostrils, invading your throat in a way that threatens to have you doubled over, dry-gagging.

The rain is coming in heavier now, but it does nothing to help with the smell. Just permeates every single layer of your clothing, until you’re soaked all the way down to your socks.

You’re bloody freezing.

Something doesn’t feel quite right, but you chalk it up to the fact that you've chosen to take a stroll down a dark alley in East London in the middle of the night by yourself. Not your brightest decision ever, but here you are.

A tingling at the back of your neck makes you throw a quick glance over your shoulder, checking to see if someone’s watching you, but there’s nothing there. All you see is the same depressing-looking alley that you just came down. Red-rusted brick walls above a concrete street covered in manky puddles and rubbish, just like every other dirty little alleyway in East London.

Somehow, this does nothing to reassure you.

The skin between your shoulders itches, prickling with uncomfortable heat despite the cold, and it feels like a warning sign.

Despite the fact that you’re wearing sturdy boots and covered from toes to chin, you still feel uncomfortably exposed. Like any minute now something might start nipping at your heels from behind. It’s the same illogical fear you feel when you’re alone in bed at night with your feet sticking out from under the covers. You’ve left yourself defenceless and vulnerable to the monsters under the bed. It’s only a matter of time before something from the darkness will reach out and grab you by the ankles, dragging you under.

You continue forwards, hurrying your pace with every step. It’s irrational, but you can’t shake off the feeling that if you don’t, something will catch up to you.

Some sort of.... clicking starts up behind you, and you slow to a stop. Some lost survival instinct is screaming at you, telling you to freeze. To hide so it won't see you.

The unsettling noise continues, rattling oddly in your ears and growing ever more distorted as it echoes off the walls around you. You’ve never heard anything like it, and you wish you weren’t hearing it now. It’s… strange. Not quite right.

Other.

The noise stops, leaving just the sound of your breath rasping in and out of your too-tight chest. You force yourself to move; fighting the warning siren of your heart hammering painfully hard in your chest, you turn slowly to look over your shoulder at the alley behind you.

There’s nothing there. You're alone.

Slowly, slowly you turn the rest of the way, but there's still nothing. Aside from the usual smattering of rubbish, the only thing in the alleyway is the image of the moonlit sky mirrored on the rain-covered, empty pavement.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and force yourself to keep breathing, fighting the stubborn tightness of your chest to take in deep, calming breaths that turn visible as you exhale against the crisp air.

So you heard an odd sound. And what of it? Probably just someone’s ancient radiator clicking up a storm. That’s all. Everything else is just your overactive imagination. Might even have been a bird. Someone’s escaped parakeet doing a strange mating call perhaps. What do you know? London wildlife has always been unpredictable and strange, after all.

You’ve nearly managed to convince yourself, about to turn on your heel and continue on your way when you spot it. The gentle ripple pattern spreading out across the thin sheet of water covering the grey concrete. Not unusual in the least, given that it’s raining. Except it’s a large ripple. Too large to be from the rain.

Despite the freezing temperature, your spine prickles with cold sweat underneath your thick coat.

The noise starts up again. It warbles and clicks-clicks-clicks. You can’t pin where it’s coming from. It’s disorientating. It comes from the ground, rattles off the walls and lingers in the air above. It’s everywhere.

Water splashes on the ground some feet away from you, a small spray going up in your peripheral vision, like something stepped on it. Something heavy. Something large.

But there’s nothing there. And that maddening clicking noise won’t stop.

You can’t see anything in the empty space over the water puddle in front of you. Nothing, not even the smattering droplets of the pouring rain. The water is eerily still which… can’t be right.

You narrow your eyes at the puddle, dragging your gaze upwards, and…

There’s a hole in the rain.

A void of some sort, defined only by the absence of the falling water. Following the empty space upwards, you can see a clearly defined boundary where the droplet starts again. Like the rain is bouncing off a transparent surface.

There’s something there. Something solid. Something big.

A huge eerie shape. As you squint at it, you begin to recognize that the water is outlining crouching limbs and a torso. Your brain keeps trying to pin down what it looks like, but it’s not the shape of any animal you know of. There’s something not right about its form. It's disproportionate; all overly sharp edges and grotesque bulging curves that make your skin crawl. The angles are wrong somehow in a way that makes your brain itch to look at them.

It’s...

It’s…

Not of this world.

You hold your breath, standing motionless, feet rooted to the wet pavement as rain pelts your face so hard it stings.

Click. C-Click. CCCCClick.

The noise rattles closer. Louder now. It feels like it’s burrowing under your skin. Into your brain. But the warning sirens blaring inside your head are louder still. Deafening. Every instinct and nerve ending in you is screaming one thing.

RUN.

You turn and run, one leg leaping in front of the other. You run without looking behind you. Running even as you almost stumble, feet skidding against the slippery-wet concrete. Your lungs burn, but you don’t stop. Don’t dare look back. Eyes fixed on the dim, rain-fogged light at the end of the alley in front of you. You run.

There’s a loud crash behind you. A percussive thunderclap of sound that hurts your ears. The crunch and clatter of concrete being torn apart.

But you don’t stop. Don’t look behind you to investigate. You run.

You run, ignoring the bile pushing its way up your throat. Run, ignoring the shrieks of sound erupting behind you. Running from the sound of a wounded creature, like no animal that you have ever heard in your life. A hellish scream that doesn’t sound of this world, tearing through the thin space. A pain that is born out of pierced flesh and broken bones. You run.

Stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.

Why are you here? Why didn’t you just stay in the safety of your home, tucked up in bed under the covers? The stinging wetness in your eyes blurs your vision as you tear down the alleyway. Does it open out into another street or dead end? You can’t tell yet, but there’s nothing else to do. You run.

You collide with something solid and firm.The impact knocks the wind out of your lungs, and a strong pressure surrounds you from every angle, grabbing hold of your shoulders and constricting around your ribs. You can’t run.

You can’t breathe. There’s something clamped over your mouth and nose. Coarse gauze pressed into your nostrils, suffocating you.

You make a desperate attempt to free yourself, arms trying to push out against the tight hold, hands clawing at whatever you can reach, but your pathetic attempts are no use. The grip only tightens at your resistance. It’s too strong. You can’t get free.

This is it. There’s nowhere left to go. You’re trapped. It’s over.

Still, you can’t stop fighting, thrashing in every direction, trying to squirm yourself loose.

“Stop! Stop!”

You recognize that grumpy, impatient voice. You’d know it anywhere, even muted as it is by the blood thundering in your ears. You register that the solid weight holding you captive is a person.

Marc.

