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joelscruff · 8 months

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART TEN

masterlist | kofi | notifs | *spongebob narrator voice* 4 months later. well, i'm not gonna bore you all with excuses, god knows most of you have heard what's been goin' on with me at this point lmao. but yall have been so patient and lovely and i really really appreciate it. i hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a little bit of bliss before things get... interesting. there's still more to come (about four chapters or so) and i'll try to update much sooner next time but please remember i'm only one person & i write this for fun (and for free) in my spare time!!! ik it can be frustrating when there are long periods between updates but i'm trying my best, please know that. k love u bye 💕 chapter summary: you & joel enjoy your little weekend getaway, far from the prying eyes and ears of your parents. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age gap (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 50s), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink (joel has a big dick), tummy bulge, deepthroating (or...attempted deepthroating), cum swallowing, fingering, pussy kisses, ridiculous amounts of fluff, namedropping one of my fav songs of all time because i can, the tiniest mention of sexual assault (aka noah) word count: 12.9k ao3

You think you might finally understand what it means to experience happiness.

Not the feelings you've faked for most of your life, not the plastered-on smiles and faux giggles, autopilot prayers and forced gratitude. No - real happiness. That tingling sensation of nothing but pure bliss, safety, love, and peace, something that's felt far out of your reach for most of your life. It swells in your chest, makes a home in your heart as you nuzzle into fluffy pillows, warm bedsheets, and feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness, completely and utterly relaxed. Happy, you can't help but think to yourself, I'm so happy.

You're aware of Joel's presence, fading in and out here and there as he wipes a damp cloth between your legs, across your stomach, down your thighs - taking care of you, making sure you're comfortable. Afterward he cuddles in behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, buries his face in the back of your neck and inhales deeply; you wonder if he's feeling the exact same way you are right now - god, you hope he is.

"That felt so good," you murmur to him softly, eyes still closed, "Felt so good, Joel."

He kisses your neck, holds you tighter in his embrace, "I know, babygirl."

"Can still feel you inside me," you breathe, "It's like you're still there."

He chuckles softly, "Not to burst your bubble but that's probably cum. Couldn't get all of it with the cloth." The words that should be dirty - should seem shameful - do nothing but send a warm tingle down your spine, a sleepy smile to your face. You know he's right - you can still feel something warm deep inside you, a slow trickle making its way to your opening, but there's something else. You're still pulsing every so often around the phantom of a shape, an echo of what was still there only a few moments ago.

"It's not just that," you shuffle in the sheets, nuzzling your face further into the pillow, "it's like... like you're still in there, spreading me open."

He groans and his grip around you tightens, fingertips pressing into the malleable softness of your belly. He leans down to press a small kiss to your ear, "Can't just say stuff like that, angel. Gonna get me hard again." You shiver.

"Good," you whisper, "'Cause I want you to do it again."

His legs tangle with yours under the sheets as he pulls you in, scruff nuzzling against the bare skin of your shoulder, "We'll wait a little bit," he murmurs, "You're gonna start feelin' a little sore soon, if you don't already."

"I don't," you breathe, and you mean it. "Doesn't hurt at all, really. It... it didn't hurt. I always thought it would hurt."

You can almost feel his frown against your skin, "S'not supposed to hurt," he murmurs, "Woulda stopped if you'd been in any pain."

You smile, "I know you would've."

He hums into your hair, strokes his hand down along your arm, "S'good," he mumbles, and you're suddenly aware of the heaviness in his voice, the way his lips wrap lazily around the words.

"Are you sleepy?" you ask softly.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, "M'sleepy."

You smile at the adorable admission, then lean back into his embrace and settle in. The sun is starting to go down, casting the room in long orange and blue shadows, warm and comforting. Your eyes close again and you focus on that blissful feeling, on the weight of Joel's naked body behind you holding you close, the sound of his breathing, his smell. On the fact that you've never felt more safe in your entire life.

"I'm so glad it was you," you whisper, and you don't mind if he's already fallen asleep.

You're not sure how long you both nap, but you wake up soon after to a completely dark hotel room, save for the flickering lights from the traffic below and the warm glow of the buildings outside the window. Your eyes flutter for a few seconds as your brain reconnects you to the present, and you're suddenly very aware of a dull ache in your groin, an unpleasant throb that hadn't been there earlier.

"Ow," you mumble incoherently, reaching blindly for the blankets and pulling them back to peer down at yourself, but the room is so dark that it's difficult to see anything properly, "Ow."

"S'wrong?" you hear Joel mumble beside you, stirring from his own slumber.

You wince in embarrassment, shaking your head, "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

"Y'said 'ow'," you feel him sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp, "You okay?"

As soon as the lamplight floods the room your eyes cast downward, half expecting to see some medical emergency, some horrific reason for the vacation to end early, to ruin everything before it's barely even started - but thankfully it's none of those things. You're just a little swollen - puffier than usual - and aching, but not in a good way. You bring your hand down and cup yourself gently, hissing a bit when your fingers brush against your opening; it feels almost like a bruise.

"Oh, honey," Joel murmurs, and you turn your head to see his brows furrowing in concern, "Y'sore?"

You wince, biting your lip, "Um, a little."

He frowns and pulls his own side of the blankets back, and you can't help the warmth that floods your cheeks when you see his exposed body; the dark hair wisping across his tan skin, his soft belly and strong thighs - and his cock, soft and heavy and impossible not to look at. You've seen him naked several times at this point but every time still somehow feels like the first, like it's brand new. You watch as he crawls downward and gently places his hand on top of yours.

"Lemme see," he murmurs softly, and you allow him to pull your hand back, exposing your sore pussy to him. His brow furrows, "Aw baby, you're all swollen."

"Is that normal?"

He nods, eyes still trailing up and down, "It's normal," he assures you, "It's probably worse 'cause - well," he smiles sheepishly, peering up at you.

"'Cause you're so big," you finish for him, your own lips turning up into a smirk, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, that." You watch as he brings his hands down and very carefully thumbs your outer lips, pulls them apart to assess what's inside. He groans, and you're about to ask what's wrong when you see a thin stream of his cum dribble out onto the sheets below.

"Fuck," you both whisper at the same time, and when your eyes meet you can see that his are suddenly dark, glassy. You feel yourself begin to throb beneath his touch.

"Still full o'me," he murmurs, eyes trailing back down to where you're dripping, "Messy girl."

Your own eyes go hooded as you watch him lean down and press a small kiss to your clit; your hips buck up, a whimper slipping past your lips as his whiskers prickle deliciously against your sensitive skin. He smiles against you, kisses your clit again and darts his tongue out to taste, just for a moment. You whine.

"I know what you need, babygirl" he whispers, nosing your mound and closing his eyes, "I know what'll help."

Your mind races with possibilities. "Wh-what?"

He suddenly pulls back, crooked smile lighting up his beautiful face, "A bath. It'll help with the soreness." Oh. He presses another kiss to your clit, "If I can bring myself to stop kissin' this perfect pussy."

You giggle softly and he opens his eyes to look up at you again, smiling tenderly. He reluctantly pulls himself off you and climbs off the bed, reaching down to grab his discarded underwear from the floor. "I'll start runnin' the water," he tells you softly, pulling them on and taking a step forward to brush your hair out of your face, "You just relax, sweet girl. Don't move a muscle."

The bath is warm and inviting, lit candles lining the counter and floor and dousing the room in a warm glow; it's hard to believe only a few hours earlier you were on the verge of a panic attack on these very tiles. Now you lean back against the cool rim of the claw foot tub, eyes closed as you submerge yourself in the hot water. There's no panic or anxiety in your body anymore, just warmth and comfort and the welcome ache in your groin, the smell of vanilla in your nose.

"Good temp?" Joel asks softly nearby, and you hear his hand breach the surface of the water, testing the heat. You smile.

"Perfect," you breathe, eyes still closed, "Thank you."

His hand brushes lightly against yours under the water and he squeezes it gently, then murmurs, "I'll give you some privacy."

Your eyes snap open, "No," you cradle his hand in both of yours as your brows furrow, "Stay."

A smile breaks across his face, charming and boyish as he seats himself down next to the bathtub with barely any hesitation, like he'd been hoping you'd say that. He keeps hold of your hand beneath the water and tilts his face toward yours - you press your forehead against his and breathe a long sigh of relief.

"Feelin' okay?" he murmurs, "Emotionally?"

You nod, sighing contentedly, "More than okay," you whisper, "I... I still can't believe it actually happened." Your lips twitch upward and you press a soft kiss to his cheek, closing your eyes, "Thank you."

He squeezes your hand again beneath the water before pulling out and bringing it upwards to cradle your face, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes are still a bit sleepy, hair sticking up in all directions and that beautiful smile still lighting up his face as he thumbs your cheek.

"I should be thankin' you," he breathes, "For trustin' me like that, bein' so vulnerable with me." He leans in to kiss you tenderly, but his words send a sudden flutter of insecurity through your body and you pull back to look at him again, unsure.

"Was I... was I good at it?" you ask quietly, "Did I do okay?"