You go limp. Shoulders slumping into his hold. Legs no longer kicking as your feet settle onto the ground below.

“I’m gonna let go of you now. I need you to not fight me. Or scream.”

You nod into his hand, and the pressure finally gives, as does his grip. Then you’re free.

Turning around, the sight that greets you nearly has you screaming and running after all because it’s not Marc at all. It’s…

A mummy.

Layers upon layers of white gauze are wrapped like bandages over every inch of the body before you. Wound around limbs and woven over a broad torso, continuing up to shroud the face.

And the eyes…

Where the eyes should be, the eye sockets are hollowed out. The gorgeous brown you expected is absent, replaced by a white glow that blinds you when you try to look directly at it.

You wobble on your feet, a sick nausea filling your throat.

It spoke like Marc. Used his voice.

Oh god! Is this some monstrous creature that mimics human voices to lure in its prey?

Did it eat Marc!?

Is it going to eat you!?

The glowing eyes narrow into impatient triangular shapes, the shoulders pulling up and back while the feet shift in an almost nervous gesture. An odd sense of recognition fills you.

“M-Marc?”

The eyes narrow further into a scolding glare. Even without a mouth, you can tell he’s scowling at you. The thing growls, but it’s a human sound. And a familiar one.

Marc, definitely Marc.

Only he could manage to scowl behind a hoodie, three layers of mummy bandages and a glowing Halloween mask.

As you watch, the hood and mask recede, evaporating into thin air. White bandages give way to golden-tanned skin, and you’re greeted by the face you know so well. Hard eyes staring down at you above steel-cut cheekbones and a jaw set with displeasure.

“Marc!” Thank god! Relief floods your chest, but it’s short-lived. That thing could still be out there. “We need to go!”

“Why are you here? You can’t be here,” Marc grates out, resisting your attempts to pull him into motion. He’s clearly furious, but right now the two of you have got more important things to worry about.

“We need to go,” you repeat, pleading with him, hands grappling for his, trying to tug him in the direction you were running before, but he resists you effortlessly, like he’s anchored to the spot. You might as well be trying to tug a stone statue.

“Marc, please! There’s something out there! Like a– a–” you fumble, unsure of what to name it, because you don’t know what the hell that thing was.

An invisible monster? A demon? A boogeyman?

“I don’t know what it was! Some kind of… creature. Something big,” Your voice breaks. Your fingers tremble where they’re curled over his arm, and you grip harder. Digging them further into the bandages, trying to get them to stop. “You have to believe me Marc!”

He’s not going to believe you, is he? He’s going to think you’ve lost the plot and need to be sectioned. God, maybe you do.

But the vexation in his face fades as he watches you, his expression shifting into something softer, filled with worry. His hands reach for you, the bandages soft against your cheeks.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He tips your chin up, eyes searching your face, and if he thinks you are mad or hysterical, there isn’t a trace of it in his gaze. There’s no disbelief. “I know.”

His calm acceptance stuns you.

“What do you mean you ‘know’?”

“I know because I…,”—he hesitates, mouth set in a grim line—”I took care of it.” “You took care of… what? Marc, what–? What do you mean by that?”

Marc falters at that, and runs one gloved hand over his hair. His eyes dart around like he’ll find the answer hidden somewhere behind the overflowing rubbish or carved into the worn brick of the alley wall.

“I…,” He hesitates again, glancing at you and then away, like he can’t make himself hold your gaze. “This is what I do,” he finally spits out. “I tried to keep this shit away from you. It’s not something you were ever supposed to see. I need you safe.”

The unhappy set of his mouth makes your aggravation falter, but you need to understand.

“What do you mean? Tried to keep what shit away from me?”

“I–” He breaks off, eyes darting up and across the wall of the building across from you, high above your head. “Shit. We need to go.”

Oh sure! Now he wants to leave. (Though it’s not like you’re going to argue.)

Marc grabs your arm again, and you do your best to keep up as he hauls you along down the alley.

You try to watch the alley walls and street as you run, searching for any sign of the grotesque invisible creature from before, but you can’t make out anything in the pouring rain this time. You try to listen instead, but you can’t hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Marc stops suddenly, and you stumble to a halt as well, crashing into his back and nearly falling.

“Mar—“

“Quiet,” he cuts you off with the low demand, and the quiet urgency of his voice has you freezing instantly. He stares at the mouth of the alleyway, then up where the moon is just barely visible in the gap between the buildings, eyes wide and alert, face rigid with something like fear. It makes your own fear balloon, your pulse screeching in your ears.

Suddenly there’s a scraping sound, and small bits of brick fall from above, skittering down from the wall on your left. You peer at the shadowy face of the building, but there’s nothing to be seen.

Another grinding sound, closer this time. Something large and heavy rubbing against brick. Another shower of gravel and debris, but you still can’t see where the bloody thing is.

Dread curls in the lining of your stomach.

Then it starts again, that otherworldly clicking that seems to burrow right into your skull. You cover your ears reflexively. Would claw them right off if only it would make the noise stop.

Marc reaches for you then. Moving slowly and deliberately, he wraps an arm around you, scooping you close against his chest and taking you with him as he backs away.

You huddle against him, staring up at his determined profile. His eyes are trained on a spot on the building across from you, clearly seeing what you can’t.

Without looking away, he leans in closer to you and whispers, “Get ready to run.”

He’s barely finished speaking when the wall crumbles above you, and Marc’s arms untangle from you, leaving your side.

You think you catch the sight of something moving in the rain, a slight distortion visible as the shape crosses in front of the moon, then you’re shoved to the side, voice echoing in your ears.

“Run!”

You weren’t ready.

Shoes skidding backwards in the slippery rain, you lose your footing, and go down. You land hard on your bum, and can’t seem to get up again.

Everything is happening too fast.

Your chest hurts. Breath stuttering in your lungs, too quick and shallow to let you take in any oxygen. Your heartbeat is pounding so rapidly against your ribs that you’re sure it’s going to rip a hole straight through your chest to the open air.

It’s too bright.

The light from the moon above seems to flood the alleyway, and your eyes throb.

Too loud.

A solid thud reverberates through the air mere feet away from you. It’s the sound of knuckles meeting flesh. A blood curdling shriek rips through the space.

Too much.

Marc's forearm is held up, parallel to the wall, like he’s pinning something that isn’t there. Something large and thrashing. Your eyes are fixed on the bizarre scene before you. You don’t understand what you’re seeing. Don’t understand how the man who folds your clothes in neat squares and makes you lukewarm tea is the same man as the one who stands before you now. Poised and calm in the violence. Holding his own against an otherworldly monster, and winning.