"Oh, angel," he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to cup both your cheeks and brush his nose gently against yours, "You did so good. So, so, so good."

He ends up washing your hair, a small but significant gesture that makes the feelings from earlier bubble up again, the warm fondness and tenderness and love. You lean back in the tub, eyes closed, lost in the sensations of his big hands deftly applying the shampoo and conditioner, massaging it into your scalp and making your eyes roll back. It's ridiculous how even this makes you throb beneath the surface, the ache dissipating a bit in the hot water. So much so that when he caps the conditioner and rinses your hair once again, you reach up to take his hand and squeeze, eyes still shut.

"Touch me," you whisper, voice already desperate, "Please."

He doesn't need any convincing, inching toward the side of the tub and reaching inside to cup your pussy in his big hand again, softly rubbing your clit. You whimper and tremble, gripping the edge of the tub for support and whining when he speeds up, circling and rubbing it exactly how you like it.

"Poor little pussy," you hear him murmur, "Just needs some relief after gettin' fucked like that, doesn't she baby?"

"Mmhmm," you manage to hum, squeezing the sides of the tub and nodding furiously, "Y-yeah."

"Took so much cock in this little hole," he whispers, and that's enough to send you over the edge, eyes snapping open as you shake and shiver in the hot water. You see him sitting there, smiling at you with a devious glint in his eyes. He knows exactly the effect he has on you.

"What do we do now?" you ask him softly from the couch a little while later, carefully scrunching a towel in your hair and watching as he changes the bedsheets upon your request - you'd felt a bit embarrassed asking, but you'd really rather not sleep in a wet spot. He'd been more than gracious in honoring your request.

It's late, but the nap and the bath have left you feeling wide awake, and you have to admit that you're feeling a bit hungry too despite the full meal earlier. Does sex make you hungry? You file it as a question to ask Tasha.

"Whatever you wanna do, darlin'," he says with a smile, turning down the sheets and gesturing for you to join him in bed again, "C'mere."

You give your hair one last squeeze and pad over to the bed, clad in Joel's Grateful Dead shirt from earlier today. You don't care in the slightest that it's not necessarily the cleanest article of clothing to be wearing after a bath - it smells like him, feels like him. You just can't get enough of him.

Insatiable.

You both climb back into bed and he pulls you in immediately, tugging you close and wrapping his big arms around you. You lean back into him and feel yourself grinning without even really thinking about it, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling of his chest moving back and forth against your back with every breath.

"Always look so pretty in my shirts, babygirl," he whispers in your ear, and it sends tingles down your spine, a rush of warmth to your heart. He kisses you gently and you listen as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your damp hair. His hand travels downward and you both watch as he cups your pussy yet again, warm and soft.

"Feelin' a little better?" he asks quietly, thumb trailing gently up and down your outer lips, "Still sore?"

"Better," you reassure him gently - and you mean it; the warm water did help to ease the ache.

He hums and continues to trace your soft lips, nosing your ear and breathing deeply again, and fuck, you could get used to this. This casual intimacy, being touched without any expectations, any fear or anxiety. Feeling safe and wanted and cared for in his embrace, no worrying about getting home early, no time limit looming. Just you and him.

I love you, you want to whisper.

Your stomach growls.

He removes his hand almost immediately. "Room service," he says with a chuckle, and your eyes snap open again as he reaches over and grabs the menu on the nightstand, placing it in front of you both, "Pick your poison."

Your eyes are drawn almost immediately to the dessert section, followed by a short wave of guilt. You're craving something sweet, but you can't help but think back to being a kid again, asking for treats and being denied, feeling as if your desires were unimportant, childish, silly.

But no, you're not that scared kid anymore. You're not. You won't be.

You bite your lip, "You know what I could really go for right now?"

"What?"

"It's silly, but-"

"It ain't silly, babygirl," he murmurs, and his big hand travels down to squeeze your thigh gently, a comforting gesture, "Whatever it is, it ain't silly."

Less than a minute later he's on the phone with room service, ordering you a hot fudge sundae.

You spend the rest of the night nestled in the warmth of your hotel bed, flicking between channels, legs tangled together beneath the sheets as you take turns scooping heaping spoons of ice cream back and forth. Your mouth and fingertips are sticky, chocolate lining your lips, dribbles of melted vanilla dolloped on your chin which Joel wastes no time in delicately lapping up with his tongue.

"God, you're so fuckin' sweet," he whispers to you, kisses you softly, darts his tongue out to taste again. You hum against his lips and try to keep your emotions at bay; he tastes like chocolate and vanilla and safety.

Waking up is different with the morning sun shining brightly through the hotel windows, but that's not the only thing that's different; you notice as your eyes flutter open that the ache in your groin is gone, replaced by a growing hunger and arousal in the pit of your stomach.

Oh, wow.

Joel's arms are around you, wrapped strong and solid, and when you turn within them and see him sleeping next to you, the hunger only grows. God, he's so handsome like this - the grey in his hair sparkling in the early light, jaw soft and lax with sleep, cheeks flushed. Almost angelic in his own way, gentle and peaceful.

Until his eyelashes begin to flutter delicately against the streams of sunlight, brow furrowing in sleepy confusion at your sudden movement; he's awake.

The desire in your belly burns.

"You look so cute," you whisper without even really thinking about it, and his eyelashes halt their fluttering to give you another look of confusion.

"Cute's not exactly a word I'd use to describe myself," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, "S'all you."

"Well, I would," you reply with a smile, watching as he closes his eyes again and nestles his face into the pillow. You reach forward to gently thumb one of the lines at the corner of his mouth, deep-set and soft beneath your touch. His eyelids twitch but he doesn't open them, "You're so soft too," you admit quietly.

"Again," he breathes, lips turning up slightly into a sleepy smile, "Not a word I'd use."

"Cute and soft," you repeat, thumb moving downward to trace the shape of his bottom lip, "And mine."

He chuckles under his breath, face smooshing a little more into the pillow, "M'yours," he murmurs, "all yours."

All yours.

You lean in even closer and inhale deeply, nose trailing up and down along his temple. Your eyes almost roll back at the scent of him, the masculine and heady aroma of his sweat alighting your senses. You're wide awake now, pussy throbbing somewhere below as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek, tongue darting out to taste his skin.

His eyes open halfway, eyebrow raising as he sleepily watches you work your mouth up and down the side of his face, breath coming quicker and more frantic as your legs wind around him under the sheets. Obliging your desperation, his big arms tighten around you and he rolls the both of you, allowing you to settle on top of his large, warm body.

You stare down at him, hunger clear in your eyes.

"You were inside me," you whisper.

His mouth turns up at the corners, "I was."

"It felt really good."

"It did."

You lean your face down to trace your nose along his cheekbone again, eyes hooded, voice needy.

"I want you to be inside me again."

He peers up at you, sleepiness already fading from his expression as he watches yours with mirrored desire, "Yeah? You want me to be inside you right now?"

You nod, "Yes, please."

"Then turn over on your side, angel."

A little confused but certainly not opposed, you do as he says, rolling back over onto your side and resting your head softly against your pillow. You feel his hand dip downwards beneath the sheets, then his fingertips glide smoothly along your abdomen. Your heart hammers in your chest when he lifts up your - or rather, his - shirt and thumbs your tummy gently.

"Are y'still sore?" he murmurs, "How d'you feel?"

"M'wet, Joel," you whimper, grinding back against the blankets and trying to feel him, "M'really wet."

"Lemme feel," he breathes, hand trailing downward even further. His fingers dip into your soft, soaked centre and a low groan rumbles in his throat, "Oh babygirl, so wet for me."

"Put it in," you whimper, not caring how pathetic and needy you probably sound, "Please, Joel, put it in me again."

"Christ," you hear him mutter, arousal burning in his voice, "Okay baby, hold still, I'll put it in. I'll make you feel better."

Seconds later you feel the heat of his tip crowding the space at your entrance, already wet and sticky. A soft moan falls from your throat at the sensation, eyes closing as you feel Joel's hand cup your leg and pull it upwards, holding you open. He hooks it in the crook of his arm, shuffling forward a bit and pushing the head of his cock inside your heat.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, head falling backwards. You feel his nose in your hair again, feel the stretch of your pussy and the widening of your thighs as he pulls your leg up even more.

"Yeah, there you go," he murmurs, pushing inside further. He goes slow, takes his time, until he's fully sheathed inside of you and your eyes are rolling back on their own accord, quiet whimpers tumbling past your lips. "Yeah, look at you takin' that cock."

As if by muscle memory your hand reaches downwards to cup the protruding shape of him at the bottom of your tummy, a low whine in your throat. He's so big inside you, nestled perfectly within the deepest parts of your body just like he'd been last night, large and warm.

"Feels so good," you manage to gasp out, other hand clenching into a fist against your pillow, "So good, so good." It's almost a mantra, voice breathless as you squish your face against the cotton and push back almost lazily against him, his balls settling heavy and warm at the base of your ass. You can feel every twitch of his shaft, the way the tip pulses against that special spot within.