None of this feels real.

His fist slams forward, landing some distance away from the brick. Punching into the invisible air. But there’s a horrifying squelching sound with each landing punch that lets you know something is there that you’re not seeing.

You watch, so focused on Marc and the damage he’s meting out that you almost don’t notice when a damp gust of air grazes against the fine hairs on the back of your neck and sends the soft skin underneath prickling. You fail to take it as the warning sign it is.

Fuck. There’s another one!

You don’t have time to react. No time for anything. Just the sound of glass crunching against asphalt, and something slamming into your back, so forcefully that the impact threatens to crush your ribs.

You land face first this time, cheek kissing the concrete with a painful sting. There’s a heavy weight on your back, and mud in your mouth. Or maybe blood. Everything tastes like pennies.

Marc shouts your name. His voice is raw, panicked. So full of fear it's almost unrecognisable.

You want to go to him.

Anchoring your elbows on the gravelly ground, you try to push up against the heavy weight pinning you to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts. Your shins are stinging. Cheek too and your forearm where your sleeve must have ripped. Your ribs are one big throbbing blotch of burning pain. But you manage to lift your head up in time to see Marc leaping towards you.

He seems to be suspended in time, one hand pulled back, the other outstretched in mid-air as he reaches for you. Droplets of rain sparkle where they’re caught in his hair, and others seem to trickle leisurely down his forehead above his brown eyes that are wide in blind panic.

You feel it before you see it.

His fingers curl around your wrist, the solid weight of his hand clamping tight around your forearm. Time speeds up again at the touch. You hadn’t realised sound had gone missing too until it returns with a deafening fury.

The suspended rain smatters down all around you. Marc’s other hand impacts the creature pinning you down with a sickening squelch, and a grotesque shriek tears through the space behind you, tapering off into a rheumy deathrattle.

Marc’s face fills your vision, the terror in his expression just starting to shift into relief when some small distortion, barely seen out of the corner of your eye, breaks into your line of sight, and he’s ripped away from you again by some invisible force.

You don’t understand what you’re seeing. There’s some disconnect between what’s happening in front of you and your brain’s ability to process it.

You know that can’t possibly be Marc hurtling through the air, white cape billowing behind him like a white flag of surrender. Surely there’s no need to worry because of course you aren’t seeing his body impact the side of the building with a horrifyingly meaty thud that reverberates in your bones, and then tumble to the ground in a shower of broken masonry

You stare at the pile of white fabric and brick pieces there on the ground for a moment, and your heart pounds so forcefully that you feel lightheaded.

It’s a horrible nightmare made reality, and your brain wants to fight it. To pretend it’s not happening. Tell you that it’s not Marc’s lifeless body lying facedown on the ground in front of you.

But… it is.

You can feel the bitter acrid taste of the truth carving itself into your throat.

You scramble up, ignoring your bloody knees and the searing pain in your side, not stopping until you’re hunched over Marc’s body. He’s terrifyingly still. You grip his shoulder, tugging hard until you’ve managed to turn him onto his back, all the while begging to any deity or higher power who might be listening to please let him be all right; let him be awake; let him still be alive.

Please.

He has to be.

Cupping his cheeks in your palms, you have to swallow the raw sob in your throat at how cold his skin feels against yours.

A pulse. You need to check for a pulse.

You shove two fingers against the column of his throat up under his jaw, trying to find the right place, but the stupid bandages are too bloody thick. You can’t feel anything through them. You tug at them, trying to rip them free or wedge your fingertips underneath to get at bare skin, but they’re hard as steel. You don’t stop though, clawing at them now because you’ve got to–

A heavy, thudding footfall lands on the ground a short distance away, and you jerk your head up.

The creature is there in the alley, right in front of you…

All you can see is the malformed outline, silhouetted by the cascading rain refracting in the moonlight. It turns slowly towards you, feet grinding against the pavement.

Absolute terror swamps you. Every cell in your body is screaming. You need to escape!

RUN!

You scramble to get ahold of Marc, barely managing to wedge yourself underneath him until you can wrap both your arms around his chest from behind and heave, straining to drag his uncooperative body away from danger. You don’t get very far.

Marc is heavier than he looks, and your feet scrape and skid against the wet concrete as you desperately try to drag both of you backwards. You barely manage to budge him at all, gaining at most a few inches before the creature begins clicking again.

You can see the outline more clearly now. If you squint you can just make out mangled tentacles protruding from where its head must be and writhing grotesquely in a way that your eyes refuse to focus on. Your breath seizes in your chest and you have to look away, your body wracked with shivers.

You watch it come out of the corner of your eye, thick limbs advancing on you one torturously slow step at a time. You don’t understand why you’re still alive. The creature certainly seemed capable of ferocious speeds when it had attacked Marc before. You get the feeling it’s mocking you. A giant supernatural cat playing with its prey before it eats, and you’re the hapless dinner.

The thought sickens you.

You tighten your grip on Marc, wrapping your arms around him with renewed determination. Clutching him as close as you can in a futile attempt to protect him from this thing. Unwilling to let it have him.

There’s more loud clicking, closer still, scraping against your brain like nails on a chalkboard and making your spine curl.

You’re out of time. Out of options. Your brain furiously scans through a lifetime of collected memories and information for any shred of useful knowledge. Anything to help get you out of this, but there’s… nothing. No secret escape route. No Hail Mary play.

It’s hopeless.

You wish it hadn’t come to this. That you could somehow save Marc and Steven and yourself. That you had more time.

You wish you had taken the time to eat the breakfast Steven’s made for you with him yesterday morning. That you could have had the chance to taste Marc’s pancakes again. That you had kissed Steven more often (should have done it every opportunity you had), gotten to see that sunshine smile of his light up the room one last time. That you could’ve told Marc you love him in person.

But that’s the thing isn’t it?

You don’t have all the time in the world. You never did. Everything has an end.

You hug Marc closer to your chest. You’re just glad you got to face your end here with him, together.

Searing pain rips into your ankle as cold claws sink into your flesh. The breath you’ve been holding all this time is knocked out of you. Any small shred of peaceful resignation you’d been able to muster in the face of certain death is ripped away, and you react without thinking.

Your foot flies out in a swift kick. The heel of your boot connects with something soft and pulpy that yields with a sickening squelch.

There’s an angry clicking shriek. It rattles your eardrums painfully and vibrates through your chest, like standing too close to a speaker at a club. The monster takes a step back, but the taloned grip around your heel doesn’t ease, dragging you with it.

You kick again. Firm sponginess that makes you think of decomposing flesh. Unnaturally soft for something still moving. You think you might vomit.

The thing screeches but doesn’t loosen its grip. Asphalt and shards of glass dig into your back as it drags you along. You try to cling to Marc, but you can’t. You might as well be a flea for all the hope you have of challenging its strength.

You twist around onto your front. All you see is mute greyness of the alley. The increasing distance between you and Marc as the thing drags you along. You try to claw at the ground but there’s nothing to hold onto. Your watch, somehow miraculously still on your wrist after everything, pops free now, and you watch it disappearing from your sight, growing smaller and smaller as you’re dragged away, and somehow that’s the final staw. You squeeze your eyes shut on a ragged sob, draw in half. breath to scream, and…

Everything stops.

It’s dark behind your closed eyelids. Your throat is raw, burning. Are you still screaming? You must be, but you can’t hear anything anymore. There’s no more clicking. The rain seems to have stopped. You can’t feel it falling onto your skin or the asphalt scraping against your torn clothes.

Are you… dead?

If you are, why do your knees hurt so much?

You crack your eyes open to find yourself staring up at the pitch-black sky lit by a perfectly circular moon.

Something white flutters in the periphery of your vision. A white… flag? No, it’s a long flowing white cape that hovers over your body.

Marc!

Or… is it?

Something’s different.

Tracing the cape upwards, it takes your frazzled brain a second to register what’s changed. This mummy is missing bodyparts! Or… no. His costume is just a different colour. Solid black ink runs up his legs instead of the white bandages that were there before, masking his outline against the black sky above..

Is this someone else?

You crane your neck towards where you last saw Marc’s body lying on the pavement, but he’s not there any longer.

This must him, then.

…Isn’t it?

He’s standing hunched over empty air, a vicious brutality emanating from his entire body that wasn’t there before as he delivers repeated bone-shattering punches to…. nothing. His fists sink into the space that you know isn’t really empty. You can hear the impacts now, even if you still can’t see the creature. The dull wet thud of knuckles connecting with flesh over and over and over again, with almost mechanical precision.

With each blow the same hellish scream you heard earlier rings in the air, but it’s growing weaker, soggier each time until finally it fades all together. And the stomach twisting crunch of bones breaking grows ever louder as his fists sink deeper and deeper into the invisible mass.

Then, finally, silence falls.

Squinting your eyes open—when did you close them?—the first thing you see is his silhouette standing some feet away from you. Right where you last saw him, but he’s standing upright now, towering over you and what’s left of the creature, a now semi translucent mass that glints wetly.

There’s an unsettling calmness to him as he takes a step back, head tilted to the side as his eyes narrow, observing the thing with disdain. One leg lifts, rising above the ground, poised like an executioner’s axe… and then falls.

The creature isn't making any sounds anymore, not even a whimper when that foot comes down, delivering an earth-shattering stomp that shakes the ground beneath you.

There is only a stomach-churning, pulp-crunching sound, of something moist-yet-solid being torn through. You clamp your eyes shut, stomach roiling, trying not to think about what is there that you can’t see. Instead you imagine he’s stepping on a bag of rotten fruit. Repeatedly.

You don’t dare to open your eyes again until everything goes quiet.

But the horror of the moment isn’t quite over yet. He stands still in the same spot, unmoving. His shoulders squared but loose as he stares at the place the creature had been with a disdainful sneer on his features, eyes flat and blank. He eyes it like he’s inspecting a squashed cockroach stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

The hairs on the back of your neck are still standing on end. Your body is screaming out to you that the danger hasn’t passed. Something even more dangerous is standing before you. The scene plays out like some twisted nature documentary where a rabid bear was just ripped apart by a monstrous wolf.

Marc tips his head to stare up at the night sky. Something changes. The whole of his body seizes, shoulders pulled taut, head thrown back like he’s being yanked up by invisible puppet strings.

The linen covering his body slithers down his limbs like receding snakes. Every inch of the primordial gauze disintegrates into dust and smoke, giving way to the much more familiar tight jeans, form-fitting t-shirt, and loose jacket.

As if finally satiated, whatever force had its hooks in him relinquishes control, and he slumps forward, feet still firmly grounded to the asphalt, and opens his eyes.

And then Marc is back. You think…

Marc seems disoriented at first, breathing erratically. His body language is a stark contrast to the one he held mere moments ago, as though the calm callousness has disintegrated with the mummified gauze. Now he’s hunched over, tense, and appears confused, eyes darting around the alleyway until they land on you, still flat on your ass on the concrete ground.

His eyes stay on you as he covers the distance between you in three great strides, his footfalls skidding along the rain-slick concrete before he falls to his knees beside you. You turn your head, trying to look behind you to observe all the damage, but Marc cups your face in his hand before you can see anything.

“Hey. Hey, you look at me,” he says, voice rough but hands gentle as he smooths your hair back from your face. His eyes search your face frantically for a long moment. It must eventually penetrate that you’re all right because the panic in his eyes finally melts into relief, and seems to spread to the rest of him. The harsh line between his brows relaxes slightly, and he lets out a long breath, the tight line of his shoulders softening.

Then he’s cupping the back of your head in one hand, and hauling you into his chest, and holding you there, pressed tight against him. It makes it hard to breathe, your face mashed up against his firm chest, nose and mouth partially buried in his shirt and jacket, but you only want to press closer, have him hold you tighter, for as long as he possibly can, even if it chokes the breath out of you.

“It’s okay,” he says after a long moment, “You’re okay. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

You’re not sure if he’s trying to reassure you or himself.

His voice is gentle and comforting as he rests a firm hand on the small of your back and keeps it there. His eyes are soft now, no longer cold and blank, even if they do look sad.

“You’re safe,” he tells you.

It’s not until he says it that it finally sinks in. The rigid muscles in you melt. Your heightened survival instincts dim, your body finally willing to accept that the danger has passed.

His grip around you loosens, and the palm of his hand roams over the top of your shoulder, fingers resting on the pulse of your neck, before ghosting under the place that stings and smarts on your cheek. There’s a tremor to his touch, but he’s still meticulous as his hands run gently down your arms, across your back, stomach, and ribs, inspecting you for injuries, and cataloguing the location and gravity of each.

A long time passes before Marc is satisfied and finished with his examination. Then he lets you go and leans back, shimmying off his jacket—the very one you’d been haunted by when he lent it to you once before—and settles it around your shoulders. Residual heat from his body still lingers in the fabric, instantly warming you and making you aware of just how cold you were before.

You stare up at him, through the rain as the pale moonlight shimmers off the droplets of water caught in his hair. The familiarity of it makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest. Once again the two of you find yourselves in the middle of the rain with Marc’s jacket wrapped around you. It’s a deja-vu you wish you can relive a thousand times over.