"Yeah, you like bein' full like that, don't you baby?" he murmurs, "Don't even need me to move, do you? Just like feelin' it in there, huh?"

And you almost hate how right he is, how just the sensation of being so full of him already has you on the edge of an orgasm without any stimulation. Because you want more, you want what he gave you last night, want him to fuck you even firmer, deeper, without holding back. You want it to last hours.

But you know it's too much before he even starts to move, that familiar ache in your groin returning as your walls constrict around the long shape of him. He pulls out slowly, takes his time, pushes back in at a snail's pace. You feel a tickling sensation against your clit, his pubic hair pressing deliciously against the wet skin as he fills you - and without any warning, you start to come.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you cry out into the sunlit hotel room, trembling in his arms, legs shaking. You can tell in his body language behind you that he's taken aback by your sudden release, hand suddenly dropping from your calf so he can palm your sternum and pull you against him.

"Oh, honey," he groans, simultaneously tender and aroused, "Are you comin', baby? You comin' just from bein' stuffed full like that?"

"Yes," you grit out, voice a high keen as your body shakes and your release stretches out before the both of you in quick spasms, "Yes, I'm sorry."

"Nonono, no sorries," his voice is honey in your ear, fingertips grazing your nipples as he lays his palm flat against your chest, "You're a good girl, angel. You're such a good girl."

You continue to spasm on his cock, legs quivering and pathetic whines tearing from your throat until your orgasm has passed and you're just leaning back into his embrace, eyes closed. You breathe deeply, lashes fluttering when he noses your jaw and presses a soft kiss to the space beneath.

"S'alot for you," he murmurs, "I know it's a lot, babygirl. Don't ever gotta apologize for comin' too fast, not to me."

You hum softly, still extremely aware of his girthy size stretching you out somewhere below. Your eyes open and you peer downwards, brows scrunching in wonder and pleasure when you see where you're joined, where his flesh meets yours. You really are full, the base of his cock barely visible beneath your folds, the pubic hair that had caused your early release still pressed against your outer lips.

"How does it even fit?" you ask softly, almost by accident, but he just chuckles.

"The human body is a hell of a thing," he murmurs, kissing your cheek and pulling you in even closer, shuffling you on his dick just a little bit and making you wince a bit with oversensitivity, "You want me to pull out?"

"No," you shake your head and readjust yourself in his embrace, taking a breath, "No, I want you to keep going."

"Y'sure?"

"I'm sure."

He doesn't need telling twice. Within seconds he's resumed his slow and careful thrusts, almost rhythmic in their presses and pulls, filling you and emptying you in melodic succession. You reach down and take his big hand in yours, squeeze his fingers and let him fuck you like he had last night - tender, soft, comfortable. It almost doesn't feel real; how are you in a hotel room in another city, wrapped up in bed with a man three times your age, his cock buried to the hilt inside your body while you whimper and twitch in his arms? How did you get here?

"Y'know, women are a bit different than men in the orgasm department," Joel says gently behind you, stroking your hand with his thumb, "You might be able to come again if we try."

Your eyebrows go up, "Really?"

"Mmhmm," his hand slips from yours and he reaches it downward to carefully prod one of his fingers against your sensitive clit. You buck in his arms but don't protest, watching as he temporarily halts his slow thrusts to rub you softly. Your eyes go hooded, body melting like jelly in his arms as his his thick fingers slowly begin to work against the already swollen bud.

"Feel good?" he whispers.

"Yes."

He continues his careful circling, presses a kiss to your shoulder and resumes fucking into you. The sounds are pornographic in nature, surrounding your senses and filling the room with the low slap of his hips against your ass and the wet squelch of your juices dripping down his palm. But it somehow doesn't feel dirty or shameful - in fact, it's hard to imagine anything that feels more right than this.

"Joel," you breathe shakily, face twisting against the pillow again, heart pounding.

"I know, feels good doesn't it, babygirl?" he noses your skin and breathes you in, hooks your leg under his arm a bit more and groans softly, "God, you're so fuckin' tight. Such a tight fuckin' pussy."

It's your pussy, you want to breathe, it's yours. I'm yours. But you can barely get any words out as his thrusts pick up speed, as the sounds get louder and his fingers against your clit become firmer in their movements. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge again, the fire in your belly burning hotter than ever as you let him crowd your space as much as possible, let his body push yours further and further until your eyes are rolling back and all you can feel is the steady thrust of his big cock and the girth of his fingers against your pussy.

"I'm coming," you moan out weakly, "M'coming again, Joel."

You don't hear what he says in response, ears muffled as if you're underwater, pleasure spreading throughout your body and hitting you at full force like a hurricane as he fucks you through it. You're barely aware of the sounds you're making, high pitched and almost feral as his hips slap against yours a few more times. And then you feel it, the hot pulses of his cum painting your insides, filling you up as his cock spasms and twitches deep inside.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, voice thick with pleasure and sleep as he buries his face in your hair, hips stuttering, "Fuck. Take it, there you go."

Yeah, you could get used to this.

You'd been pretty sure you wouldn't leave the hotel room this weekend, just like you'd told him a few days prior. The thought of staying wrapped up in bedsheets, warm bodies pressed up against each other, sharing soft kisses and quiet whispers and tender looks...it'd be more than enough for an enjoyable getaway.

But it's hot, way hotter than you'd anticipated before arriving - and the pool is calling your name.

Or maybe something else is calling your name.

You stand in the bathroom and stare at your bikini clad form, a smile curving your lips as you assess the thin straps and baby pink frills. To think you'd tried to return this to Joel, briefly refused to wear it. Now you're about to don it in front of a hotel pool full of people like a normal woman, like someone without shame, without guilt, without a mother who'd skin her alive if she saw her wearing it.

Your smile falters.

You'd texted your mother after getting out of bed, apologized once again for missing her calls last night and told her you had a "busy" day at the festival ahead of you, that you'd let her know when you leave tomorrow. All she'd said in response was Ok.

You'd climbed back into bed defeatedly, finding a home against Joel's naked form, "She's mad at me," you'd murmured softly against his bare chest, squished into his side with his heartbeat thrumming in your ear.

"Don't think about her right now," he'd whispered, carding his fingers gently through your hair, "Think about this. How this feels."

He'd peered at you so softly, so full of warmth and affection. Those three words had been on the tip of your tongue again, so close to tumbling past your swollen lips - but you'd held it in.

It hadn't stopped you from texting Tasha though:

we had sex and i love him.

UM!! UMMM!!!! DETAILS????

monday!!! i'll call you

🫡 ok slut just leave me hangin i see how it is. AT LEAST TELL ME HE LIKED THE LINGERIE.

oh he liked it :)

queen shit

"Hi, pretty girl," Joel's voice says suddenly, and you're snapped from your reflection in the mirror to find him leaning against the doorway, clad in a pair of swim trunks and a Bob Dylan t-shirt, "Look at you."

You pose a little bit, hand on your hip, "Think the pool boys will like it?"

He laughs lightly, shaking his head, "I don't doubt it, but they might have some competition." He holds out his hand for you and you take it, stepping forward to let him pull you in close.

"They couldn't hold a candle to you," you whisper honestly, and he kisses your forehead with a smile, thumbing the corner of your mouth.

"Wait 'til you see my breaststroke, that'll really get you goin'."

You snort and slap his arm playfully, "Lead the way, pool boy."

Joel may have just been teasing about his swimming ability, but he certainly hadn't been wrong about it getting you going. You watch from the comfort of a lounge chair as he whips back and forth across the broad expanse of the hotel pool like a bullet, kicking off from end to end without much effort at all. His arms are strong and lean, body fast and nimble as the water splashes around his broad form. Every so often his face peeks up from the water and you catch a glimpse of his drenched scruff, the way the greying locks of his hair curl down his forehead into his eyes. God, he's fucking gorgeous.

You're laid out in your bikini just watching, letting him expel some energy before you join him. He'd told you he likes swimming but doesn't get to do it as much as he'd like, what with his work responsibilities. You wonder if he'd ever want to swim in your parent's pool...

You shake the thought away as soon as you think of it. There's no feasible way that could work, no option that wouldn't involve an obscene amount of risk. But still... the thought of watching him from the comfort of your own backyard, just completely alone without any bystanders or hotel guests...

"You gonna join me or what?" Joel suddenly calls from the water, and you blink the thoughts away and throw him a grin. He wades near the shallow end, arms coming up to lean against the concrete edge as he peers at you. "Don't keep me waitin', baby."

You feel your cheeks warm, unable to help but glance back and forth to see if anyone is watching, listening. Everyone else seems to be minding their own business, lost in their own conversations, their own fun. Nobody cares that you're here with him. Nobody cares what you're wearing.

Slipping from the lounge chair, you totter over to the edge where Joel resides and slowly sink down onto the concrete, kicking your legs over the side to seat yourself in front of him.

"God, these legs," he almost groans, immediately taking one in his hands and massaging your calf, your knee, your thigh, "Look at you."

"Stop acting like you haven't seen me naked," you tease, though you still feel a bit shy underneath his gaze as he moves his attention to your other leg.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop admirin' this body," he seems lost in his own movements as he caresses the space behind your knee, "You're so god damn beautiful." His hands suddenly wrap around your waist and without much warning he's carefully pulling you down into the water, moving you in close. On instinct your arms come up to wrap around his neck.

"How the hell am I here with you right now, huh?" he murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose gently against yours, "How're you even real?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you reply a little breathlessly, "I've been asking myself that since we got here."

He slowly turns your bodies in the water, peering down into your eyes like you're the only people here - and you might as well be. You're unable to stop yourself from leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, from letting your tongue dart out to gently explore his mouth; he tastes like toothpaste and chlorine.

"Y'gonna swim with me?" he asks after you've pulled away, pupils blown a bit wider, "Gonna put that little swimsuit to good use?"

"I think I'm putting it to good use right now," you breathe, inching closer so your breasts are pushing against his chest. You're genuinely surprising yourself at your own boldness, especially in such a crowded place - it's almost like you're a different person here, the person you're supposed to be, confidence coursing through your veins. You stand on your tiptoes beneath the water, bringing one of your legs up to wind around his waist.

"Hmm," he hums, and his face is still dripping with water, the wrinkles in his skin peppered with little droplets that make you crazy, "You do have a point there, darlin'."

You lean in again to kiss him, feel a burst of pride in your chest when you see the sudden hunger and arousal in his expression. Just before your lips touch however, you pull back from him and throw yourself into the water, turning back to toss him a cheeky grin.

"Gotta catch me first," you giggle, then speed off in the opposite direction, leaving him standing there with a look of surprise etched on his face - followed quickly by a look of determination.

"Oh, I will," he practically growls, diving into the water in the same manner and reaching out to grab your ankle.

Time passes quickly in the pool, Joel chasing you back and forth, catching you time and time again until you're a giggling mess with tears streaming down your face and his fingers pinching your sides. You can't remember the last time you had this much fun, felt so free and light. You suppose your night out with Tasha had been a fun experience for the most part, until you remember the vague feeling of an unfamiliar body pressed against you from behind and the smell of alcohol crowding your senses on the dance floor.

No, don't think about that.

Before long you've exhausted yourselves, settled back near the edge of the pool where you started and just softly talking to each other. His big hands are all over you beneath the water, palms wide on your bare hips and tummy, caressing your thighs and your back, touching everywhere he can reach. You feel almost lightheaded with desire, eyes hooded as you peer up at him and tighten your arms around his neck, pull him closer and silently beg for more. You can feel the shape of his hardening cock through his swim trunks, pressed wet and heavy against your thigh. It makes you salivate.

You suddenly hook your chin into his shoulder, bury your face in his neck and whisper, "I wanna suck it, Joel."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, hands exploring your back and holding you tighter against him, letting you rut softly against his bulge, "You wanna go back to the room and suck on it, babygirl?"

You nod ferociously against him, "Yes. Please."

It doesn't take long at all for you both to be out of the pool and making your way back over to the chairs to grab your towels. It's frantic the way you rush to dry off, slipping back into your flip flops and shaking the water from your hair as quickly as possible. Joel follows suit, ruffling his own towel through his hair and making your body burn with need, lost in how sexy he looks with water droplets cascading down his large and strong form, dipping down his sternum and into his belly button. All you can think while you look at him is how badly you want to lick, to taste.

You're making your way back toward the entrance together when a woman runs up behind you, calling out, "Wait, hang on!" You both turn, confusion in your expressions as she reaches you and holds out something in her hand - your phone.

"I think you or your dad left this behind, sweetie," she says with a smile and places it in your grasp, "Gotta be careful!"

"Th-thank you," you manage to stutter out, eyes wide as she nods and turns away from you to head back toward the pool.

You stand there dumbstruck for a moment, thoughts muddled.

You or your dad.

Your dad.

You turn to Joel then. He's looking at you with what you can only describe as apprehension, lips downturned into a frown as he stands and waits for you to say something - anything. You stare back, words failing you.

And then you burst out laughing.

His apprehension turns into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs along with you and squeezes your hand in his tightly - as if to say, this isn't wrong, what we have isn't wrong and you know that. And you do, which is why he has to practically drag you back inside the hotel as you double over and heave out laugh after laugh, tears in your eyes.

"Silly girl," you hear him mumble under his breath fondly as he leads you to the elevator, and all you can do is keep giggling.

"I love your cock."

Your knees dig into the plush rug of the hotel room, ass sitting atop the balls of your feet as you kneel between Joel's wide legs. He's sitting comfortably on the couch, one hand resting to the side while the other strokes circles into the apple of your cheek. His cock is out of his swim trunks, heavy and hard in your palm as you slowly stroke him up and down, up and down, heart pounding in your chest.

You've done this to him before, you remind yourself, and he said it was good.

But not like this, another part of you argues, not properly.

"Yeah, you love it?" he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts. With his words his hand drops from your face and joins yours on his shaft, helps direct it toward your cheek so he can press the tip ever so gently against it, "What d'you love about it, baby? Tell me. Wanna know."

"It's so big, Joel," you practically whimper, brows furrowing together at the sensation of his warm stickiness on your face, "So big and so thick and long."

"I know, baby," he coos softly, smearing it along your jaw in a way that has goosebumps rising all over your flesh, "Bigger than your pretty face, huh?" At his words he delicately lays the length of his cock against your face from base to tip, lets it rest there as you close your eyes and try to calm your breathing. You're so fucking turned on.

"Big," you repeat, as if no other words can find their way to your brain, as if your brain doesn't even exist; all that exists is this. The feeling of his warm dick laying heavy across your face, precum leaking out onto your forehead.

"And what's it taste like, babygirl?" He's suddenly moving it downward, towards your mouth, and you happily lean forward to lap at the tip. It pulses against you, leaks onto the pink softness of your tongue. "Tell me what it tastes like."

"Kinda salty," you whisper, peering up at him with big eyes, "But good, it still tastes good to me." Your nose scrunches and you peer up at him sheepishly, "Tasha said it's not supposed to."

He laughs breathlessly, taps the tip against your bottom lip, and when more precum dribbles out you allow it to drip into your mouth. You swallow, eyes never leaving his, then swirl your tongue all around the head before slowly taking it into your mouth and suctioning carefully.

"God, you make me fuckin' crazy," his voice rumbles in his chest, eyes hooded, "Look at you suckin' on my cock." After a few seconds he pulls it out and taps your lips with it again, hissing a bit through his teeth, "Fuck, this mouth. And those eyes," his head leans back against the couch and he groans, low and deep, "You gotta stop lookin' at me like that, angel. M'not gonna last."

"How am I looking at you?" you ask shyly, a smile playing at your lips.

"Like... you're just so new to everything."

"But I am," you say with a breathless giggle, "It is new to me."

He smiles fondly down at you on your knees in front of him, so vulnerable, "I know," he tells you, "It makes me want you so bad."

"You have me," you whisper, leaning forward to mouth at the head of his cock once again, "M'yours, Joel."

His lids go heavy as you suckle gently on the tip again, reveling in the masculine taste of him and the way you can feel his heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. You suck it the same way you did last time - like a sucker or a popsicle - and you hope it feels good to him, hope you're doing it right.

"That's so good, baby," he murmurs, and you whimper at his praise.

You pop him out of your mouth and take a deep breath, peering up at him curiously, "Can...can you..."

His brow furrows, "Can I what, angel?"

"Can you show me how to... how to take all of it? Like, how to put it in my throat?"

The expression on his face is hard to describe, a mix of disbelief and untamed arousal. His mouth opens to speak but he doesn't say anything, taking a few seconds to formulate a response before clearing his throat and giving you a weak - and slightly wrecked - smile.

"Y'sure you wanna try that?" he asks you, ever the gentleman, "That's....it's a lot to take in your throat, babygirl."

"I know," you breathe, sincerity in your eyes, "But I wanna try."

He reaches down and thumbs a stray hair from your face, pushes it behind your ear, "You're probably gonna gag," he murmurs gently - a warning. "It might be uncomfortable for you."

You raise an eyebrow, "So... you don't want me to?"

He laughs breathlessly, "I... I didn't say I don't want it. But I don't want you to try something you don't feel ready for," he frowns, "Don't want you to feel any pressure with me."

"I don't," you admit honestly, "I don't feel any pressure, Joel, I promise. I just...really wanna try it. I want you to show me."

He takes a deep breath, strokes your cheek gently and then reaches down to hold the base of his cock again. Your hands fall to his thighs, still clad in his swim trunks.

"Lemme just see how far you can go without gaggin' first," he tells you softly, patiently, "Want you to stop when you feel it in that spot, okay? Don't go any further than that."

You nod, already beyond excited that you're learning something new, something that'll make him feel good. You open your mouth to take him back inside but he touches your face again, stopping you.

"Deep breath," he advises quietly. You do as you're told.