“C’mon,” Marc says, holding out a hand and helping you to your feet, “Let’s get you home.”

To be continued...

Dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss because I am just very happy I have a friend like her in my life and that I get to share this story together with her.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oh ma gad #ok so when you said the watch makes a cameo appearance in this chapter i wasn’t expecting it to be so sad #but the watch brought my boy jake #jake jake jake #i saw this last night and thought id save it for friday to finish this week with one good thing #then i read the tags and i was scared #this chapter is so descriptive and im looooving it #the attention to detail the imagery of it #stunning #i loved the rythme where she discovered that the ripples are more than water and that the monster is in front of her #i had to take a break and do a lap around the flat #and this chapter was SCARY like right and proper #but when marc appeared i swear i was giggling and tucking my hair behind my ear like ‘oh hi marc i didn’t know you were here haha’#im not going to lie he’s hot and the protective side of him is really doing things to me #but im not proud of the ‘old lady clutching her pearls’ gasp i let out when the suit turned black and jake took over the body #he went right to it #good for him #(the part when she kicks the monster and it’s all squishy… i was also feeling queasy)#oh boy i love my marc so much #she was really ready to die here with him oof #(and she felt guilty about not eating stevens burnt food bless her heart)#I AM LIVIIIIING #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR SHARING #marc spector #fic rec #jake lockley #steven grant

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rafesangelita · 2 months ago

Note

thinking abt how rafe would be like when he takes the !readers virginities >.<

warnings: first times, sooo much praise, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, dirty talk, corruption kink, guided masturbation, oral (f. receiving), body worship, teasing, cream pie, overstimulation, hair pulling, breeding kink

a/n: i really enjoyed writing for all of my !readers in this format, so feel free to send in more req’s like this one <3

wc: 1.6k

₊˚⊹♡ bambi!reader:

poor bambi is soooo nervous, she’s trembling as rafe slips off her panties, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear as he whispers the sweetest things to her. “m’gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl..” he’d insert his fingers in your mouth, telling you to get them nice and slick for him so he could ‘prep’ you for his cock. you’re gasping and whimpering his name when he finally curls his digits inside of you, your thighs threatening to shut around his hand when his thumb finds your sensitive bundle of nerves. “doing so good for me, bambi, ‘promise i’ll have you crying for another reason instead.” and he did. soon, your tears of discomfort turned into ones of pure bliss, your walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion that was his cock. you’d be staring up at him with those doe eyes of yours while he pounded into you at an unforgiving speed, one hand stroking your clit, and the other wrapped around your neck as he made you unravel until you couldn’t take it anymore.

₊˚⊹♡ sheep!reader:

rafe felt like he was corrupting you with his filthiest fantasy yet. here, in front of him, he had your legs spread apart while he instructed you how to touch yourself. “doesn’t feel like you!” you’d cry out in frustration, your fingers doing nothing to stimulate you the way rafe’s did. he’d pinch your side for getting loud, a whimper leaving your lips at the action. “i just want you to do it yourself one time, baby, that’s all i’m asking.. y’think you can do that for me?” looking up to meet his heated gaze, you’d welcome his lips in a kiss before pathetically rubbing yourself over the pink cotton of your underwear. “you look like you’re close.. if you cum for me, maybe i’ll put it in..” that was all the encouragement you needed, rafe’s large hands cupping your tits as he pulled you onto his aching cock. you yelped when he poked at your entrance, your bottom lip raw from biting it so hard as he bounced you up and down his length. “poor baby, ‘gonna be so sore tomorrow, hmm?” burying your face in his neck, rafe would shush you while stroking your skin tenderly.

₊˚⊹♡ latina!kook!reader:

latina!kook!reader had rafe mesmerized the second he saw her, so now that she was bare beneath him, he couldn’t believe his eyes. far too perfect to be real, he made sure not an inch of her remained untouched. he was gentle as he lapped at the wetness between your thighs, his fingers intertwining with your own as your moans filled the air of your room. “you taste so sweet, angelita.” your eyes would flutter shut as your first orgasm of the night hit you in soft waves, each one magnifying the last. rafe kept tasting you, not being able to get enough until you begged him to be inside of you already. “por favor dámelo, ray— please give it to me, ray.” he cursed under his breath when he heard those words leave your mouth, both of smiling into a kiss as he sat between your folds. “ima give it to you, gorgeous.. i’ll give you whatever you ask for.” your face twisted in pain when he thrusted into you, the man above you holding you by your chin. “you’re so fucking perfect, i could cum just by hearing your voice.”

₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!kook!reader:

rafe is so smug that he gets to be her first fuck, he keeps saying things like, ‘you really gonna let me pop your cherry?’ which only makes her roll her eyes, even as rafe’s tapping his glistening tip against her clit. “can you stop being annoying—” your words die in your throat when he slips inside, both of you gasping as you enveloped every inch of him. “ah, fuck, why do i feel like i’m the one losing my virginity here?” rafe was whispering against your skin, your nails digging into his flesh when the dull ache between your legs turned into pure bliss. you’re kissing him frantically, your teeth clashing together as he pins you down to the mattress by your hips. “tell me you love this shit.” rafe is pulling your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two are connected as you gasp at the sight. “fuck you.” rafe laughs before flashing you a glare. “you already are.” in seconds, he has you in a mean mating press, the words “i love it, i love it, i love it!” is all you could muster as he fucks you absolutely stupid.

₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!pogue!reader:

she’s annoyed when rafe keeps bothering her about it, his fascination only growing for you when you let it slip that you’ve never slept with anyone before. “come on..” he’s in your ear, fingers slipping under your shirt, “just the tip, i promise.” what a lie that was. all it takes is barry leaving the trailer for a few hours before he’s bending you over, pressing your head into the pillows as he digs you out. your glittery nails are clutching your sheets for dear life, your hips moving to meet his thrusts when he starts stroking your clit. “i’m the only one who can fill up this cunt, you hear me?” you’re too busy crying tears of pleasure to acknowledge him, a yelp leaving your lips when he pulls you up against his chest. “just a brainless fuck doll, that’s what you are.” you’re nodding, letting him rut into you until he’s spilling into you, his seed making a mess between your thighs as he rubs your clit into overstimulation. “i’m gonna break you in just fine, babygirl, just wait and see.” you’re a fucked out mess by the time he pulls his clothes back on, his palm delivering a sharp smack to your ass before he’s leaving to conduct ‘business’.