He helps guide the fat head of his cock past your lips, watches as you very slowly ease yourself down. You close your eyes, all your focus centered on this singular task, fighting to push past the slight discomfort of having your mouth stuffed so full. It takes barely a moment for you to reach the point he was talking about, when you feel the head of his cock brush ever so slightly against your gag reflex. On instinct, your eyes snap open, your entire body freezing in place.

"Right there?" he asks quietly, but you know he's not waiting for an answer, knows you couldn't talk even if you wanted to, "That's so much baby, good girl." His praise send throbs of pleasure to your pussy, warmth to your cheeks. Your eyes meet his and you can see how turned on he is, see the way the corners of his mouth twitch with pleasure. "Let go when you're ready, honey."

You hold yourself there for a few more seconds, eyes watering a little bit as you hold his gaze, just testing the power of your lungs and the strain of your jaw. When it becomes too much you pull your mouth off him and find yourself gasping for breath, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as drool spills down your chin.

"How was that?" he asks, thumbing your cheek again with one hand and stroking himself with the other, working your saliva up and down his length, "Uncomfortable?"

You shake your head, "It was good," you whisper, voice a bit crackly, "I wanna try and take more, can I?"

He nods, smiles encouragingly and taps his swollen cockhead against your bottom lip again, slow and tantalizing, "Course you can, babygirl," he murmurs, "Deep breath."

You inhale deeply again, gathering as much air into your lungs as possible before sinking your mouth down onto him and allowing his thick girth to fill you all over again. This time when you feel him reach that spot, you let yourself keep going just a little bit further, allow the head of his cock to push more firmly against it and slip the tiniest bit into the back of your throat.

You gag immediately.

It's very loud; a dry wretch that you can admit sounds absolutely horrific in the current circumstance. Before you can even really process what to do next, he's tugging you off his cock, voice suddenly worried, frantic, "Okay, no, that's too much," he says quickly, and you look up to see him shaking his head, "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"M'fine," you try to garble out, but you're shocked when just talking suddenly sends you into a coughing fit. You bang on your chest and squeeze his thigh with your other hand, feeling more drool cascade down your chin and onto your bare chest.

"Angel," he says soothingly, leaning forward to pat your back, brows furrowed again in concern, "I'm sorry, honey."

You shake your head, "I-I'm okay," you splutter out, "Just gimme a second."

"It's too much," he repeats, almost pleading, "Please, baby, I don't wanna see you struggle, that's not fun for me."

As much as you hate the idea of giving up, you have to admit that he's right. That wretch had not been pleasant, and while you think you could eventually learn to take all of him, maybe forcing yourself to do it when you're supposed to be having fun on vacation isn't the best time.

"Okay," you mumble defeatedly, sitting back on your knees, "But I still wanna suck it."

He laughs again, relief flooding his features as he leans back on the couch and smiles crookedly at you, "You can still suck it, darlin'. Just take your time and don't push your limits, alright? Promise me."

"I promise."

You spend the next fifteen minutes or so playing with Joel's cock, stroking it with your hand, kitten licking along the shaft and head, just touching as much as you can without any time pressure for once. He pets your hair as he watches you, thumbs your cheeks and dimples, small groans tumbling past his lips, face scrunched in pleasure as you explore. You take as much of him as you can in your mouth, bob up and down slowly with your eyes trained on his face, feel the way his thick length twitches and pulses against your tongue.

It's almost feral the way you drink him down, hollowing your cheeks and basking in the way his body responds to you. You're so wet, aching to touch yourself but wanting this moment to be just for him, a thank you for this weekend, this hotel, for everything. Instead you palm his balls, roll them in your palm and revel in the desperate sounds he makes.

"I love your cock," you whine, repeating your earlier statement as you fist it up and down with spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, "I love it so much, Joel." You can feel yourself dripping in your bikini bottoms, feel your own slick gathering on your inner thighs.

"I know, baby," he gasps out, running one hand through his hair and the other through yours as his belly tenses and untenses, as his thighs tremble, "I know you love it, s'all yours, baby. S'your cock."

"My cock," you echo, almost a whimper, "Mine."

"Yours, it's yours," he moans loudly, hands curling into fists as his head hits the back of the couch, "Shit, I'm gonna come."

"Come in my mouth," you tell him immediately, wasting no time in sinking back down onto his length. He doesn't ask if you're sure; he's too far gone to be a gentleman anymore, and you love it. You watch as he suddenly sits up on the couch, reaches both hands forward and cradles your head in them firmly. He helps you move up and down, groaning as he does, and then-

His cock pulses on your tongue, thick and heavy, bobbing against the roof of your mouth. You feel a burst of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another, all the while Joel moans and holds your head in place, toes curling into the rug. Your eyes roll back as he fills your mouth, overwhelmed by the salty taste and thick texture, and - without really meaning to - you swallow around him to make more space. He practically whines at the sensation, pulsing once more to release one final burst of his spend.

And then he's falling back against the couch, cock popping out of your mouth, expression dazed. Without thinking about it you swallow the rest of his cum, eyelashes fluttering at the odd sensation of it all slipping down your throat. So much, gone in an instant. It's only then that you actually realize what you've done.

"I swallowed it," you say, panic suddenly brewing in your stomach, "Was I supposed to swallow it?"

He laughs softly, covers his mouth with the back of his hand, "It is perfectly fine that you swallowed it, darlin'," he smiles wide and opens his arms, "C'mere."

You clamor off your knees and crawl into his lap immediately, straddling his thighs and pressing your wet bikini bottoms against the slope of his belly. He lets out a little groan, pulls you in and strokes your hair.

"You did so good," he praises you softly, kisses your temple, "So good, baby. Made me come so much."

"There was a lot," you tell him, nuzzling into his neck and letting your breathing slowly even out, "S'why I swallowed it, I was trying to make room."

"Was it okay? It didn't make you gag, did it?"

You shake your head, a pout on your lips, "Felt good in my mouth," you whisper, "I liked it."

He hums, hands trailing from your hair to your bare back where he unclasps your bikini top and lets it cascade to the floor, then reaches down and tugs at your bottoms. You lift up carefully, let him slip them down your thighs and watches as you kick them off, leaving you fully naked in his lap.

"So pretty when you're bare like this," he whispers, and it sends more slick to your folds, oozing down and making a mess on his tummy. He cups your pussy in one hand and slides two fingers easily inside of you, thumb rubbing circles against your clit. You grip his arm, eyes falling closed and pitiful little sounds slipping from your mouth. "My good girl deserves a reward for suckin' my cock so good, swallowin' all that cum, don't you think?"

You nod, biting down on your lip and letting him fuck you with his digits, eyes rolling behind your lids.

"Yeah, you do," he answers for you, "You deserve it, angel. Always."

He makes you come easily, leaving you a messy, twitching heap in his lap as your arms wrap around his neck, body going lax and loose. After a few moments he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, helps you into the shower, smiles when you peer blearily up at him through your afterglow.

"Just close your eyes and lean against me," he tells you softly as the water falls, removing his swim trunks and getting in to stand behind you, "I'll get you cleaned up, sweetheart."

You nap after your shower, exhausted and sated in every possible way. Joel wakes you up around two o'clock with more room service - sandwiches and soup that you devour with bright eyes and light conversation side by side in bed. It's domestic bliss the way he thumbs mustard from your lips, pours you more water, slices your key lime pie and feeds it to you with a fond smile.

I love you I love you I love you.

"Would it absolutely ruin this moment if I suggested tryin' our hand at a hymn?" he asks when you've both finished, wiping the crumbs on his fingers with a napkin and gesturing to his guitar case in the corner of the room.

You grimace, "I guess not."

"I'm just thinkin' about your parents," he places his hand on your hip - clad in another one of his shirts - and gives you a sympathetic smile, "It's probably best to pick somethin' and have it ready."

You nod. You know he's right, that your lack of preparedness these past few weeks has been pretty reckless considering it's been the entire "reason" you've been seeing him. With a sigh you slip out from under the covers and traipse over to the couch, listening as Joel unclasps the guitar case.

"I did some research," he tells you as he walks over, hooking the strap over his shoulders as he goes, "I think our best bet for an easy tune is How Great Thou Art. Pretty repetitive chord progression, only uses G, C, and D."

You make a face, crossing your arms, "I can't believe I have to do this."

He laughs, "It was either that or Come Ye Sinners, and I think that one's a little too on the nose, don't you think?" He tosses you a smile and you can't help but return it, feeling your frustration melt away under his gaze.

"Can we do that thing again where I get a reward?" you ask shyly, biting your lip. His eyebrows go up, a smirk lighting his face.

"Hmm, I think that's doable," he sits down beside you, tuning the guitar, "What'd you have in mind?" You notice the way his eyes dart toward your groin and your cheeks warm.

"I was actually thinking that maybe..." your hands play with the hem of his shirt nervously, unsure what he'll say, "maybe you could play something for me? You said last night that you've written some songs," you shrug, trying to be nonchalant, "I'd... I'd really like to hear one, if you wouldn't mind."

He peers at you for a few seconds, smirk fading briefly only to be replaced with a tender smile, eyes softening as he gazes at you. Warmth blooms in your chest. You never want him to stop looking at you like that.

"I can do that," he tells you quietly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, "I mean... I can't promise it'll be good, but-"

"I don't care."

He chuckles and nods, grips the guitar again and clears his throat, "Well, alright then. Let's get started."

For the first time ever, the lesson is actually a lesson. No undercurrent of sex, no inappropriate touching or sensual glances, no teasing or filthy words. You're not sure how you're able to hold yourself back so easily, able to really focus on what Joel is saying and showing you, helping place your fingers in the right locations and teach you the strumming techniques. Maybe it's because you're tired - you did come three times already today - but it's not just that.

It just feels so... normal. So easy. You think back to that first lesson, the nervousness you'd felt and the pounding of your heart in your chest, the anticipation and the fear.

It's different now. Now that he's been inside you, become one with you, it's like your whole dynamic has changed - for the better. Of course you still feel that curious nervousness, the innocence, the electricity between you. But there's something so solid and tangible about it now, something certain. Something real.

He shapes your fingers along the neck of the guitar, praising you softly every time you play a note that sounds right, encouraging you as you repeat the G chord a few times, then C, then D. You strum along slowly, taking your time, and before you know it you're playing something that actually doesn't sound half bad.

"We definitely need to work on buildin' up those calluses," he murmurs, stroking the tips of your fingers under his thumb, "Well... If you're gonna do this long-term, I mean."

You peer at him curiously, tilting your head to the side. He looks sheepish, like he's said something he hadn't meant to.

"You think I could do this, like... for real? As a hobby?"

His mouth turns up at the corners and he nods, "I think you can do anything you set your mind to, darlin'."

Your heart is suddenly in your throat at his words, emotion bubbling under the surface of your skin. You drop your hand from the guitar and reach up to cup his face, pulling him toward you to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kisses you back just as soft, just as careful.

"Thank you," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "Thank you for saying that."

He presses his forehead to yours, shakes his head ever so slightly, "Don't gotta thank me for sayin' what's true, angel. You deserve to hear it every single day."

You finish the lesson with tears still welling in your eyes, a lump in your throat. When you lean the guitar against the side of the couch he cradles your face in his hands and gently kisses the tears away, brushes his lips along your eyelids and cheeks, your jaw and your lips, saying everything without saying anything at all.

"Okay," you sigh, taking a deep breath and opening your eyes to smile sweetly at him, "Time for my reward."

He chuckles and rolls his eyes a little, reaching for the guitar and beginning to tune it again. You watch as he twists the keys, strums a little here and there, hums softly for each note to match his voice. Anticipation rises in your chest.

"Now, uh," he clears his throat a bit, avoiding eye contact, "It's been a while since I played this one but it's, uh," he takes a breath, "It's one I wrote when Sarah was born. Used to sing it to her to help her fall asleep."

You melt at the words, smiling wider, "What's it called?"

He finally meets your eyesight, lips pressing together sheepishly, "Sarah."

Oh, duh. You nod in encouragement, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and waiting for him to begin. He takes another deep breath, dropping his gaze to watch his fingers shape the first chord. It's then that you notice his hands - usually deft and steady - are trembling a little bit, so much so that he has to readjust his position on the strings a few times.

He's nervous.

He stares at his hand, takes another deep breath.

You wait.

"Sorry," he mumbles under his breath, "Sorry, just gimme a minute."

"It's okay, take your time." Your voice is barely a whisper, awestruck by the sudden vulnerability you're witnessing. He'd agreed to the reward so quickly, you'd been sure he didn't mind. But now as you sit here waiting, you're not so sure. You watch him take more deep breaths, watch as he closes his eyes and seems to center himself.

"If you don't want to-"

"I want to," he says immediately, shaking his head, "I want to, I've just... I haven't sung in a while."

Your brow furrows, confused, "You sang yesterday in the car, didn't you? And you sang Tangled Up In Blue when we first met, and that other one, the one from the eighties."

His lips turn up at the corners, a welcome smile, "Take On Me."

"Yeah, that one."

He sighs, tightening his grip on the guitar, "It's not that I haven't sung I guess. Wrong wordin'," he bites his lip, "It's moreso that I haven't sung this one. Or any of my originals. Not for a long time."

You frown, "How come?"

"I guess... I just..." he searches for the words, staring at the floor, "No one's really asked me to. And it's not like I'm playin' gigs or tourin' or any of that pipe dream stuff I thought about when I was a kid." He laughs humorlessly, like the concept is ridiculous, "So I guess I just kinda... stopped, after a while."

You feel a sudden sadness that you can't really explain, picturing that bright-eyed little version of Joel, stuck in a household that wouldn't let him grow, wouldn't let him be himself. All those dreams and big ideas, dashed before he was able to get out and make his mark. Life getting busy, too busy, other responsibilities taking up all his time until the thing he loved most became nothing but a memory. A pipe dream.

It makes your heart ache.

"D'you mind if I just..." he meets your gaze again finally, eyes soft and a little sad, "Could I maybe just hum it? Instead? I know that's kind of a cop-out, but-"

"Of course you can," you breathe out, hand coming down to rest atop his knee, "Of course you can hum it."

"I'm sorry, baby, I know you wanted -"

"It's hard being vulnerable, Joel," you interrupt him again, shaking your head and stroking your thumb against his skin, "God knows it's been hard for me, and you've been nothing but patient." You give him a watery smile and he returns it, "Please take your time. I can be patient too, I promise."

You can tell how much he appreciates it. He reaches down and picks up your hand, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it before setting it back down and taking one last deep breath.

"Well, here it is," he says with a little more confidence, a smile playing at his lips.

You've heard him play before, obviously; you've already seen the way his fingers work the strings like it's just second nature, the way his thumb strums out the chords effortlessly. But this time is different. Knowing what he's playing is completely original, born from his own creativity out of love and devotion, a father's affection and protectiveness, it just sounds special. New. He begins to pluck out a soft, slow, soothing melody that immediately puts you at ease, makes you lean back further against the couch and loosen your body. It's tender, quiet - a lullaby.

He hums softly, voice crackling a bit in his throat at first but then settling into a smooth and comforting sound. It's almost like a waltz, the way the chords change back and forth, in and out, slow and steady. Of course you wonder what the real words are, what his quiet hums are substituting, but you find that it doesn't really matter. What matters is the look on his face, eyes distant, as if he's picturing his daughter as she was when she was little. You try to picture it too, thinking of the photograph in his house, the one of him pushing Sarah on the swing. Just a father and his little girl, against the world.

It isn't a very long song. It fades out relatively quickly, and as soon as he strums out the final chord you sit up on the couch and clap ferociously, tears stinging in your eyes all over again.

"I'd usually, uh, play it a couple times for her," he says awkwardly, "'Til she fell asleep."

"It was beautiful," you tell him earnestly, "It was so beautiful, Joel."

He shakes his head with an embarrassed laugh and swivels around to go place his guitar back in its case. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to. You know how he feels when you spot the tips of ears, tinged pink, warm from your praise.

The rest of the day passes in what feels like a warm, luxurious, passionate blur. You go to dinner that evening and order lobster, revel in the way it practically melts in your mouth with sips of champagne and bites of blueberry cheesecake. Joel tells you a little more about his life, tells you everything you want to know about his daughter and his ex. It's not a difficult or uncomfortable conversation like you'd been worried it might be. Instead, you feel closer learning these things about him, feel even more connected to him than you did before as he tells you about Mish and Sarah, their relationship, the arrangement.

"I think I understand it better now," you tell him thoughtfully, "Now that I've actually..." you peer at him shyly, "You know... done it."

He chuckles, "Sex is a powerful thing, it really is. And when you find someone you're compatible with it can be really easy to keep goin' back to 'em. Settle into it, you know? Even if the other parts of your relationship don't work."

"It's like...friends with benefits, right?"

"Exactly. And it really does work for some people, worked for Mish and I for a long time," he shakes his head and reaches across the table to take your hand, "But that's over now, I need you to know that. It's over. You're the only woman in my life and that's how I want it to be. You believe me right?"

His eyes are soft, warm, loving, sincerity practically glowing in his expression.

"I believe you, Joel. Of course I believe you."

You have sex again when you get back to the room, slow and intimate and tender and perfect. You claw at his back as whimpers and cries tear from your mouth, writhing in pleasure beneath him on the bed as he fills you over and over, murmurs filth in your ear and presses down on your clit with his thumb. It's like you've died and gone to heaven, this feeling of permanent bliss and satisfaction, the sensation of being so full and so connected. It's the closest you've ever felt to real inner peace; who would have thought that sitting on a cock instead of in a church pew would be the thing to bring you closer to godliness?

I pray at the church of Joel Miller, you think to yourself as you recover from your fifth orgasm of the day, laying there with fluttering lashes and heaving belly, mind foggy and eyes bleary. Joel is kissing your thighs somewhere below, whispering praises, humming against your skin as he wipes a warm cloth over your twitching pussy.