₊˚⊹♡ kook!sweetheart!reader:

rafe is unsure, even as your robe slips off of your body, revealing the gorgeous lingerie set underneath. “i want it to be you,” rafe is welcoming you onto his lap, groaning when you drag your hips against his, “i want you on top of me.. inside of me..” your voice is soft in his ears, his skin feeling hot against yours. “is this what you really want? ‘want me to fuck you?” your wrapping your legs around his waist, both of your lips melting together perfectly. rafe could see the desire in your eyes, along with the nerves as he’s laying you down on your back. unsnapping your bra with one hand, he’s marveling at sight of your tits as they spill out of the lacey material. after making sure you came at least three times around his fingers, you were feeling ready as ever when he finally aligned himself with your entrance, his hand taking yours as he slowly pushed inside. you didn’t feel any pain, the stretch around his cock making you moan. “you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, taking me so good like this..” rafe praised you, talking you through it all until you came, again and again, with a cry of his name.

₊˚⊹♡ farmer’s!daughter!reader:

a particular cowboy couldn’t wait to rock your world for the first time, even if it meant having to take you in the barn at three in the morning so you two couldn’t get caught by anyone. rafe is enthralled by your smile as the moonlight peaks through the old wood, casting its light onto your bodies. “sit still, sweetheart, i’m trynna make this as painless as possible..” rafe is holding you down, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles. “you won’t hurt me—” as soon as he breaks into your walls, your shrieking at the mere girth alone, your eyes rolling back when you felt the ridges of his cock stroke the soft spot inside of you that made you see stars. hands flying out to hold onto his biceps, rafe starts thrusting into you until your whimpers turn into moans, your heels digging in his lower back so he could go deeper. “fuck, darlin’, i might have to breed you.. ‘lock this pussy down.” you clenched around him even tighter at the prospect of having him finish inside of you. “please, i want it!” you kissed his fingers, taking the digits between your lips as he smiled down at you. “yeah? have us some babies running around here?”

₊˚⊹♡ pogue!sweetheart!reader:

rafe was reeling when you told him it was your first time when he was already inside of you. “what?!” his eyes widened as you peered up at him innocently. “it’s okay!” you winced when he pulled out, his hands finding your own. “baby, why wouldn’t you tell me?” he was pressing kisses to your knuckles, concern etched all over his face. “i just didn’t want to make it a big deal..” you were whispering now, still needy for your boyfriend as he rolled on top of you. “i could understand that, but at least i’d be a bit more, you know.. gentle.” you laughed, throwing your leg over his hip so he was resting on your mound. “what if if i don’t want you to be?” rafe shuddered, the drop of your voice making his cock twitch. “those are dangerous words..” his jaw clenched as you sighed dreamily. “you could always just say no—” just as you pouted, he caged you between his arms and gave you exactly what you were asking for. of course, he still started off soft, kissing you warmly as his hips barely rocked into yours. but as soon as you were whining, begging for more force, his thrusts became brutal as he plowed into you like there was no tomorrow.

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prncssguya · 1 month ago

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on hwang in-ho/front man, seong gi-hun and their dynamic.

first, idk why people are getting so upset at other people calling gi-hun dumb, we were told that in the first season. lol being bright is not his strongest trait but he has a good heart and we love that about him. however, he is still an idealistic gullible idiot with a gambling problem. except this time his gambling addiction is backed by a sense of justice and righteousness and he no longer gambles with money, he’s gambling with people’s lives. front man asked a good question at the end of the season, “did you have fun playing the hero?” can we even call gi-hun the hero of the story anymore? he gambled with people’s lives and front man showed him the consequences of his moral heroics.

front man only agreed to help gi-hun with his revolution when he mentioned about "small sacrifices for the greater good". i think he reveled in the fact that the “good guy” was willing to allow a few innocent people to die for the greater good to stop the games, which is exactly what the entire VIP theory is to rid the world of 'trash' to improve the world. notice how gi-hun's moral code and belief also changed, from being "nobody should die" into "yeah small sacrifice is okay as long it's for the greater good" at this point, he just proved that front man's belief is actually valid. AND he gets more of his own people killed in the pointless battle with the soldiers that they had no chance of winning. now he gets to feel responsible for all those deaths and the death of his friend and for whatever additional torture they cook up in the next games (as punishment for the escape attempt).

now on hwang in-ho, i believe he was once a good man and the story he told gi-hun was the truth. but in the end he lost a kidney, lost a wife, a baby, lost his money, got fucked over by the wrong people and got into serious debt and had to play this game to help his wife and probably it was too late to save her. he might have played the games like gi-hun but saw how ruthless and greedy people are and resolved that they don't deserve help

i don’t think in-ho wants/will kill gi-hun, but he wants him to understand things from his perspective and show him that his compassion for the people in the games is foolish. you can tell the frontmen (the old man and in-ho) are extremely fond of gi hun. not only did he protect their original front man when nobody else did, he then won the games and thus their respect as he is now as rich as them. he's no longer "trash", he’s an elite like them. i think they both actually kept tabs on him after he won (i wonder if they do that for all winners? inserting them with gps chips?) because they knew he had not used his reward money and in-ho wanted gi-hun to get on the plane and be happy with his daughter

there’s one interesting aspect of the games that makes front man such a complex character. the fact that they’re operating a organ transplant trafficking network. in a way, he’s creating some good to come from a really fucked up situation. but is it really for the good of others who desperately need it, people like his wife, like his brother? or is it just a money making scheme?

either way, i don’t think there is going to be a redemption arc for in-ho, he’s too far gone. we may get to see more of his human side if he manages to see jun-ho again. the only time we’ve seen genuine emotions from him was when he shot his brother like he seemed distraught

the real cliffhanger for me, is will gi-hun stay true to his belief that people can be good, or will he be forever changed into a villain and become the next front man…? after the events of this season i don’t see how his will doesn’t shatter. he’s witnessed how humanity consistently chose money over survival, he’s lost two close friends, his mother, abandoned his daughter. he has gained nothing from wanting to stop the games and this clearly feels like an origin story for the next front man. it’s clear the front man has won this round and i think squid game will either die with 001 or continue with gi-hun as game master

another thing i find funny that i don’t see many mention is how gi-hun is like the luckiest guy in the fucking world. but i don’t think him being alive this long is plot armor, it makes sense. the games exist for the entertainment of rich sadists who have so much money they don't know what to do with it (remember what old 001 said in s1 about life being no fun for both people with no money and people with too much money). and i’d imagine killing hundreds of poor debt-ridden fools year after year gets boring. especially when said fools are desperate enough to gamble with their lives because they think they can beat the system by playing better than everyone else and surviving and getting the money.