"I keep thinking about how many sins I've committed in the last twenty four hours," you mumble to him, sleep quickly making its way into your psyche, "And then I remember that I don't care."

His laugh is the last thing you hear before you drift off.

Sunday morning is bittersweet. You spend most of it wrapped in Joel's embrace, tracing the freckles and scars on his skin, drifting in and out of consciousness while he peppers kisses all over your face and neck. You have to leave the hotel by noon, get back on the road again and head back home, but the bed is so warm. He's so warm. Everything is warm.

"You never fucked me in the shower," you whisper to him softly, so quiet you wonder if he can even hear you, "Or on the floor."

"I still can," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep, fingers trailing delicately through your hair, "We have a little time."

You nuzzle into his warmth and close your eyes, sighing contentedly, "No," you breathe, "I just want you to hold me."

So he does.

The drive home is quieter, but not in a bad way. You're still tired from your escapades and find yourself dozing every so often, vaguely aware of Joel turning down the volume or switching the song to something more chill when he notices you starting to drift. His hand is ever-present on your thigh, stroking the skin over and over like it's just habit at this point. You know you should be forcing yourself to stay awake, to enjoy these last few hours before life goes back to normal, but he really did a number on you.

It's only when you stop at a gas station - the same one where you first saw the playlist you weren't sure you were meant to - that you finally start to feel more awake.

"So tell me about this Angel playlist," you say with a smirk, waving his phone at him as he gets back in the truck, "Can we listen to it?"

A look of surprise crosses his face, but he doesn't seem upset, "How did you even find out about that?"

"I'm in control of the music, remember? It's your spotify."

He groans, cheeks flushing as he pushes on the gas and pulls out of the station, avoiding eye contact. "You were not supposed to see that."

Intrigue floods your brain, fuels your grin, "So it's for me?"

He takes a moment to respond, thumb stroking the wheel as he eyes the road, lip between his teeth. You can tell he's debating whether or not he should answer you, but his silence says everything. Impatient, you practically bounce in your seat, "Can we listen to it? Pretty please?"

He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, "Who is this girl sittin' in the front seat of my truck?" He squeezes your thigh, "You're gettin' bold, darlin'. I like it."

"Enough to let me listen to the playlist?"

He sighs, but you know he's not mad, can see the smile tugging at his lips, "...Maybe. At least enough to listen to one song. Will that tide you over?"

"Yes, it most certainly will," you're already tapping Angel, eyes alight with curiosity, "Which song?"

"Northern Sky by Nick Drake, should be the first one there."

You turn to him with a raised brow, "How do you know that's the first song?"

"'Cause I made the damn playlist."

"And you listen to it a lot?"

He laughs again, eyes rolling fondly as he turns his attention back to the road and grins at your words, "You're somethin' else."

You've still got a shit eating grin on your face as the song starts, the soft strumming of guitar filling the small space. Oh, this is pretty. You playfully nod your head to the chords and he rolls his eyes again, strokes your thigh and keeps his attention focused on the road.

And then the lyrics start.

I never felt magic crazy as this I never saw moons, knew the meaning of the sea I never held emotion in the palm of my hand Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree But now you're here Brighten my northern sky

Your grin fades almost immediately, realization blooming on your face as the reality of what this playlist actually is begins to dawn on you. You'd thought maybe it was songs he wanted to share with you, songs he wanted to teach you how to play. Just random tunes that he compiled together with you in mind.

No, that's not what this is at all. As the lyrics continue, the melody growing more steady, more beautiful, you realize that these are songs that remind him of you. An entire playlist dedicated to the way he feels.

You stare at the road as the song plays out, not speaking. Your eyes are stinging with tears but you can't bring yourself to say anything, to even look at him. You feel him squeeze your thigh again, a comforting and reassuring little gesture. As if to say, l know, I'm here. As the final chords fade out you frantically reach for his phone and press pause, out of respect for his privacy but also because you're completely unprepared to hear another song like that. You catch him peering at you in your periphery, and you will yourself to look at him with watery eyes.

"Satisfied?" he asks softly, giving you that gorgeous crooked smile.

All you can choke out is a "Yeah."

Arriving back at the parking garage hurts. Joel pulls his truck in beside your car, still in the same spot you'd left it, and takes the key out of the ignition with a long sigh. You look over at him, emotion burning in your throat.

"I don't wanna go home," you whisper.

"Oh, babygirl," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "C'mere." He holds his arms open and you clamor over the center console to settle into his lap, burying your face in his neck. He holds you tight and rubs your back, hushes you softly when you start to cry. How is this weekend already over? How are things just supposed to go back to normal now?

"I don't want you to go back there either," he breathes, "If I had it my way you'd be comin' home with me." You feel him press a kiss to the spot just beneath your ear, "But you're strong. You're stronger than you think you are and I know you can get through this. Whatever they have to say, whatever they do, you'll get through it. We'll get through it together."

You don't say anything else, just melt into the warmth of his body and let him hold you, comfort you, until your cries and hiccups fade into even breaths. You pull back slowly and peer at his beautiful face, long to say the words you've been holding back all weekend - but you know there's a reason you've been holding back, know this isn't the right time, not yet.

Instead, you kiss him. It's soft and sweet, a tender goodbye. Temporary, fleeting. You know it's not forever, know you'll probably sneak over tomorrow night to see him again under cover of darkness, find yourself in his bed, get wrapped up in him. But it's a goodbye nonetheless. A goodbye to this - the simplicity, the sense of normalcy and lack of time constraints, the domestic bliss and the thrill of the escape. A goodbye to the bliss.

Driving away from him a few minutes later, watching his truck fade into the distance in your rearview mirror - you think it might be one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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wintrwinchestr · 1 month

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strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places.

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks.

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again.

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you.

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up.

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear.

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms.

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now.

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump.

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside.

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive.

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones.

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been.

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch.

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen.

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive.

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female.

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him.

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs.

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears.

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.”

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole.

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them.

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time.

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so.

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.”

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway.

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget.

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another.

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger @hjzghi-blog @natalieispunk (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader

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mrsmandalorian · 5 months

Text

nonsense

-- pedro x singer!f!reader one shot

summary: a surprise visitor at your first-ever coachella performance!

second part: espresso/main masterlist /word count: 4.5k

warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied, smut!!!, and fluff!, drinking, drug use (edibles and smoking), switch sex, p in v, fingering, sexual teasing, pet names (mi amor, princesa, daddy, baby, baby girl, puppy, angel)

a/n: howdy everyone! was inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's Coachella performance to write this. let me know if you guys want a second story to Espresso lol. i would love to hear your feedback or comments! much love to everyone!! -maddie

Coachella was one of the most famous music festivals a musician could play at. It was such an honor to be on the setlist. It is incredible to perform a night each weekend in a row. This might be the most significant break in your career. Something felt missing.

The crowd started to get excited as the set time grew nearer. The nerves shot through you as you took deep breaths. You were trying to get over the feelings going through your mind.

“Are you alright?” one of the backup dancers asks as they help you with the earpiece. As you look yourself over in the mirror, you see the beautiful outfit that was personalized to fit you wonderfully, with your hair done beautifully.

You were ready.

“Yes, I am ready!” You smiled at your team as you took hold of your microphone. The band starts playing one of your most famous songs. The lights went dark as the band played the first cords of the song. The crowd roared in anticipation. You slowly stepped out into the darkness and started the melody.

The lights pour onto the stage, and the crowd goes wild. They get the first glance at you with your sexy and luxurious outfit. You smirk to yourself at the attention as you scan through the crowd. All the exciting and loyal fans in the crowd as they sing every verse with you. You follow the dance choreography you have practiced and performed many times. Once the music was going, it was hard not to get stuck into it and forget about the hundreds of people in front of you. The crowd was going wild as they sang along to your new song.

You continued the song as you had images of the reason for it, smirking to yourself. Pedro makes you feel like you're on cloud nine, from how he treats you publicly to the bedroom activities. A few songs highlighted the bedroom activities. You had never written such “edgy, sexy” songs before you met him. The secret love affair had made all of you so happy. He still made you content and secured in your relationship even miles and hours away from him.

As you go through the song and move around more, you look into the VIP areas and see many familiar faces. You don’t pay much attention as you have to end the song. You were so busy entertaining your fans that you did not notice who had slipped into the VIP section alongside both of your mutual friends. You were so focused on the choreography and in your element. The show was a big deal and a performance with dances and graphics for all the songs on the giant screens. You were singing your last song of the night, which was Nonsense. It was one of your favorite songs to perform, as it gave the audience the mood for the evening. The song represented something personal to you: your secret relationship with your new lover, Pedro Pascal, the whole internet’s boyfriend. It was interesting to see social media go crazy over who the song might be for. Some had the correct answers, but it was still a new and private relationship.

The lights fall as the melody starts. “I think that you guys will enjoy this next song! I have seen all the tiktoks, by the way.” You joke into the darkness and receive a wild response from the crowd. You take a few breaths and get into position in a very sexy pose, along with the dancers, waving at the sweet fans who can see you.