gihun is different because he got the money, got out, and still came back. not because he's unfeeling or because he wants more money, but because he's still convinced he can beat the system.

if you're a rich bored gazillionaire, would you rather watch some randos die or would you rather watch this exceptional idiot fail again and again until he learns that his ideals are meaningless and people are inherently greedy and equality is a myth and people at the bottom of the barrel don't get to question the system?

if you're an asshole gazillionaire, you don't want someone to challenge you and just get away with it. you want to hand them 45.6 billion won and make them go away quietly, traumatized, after breaking them psychologically by making them do horrible things until they understand they're just powerless "horses". if they insist on challenging you and your system and your beliefs (money = boundless power), you teach them a lesson and show them their place in the most manipulative and cruel way possible. if gihun dies right away, that's boring. so he can't die, he needs to suffer. he needs to concede defeat.

also, i find it funny how people are comparing hwang inho and gihun dynamic to hannibal and will graham. makes sense, their whole cat and mouse game, front man hiding his true nature from gi-hun the same way hannibal does, trying to corrupt the righteous protagonist, sowing chaos, testing him and observing his behavior like a lab rat, the crazy tension and staring contests, the gaslighting and manipulation. and with the fact that they think lee byung-hun looks like mads mikkelsen. i never put the two of them together but now i can’t unsee it lol

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wtfaniii · 15 days ago

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Req for a Hwang In-ho os with kind off parenting scenarios like what if by mistake a toddler was brought to the games and he ends up in the caretaker roll (and yes he gives off daddy vibes ya know !)

God I loved this one, I feel like him would be great protector.

¿What if...? a little girl entered the games

little girl x Hwang In-ho father figure

Summary: Your eleven-year-old self is taken to an island believing you'll be a little entertainment.

Warning: In-ho may not be that attached to the original character ¡this man will be a big hug bear here!

Note: I do my best to answer the rest of the requests, thanks for your support!! And if I make a mistake I accept constructive criticism!

You lived alone on the street, you didn't know anything about your parents and every day was a struggle until one day you saw a man in a suit playing Ddakji with another person, when you saw that he gave money as a reward if you beat him quickly went to him.

At first he ignored you and walked away with you right behind him but you were so persistent that after walking a few blocks he finally turned to with a raised eyebrow.

You played with him and won every time, received money and a card to continue playing for more money.

You didn't owe anything, he knew that, but he thought he was doing you a favor by opening the doors to the slaughterhouse, maybe it would be better than you continuing to sleep in a box and eat leftover food.

"She's going to die anyway, I'm just making her suffering shorter" thought the salesman.

What he didn't know is that a certain man would take a liking to you as soon as he saw you.

You played "green light, red light" and managed to get through without a scratch, you were scared but Gi-hun made sure to keep you safe during this game.

—¡They are bastards! ¡They brought a little girl for the love of God! —456 screamed to the sky as the ceiling loomed over their heads, the other player 390 covered your eyes so you wouldn't see all the carnage they left behind in the first round.

Meanwhile... The Front Man's firm footsteps echoed through the hallways as he made his way to the control booth, when he arrived, he spoke in a voice that chilled the blood of his employees.

—¿Who let her in?

He knew the salesman, he knew the heartless idiot had no empathy for even a puppy but the fact that these guards had dressed you up and put you in that arena gave him a headache.

When he was given the number of the one who allowed you to get into the first game, he personally took it upon himself to put a bullet in him head.

He thought about getting you out immediately but considering the fact that he would also be infiltrating there and how after that massacre you were playing and talking non-stop with 390 and 456 as if nothing had happened, he let you continue but this time under his personal supervision.

It was quite easy for him to infiltrate and join Gi-hun, keeping his enemy close would be very useful but he also kept his eyes on you.

—Eat this too —In-ho handed you his can of food when he saw how quickly you had finished the rice, sausage and egg.

—No thanks —The smile you gave him almost made his hard heart beat—You should eat too, but if you insist so much you can give me the sausages.

You finished with a smile, to which he returned the gesture and gave you part of his portion.

During the night he took care of covering you with the blanket so that you wouldn't be cold and of laying you in bed next to him in case you had a nightmare, but to his surprise and that of your new friends, you slept all night without interruptions.

When it was time to go to the next game, In-ho kept you by his side so that you would be on his team with Gi-hun.

His team made it to the end so he wasn't worried if they lost, if they did neither you nor he would have died and there would be no witnesses.

He would break just a few of the rules to stay you alive.

Every time some players were eliminated, you covered your ears and closed your eyes tightly, something that moved him so much that he also distracted you by talking to you every time the guards removed the bodies to prevent you from seeing all that show of death and blood.

After the second vote Jung-bae was sorry for choosing the circle so he apologized to you and Jun-hee.

—It's okay, as long as we're together ¡we'll win! —You said with a beaming smile as Young-il ruffled your hair in excitement.

The day seemed long in there, but you didn't get bored with Young-il. He told you some children's stories and played with you.

However, when you were playing with the empty milk carton you accidentally hit the back of player 100.

—Oops, sorry sir —You said politely, reaching out to grab the little box from the floor, but before you could do so, he stepped on it hard, stepping on two of your fingers of the hand in the process.

Your cry of pain caught In-ho's immediate attention, he cut off the conversation he was having with Gi-hun and went to you.

—¡¿How is it possible that you are still alive?! ¡You are just a little brat!

In-ho effortlessly picked you and hug against his chest.

With just one look he silenced the man, it wasn't a warning, it was a threat, that man had hurt you and he would make sure him paid the consequences, not now, but he would definitely suffer.

—I told you not to stray too far from me —He said as he walked back to his place with the others.

You just nodded still with tears in your eyes and hugging him by the neck, he left you on the bed and took your hand to analyze the damage.

—You didn't hurt yourself much, you'll be better after pouring cold water on yourself in the bath —He said trying to calm you down, he dried the tears from your cheeks and kissed your forehead, it was an act he did on impulse and it even surprised himself a little.

"You'll be a great father" Gi-hun told him when you were sleeping, which was strange, the last time he heard that was when his wife talked to him about starting a family, he silently thanked but deep down he felt different, as if you had been able to reach the light inside him, a light he had considered extinct.

During the third game he stayed close to you, every time it was time to team up and run into a room he made sure to hold your hand.

Until the time came to form a team of four, there were many in his group so you and he separated, the counter reached zero and In-ho managed to get you two into a room and close it.

—But we're missing two —You said somewhat nervously and scared while the shots rang out from outside.

—Listen to me —In-ho knelt in front of you and held your shoulders —I need you to keep this a secret,

He gave a quick glance to the camera in the corner, they weren't going to kill them even if they cheated but now he needed no one else to find out about this.

—But it's cheating... —You murmured, confused and still a little scared.

—Promise me you won't say anything about this, not to Gi-hun or the others.

You nodded silently, you didn't say anything and that, without knowing it, would cost the lives of some of your friends.

That same night, there was a rebellion organized by 456.

You wanted to go with them, believing yourself strong enough to help them, but Young-il opposed it.

—I'm not going to let you come with us—He said firmly as he took you by the hand and led you back to the rest of the players —It's dangerous, you will stay with them until we return.

He left you in the hands of 149, 222 and 007, the older woman was the one who had the most empathy for you so In-ho knew you would be fine until his guards came for you.

[...]

After returning to his place as Front man, he sent a group of guards to control the rest of the players in the room and get you out of there.

"Player 398, you must come with us" when you heard that and saw the guards coming towards you, you hugged 149, you were scared, after all you were a girl and didn't know what was happening.

Geum-ja also held you tightly to prevent you from being taken away but it was useless, In-ho was surprised by how you won the affection of her, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju and Myung-gi to the point that they were able to stand up to his soldiers.

As were led through the colorful hallways you bit the hand of one of the pink guards and kicked the other to escape, you had spent entire short life on the streets so escaping was one of your skills, the first thing you did was call some of your friends, including Young-il.

But there came a time when you started to cry, believing that they were dead and you sat on the ground, you remained there scared and worried until once again two guards found you, this time accompanied by a man dressed in grey and a black mask.

When you looked up, he could see your watery eyes and red nose, which made his affection for you grow and not caring about his own rules about secret identity, he took off his mask and crouched down to be at your level.

He didn't know what to say to you, how to handle this situation in which you were so confused and overwhelmed, so when you hugged him he just returned the gesture and got up from the floor with you.

—It's okay, you're going to be fine —He whispered to you calmly while caressing your hair.

In-ho didn't know anything about being a father, he hadn't thought about being one since his wife died but he would do everything possible to take care of you from now on, for a few seconds he thought about sending you with Jun-ho and his mother but he preferred not to, besides, you didn't want to leave him alone for even a second.

He would teach you how to use weapons and defend yourself, he would also try to get you to accompany him everywhere or remain under surveillance, you quickly became a weakness so the safer you are the safer he will be too.

He didn't explain everything to you in detail, much less what role he had in these games, he believed that you wouldn't forgive him so the less you know the better for you, but you weren't stupid, the life you had before meeting him made you analyze things better than many others.

You knew that whatever his job was, it wasn't good but you didn't judge him or talk to him.

To you, he was like your father and that would make you defend him tooth and nail from anyone who wanted to hurt him.

In case Gi-hun ends the games, Jun-ho would probably take responsibility for you and let you visit In-ho in prison, (when you're older, you'll probably help him escape and move to another continent).

But if not, you will probably be given the front man position when you grow up because you are trained enough by this man, you will be calculating and probably a younger, female version of him.

N/A: Ok, I hope this is what you expected and thanks for this idea!

I honestly think In-ho wouldn't canonically take responsibility for a child, maybe he would protect sometimes like 222, but I don't think he would care afterwards, that man is beyond help 😭

#hwang inho x reader #squid game x reader #squid game #hwang in ho #squid game fic #lee byung hun #young-il x reader #in ho squidgame #in ho x reader #In-ho father figure #frontman x you #front man x reader

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januaryembrs · 9 months ago

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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted.

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck.

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin.

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again.

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest.

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him.

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene.

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been.

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men.

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to.

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions.

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,”

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently.

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face.

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet.

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry.

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.”

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage.

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,”

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him.

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them.

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob.

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand.

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter.

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights.

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible.

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was.

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed.

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands.

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,”

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip.

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in.

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years.

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe.

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe.

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second.

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing.

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late.

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them.

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed.

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new.

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them.

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them.

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently.

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands.

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt.

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building.

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him.

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use.

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard.

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign.

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?”

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,”

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes.

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested.

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again.

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible.

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything).

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright.

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet.

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,”

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,”

“I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing.

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin.

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down.

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?”

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised.

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point.

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

“Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,”

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion.

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise.

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off.

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him.

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,”

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again.

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his.

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,”

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all.

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him.

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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wheresarizona · 2 months ago

Text

but he’s the one I want

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

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

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

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

word count: 11.5k+

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

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

Main Masterlist

Knock, knock, knock.

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

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

His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you.

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

University of Houston—go, Cougars!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’d give it to you now…

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s really no big deal.”

“Thank you, but I’m good.”

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

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

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

You smile. “Sure—lead the way.”

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

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

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

“Legally…?”

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

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

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.” He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. A few times.”

Because it’s your dad’s favorite movie.

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

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

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

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

“What…?”

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

It takes you a second to process what he asked.

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

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

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

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

Yep, with your father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A good something or a bad something?”

“A good somethin’.”

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

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

“A very good something.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m nosy.”

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

“That’s what I said.”

“No other reason?”

“Can’t think of any.”

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

“Nope.”

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

“What’s so shocking about that?”

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

Those butterflies in your stomach are flapping around again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel?”

His face lifts to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve dated some truly shitty women.”

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

“That is such a shame.”

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

“Why am I trouble?”

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

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

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

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

And then he pauses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“I can touch you?”

“Anywhere.”

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

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m very interested in you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His head lifts to look you in the eye.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?”

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

It makes you laugh, and he smiles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” you reply.

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

What a gentleman.

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you’re totally and completely fucked.

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

Why does that make you want him more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You still wanna fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was right, though. It did fit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I fuckin’ you good?”

“Yes!”

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

“Look at me,” he orders.

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

He slows, his gaze on yours.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

A shiver moves through you, and you gulp.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were you thinking?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It baffles me that you’re single.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Tryin’ to pretend nothin’ happened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh—really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m yours,” you answer.

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

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

“Hey, Asshole!” a man calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go home, Tommy,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs. “So, that was my brother.”

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

“Yeah.”

“That explains how annoying he is.”

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

“We have the house to ourselves?”

“We do—I walked him out myself.”

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

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

“Yes. No clue how.”

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

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

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

Joel’s behind you in just his sweatpants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out.”

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

The door loudly closes as he leaves.

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

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

He turns and pulls you into his arms.

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

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

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

“It’s just everything Tommy said.”

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

“What?” you ask.

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

The sweetest man and the best father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” He nods.

“Alone?”

“I sleepwalk.”

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

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

“You really want me to hang out here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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