“No (La-la, la-la) da-ah-ah, ah (Ah-ah, uh, uh, uh, yeah)”

As the song begins, the spotlight shines only on you. You scan over the crowd with a smirk. It was one of the sexy, edgy songs you wrote because of your lover. There are butterflies in your stomach from nerves to play something as personal as this song, especially for such a big and reactive crowd.

“Think I only want one number on my phone I might change your contact to "Don't leave me alone." You said you like my eyes, and you like to make them roll Treat me like a queen; now you got me feelin' thrown, oh.”

The stage lights illuminate the whole stage as you walk around and sway your hips to the music. During the lyrics, you stop and try to sing with your fans as you make your way to the side of your VIP area to see those familiar faces.

“But I can't help myself When you get close to me Baby, my tongue goes numb Sounds like blah, blah, blee”

As you sing towards the area, your eyes linger over your friend group of non-famous friends to Sarah Paulson, which causes you to smile at them. You continue to scan the section until they land on HIM. The person that this song was written about. He was being his goofy and adorable self as he sang along with you. This causes you to mess up with a blush but quickly recover as the next verse comes.

“I don't want no one else (don't want) Baby, I'm in too deep Here's a lil' song I wrote (a song I wrote) It's about you and me (me)”

The eye contact that he held with you as you sang your filthy thoughts of him directly to him with a huge smirk. You continued to perform as you moved your hips a little more to the choreography because of him. In the following verses, you look away as you sing to your fans.

“I'll be honest Lookin' at you got me thinkin' nonsense Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in And when you got your arms around me Ooh, it feels so good. I had to jump the octave I think I got an ex but I forgot him And I can't find my chill, I must have lost it I don't even know I'm talkin' nonsense I'm talkin', I'm talkin' (ah)”

You twirl your hair and sway your hips back to his side of the stage as your dancers follow close behind you. Make eye contact with him to ensure he is focused on you now.

“I'm talkin' all around clock I'm talkin' hope nobody knocks I'm talkin' opposite of soft I'm talkin' wild, wild thoughts You gotta keep up with me I got some young energy I caught the L-O-V-E How do you do this to me?”

You follow the choreography correctly as you hold flirty eye contact with him. Once you go over the chorus again and start to finish the song, you stand in your final position in the middle of the stage. You send him a wink and blow a kiss, then turn your attention to your fans.

“You guys have been absolutely the best! I hope you all enjoyed it and hope to see you again next weekend! I love you, and please stay safe!” You say after you show appreciation to your band and dancers. You wave and bow as the crowd goes wild and chant your name as the lights go down.

As you run backstage with your crew, laughing and smiling, you give all of them well-deserved love and appreciation. Your manager is there with water and a hug.” You did amazing! They loved you!” they say as you drink your water and wipe the sweat. Now celebrate! Not too hard!”

You follow their instructions as you see your friends run up as you exit the backstage towards your tent. They all sang praises and love and hugged you. After a while, you finally met the handsome brown eyes again, but closer this time. You jog up to him in your tight-fitting outfit with a big smile as the two collide in a hug, throwing your arms around his neck. He was wearing a button-up shirt with the first set of buttons undone, dark jeans, and his oversized glasses and baseball cap.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You say with a smile as you look up to him. He smirked as he got ready to say something witty back to you. You interrupt it with a short but passionate kiss on his lips. “I’m happy you’re here! How long have you been here?” Your hands land on his exposed chest, which makes him pull you closer.

He chuckles at you as he sees the adrenaline still pumping through you as you chatter to him. “I just decided to come to see my favorite person perform at Coachella. My schedule can wait two days. I’ve been here the whole time. You were great, beautiful.” He keeps his voice so no one else can hear your conversation. You feel his hands slide down your hips a little bit. “Also, where did you get this little number, and why haven’t I ever seen it?” Letting his thick fingers run over the design against your lower sides.

The compliments give you a confidence boost on top of your adrenaline rush. You bite your lip as his hands wander slightly until they settle on your lower back. “I planned on changing before we celebrate, but if you like it, I can keep it on.” You whisper into his ear, then look back at his expression.

His eyes darkened from your comment, causing him to pull you a little closer. “I like that idea,” He whispers in your ear as his lips graze your neck with a few pecks. Before you both could continue, your friends gathered you into other event areas. The group stayed together as they went to different stages to watch other artists, including Doja Cat and Lana Del Rey.

Pedro and you both socialized and drank with all your friends as you celebrated your incredible performance. There were edibles taken sometime in all the fun. He would occasionally hold onto you as you both danced closely. You both let loose, and as you can see, everyone was far from wasted. You were letting your bodies get as close as possible, hips grinding onto his. His hands would run down your sides and tease you. Stealing kisses from each other, and the sexual tension was through the roof.

The feeling of being watched makes you look around every once in a while. The camera flashes and excited screams from people around you made you realize that your relationship might not be that much of a secret now. Pedro and you interacted with lovely, chill fans who casually recognized you. You had some groups that would call over to Pedro as “daddy” as he played it off like a champ.

“Vamos, mi amor,” Pedro whispers in your ear as he grips his gentle hands around your waist. You meet his erotic brown eyes that make your cheeks burn hard as you squeeze your thighs together. Pedro was very facially expressive because you could read his thoughts whenever you looked into him. His thoughts were highly naughty, and it was time to go home. “I wondered how you felt about calling it for a night and heading back to your room for a nice bath.”

You look around at everyone in the crew and see your friends slowing their nights down, which doesn’t make you worried about causing another upset. Meeting the brown eyes again, you give him an arguing grin as you throw back your head with a laugh.

“I thought you might like that idea, Hermosa. Let’s tell them all good night and get going,” he whispers again in your ear as he gently pulls you towards your group of friends. Both of you take the time to say goodbye to your friends and thank them for supporting you. Pedro’s loud laugh pulls you away from your friends as you meet his warm eyes. He hugs everyone and draws you into his hip with an arm around your waist. “Goodnight, everyone. Safe travels!”

There were plenty of farewells, naughty things, and cat calls as you leaned against Pedro, who turned around with a silly face and middle finger gesture. He helps guide you to the Uber you take to your hotel room for the night. As you lay your head in his lap, the car ride was full of stolen kisses and laughter.

“You were an absolute star tonight, mi amor,” Pedro says as he traces his fingers along the straps of his outfit, letting his fingers run down to his cleavage. That last song was very cheeky. I wonder who that could be about.”

“Thank you. It was about one of my lovers. You might know him,” You joke with him, trying not to moan. His wandering fingers turn into wandering palms as they slowly paw at your breast.

“Oh, you are playing hard to get whenever I already have you smitten,” he mumbles, only where you could hear him. The car comes to a stop as you arrive at your hotel. You quickly get out of the vehicle as Pedro follows closely behind you. You couldn’t keep your hands off one another as you walked through the empty hotel halls. Acting as strangers whenever you encounter a person, you giggle with each other once you come back together.

Once you find your room, Pedro checks to see if the hallway is clear. He uses a little force with his grip as he leans you against your shut door. Letting his hands explore before they landed on your bottom, kneading your ass. One of his hands comes up to cup your jaw as he lines his lips up with yours, passionately kissing yours. His body closes into yours as you let him control the situation as you follow his lead. After grinding bodies and long, passionate kisses, you pull away, trying to catch your breath as you stare up at him with your cheeks burning. “We should get inside,” you say as you turn around the door, fumbling with the door. Pedro stepped back a little and watched as you struggled a bit.

“Why are you so frizzled, mi amor?” He whispers against your neck and presses the front of his body to your back. Feeling his stiff member against your backside along with his hot breath, almost making you moan out at contact. “Let me help you.” He helps you inside as you giggle and follow him.

Pedro and you have been messing around for a while now. You have not discussed a relationship status or anything, but neither of you hooked up with others. He treats you like a significant other the way he respects your boundaries and doesn’t hide his affection towards you.

“Let’s go put that beautiful bathtub you sent me a picture of yesterday to good use,” he teases you as he takes off his baseball cap, which makes his hair go all over the place. He starts unbuttoning more of his shirt as his chest becomes bare. You can’t resist running your hands down his chest as he looks at you with a smirk.

He spanks your ass hard with a groan because of your hands on him. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he says as he pats your ass to get you to start moving. Once in the bathroom, turn on the large white tub to create a perfect mix of hot and cold. He grips your hips as he runs his hands to the back of your outfit. “Whoever designed this little piece is a fucking genius. It is beautiful and flatters you greatly.”

“Well, thank you, Pedro. I might have had you in mind when I got it designed. I was going to send you some pictures tonight whenever I came back here,” you smirked and winked at him in the mirror as he helped you undo the outfit. He kissed down your body as the fabric went off, making chills run across your body. The time apart doesn’t affect you emotionally, but how your body reacts tells the absolute truth. The way your heart rate skyrockets as his lips make their way to your mound.

You leaned against the counter for support as your outfit fell onto the floor, leaving you only in underwear. You make eye contact with Pedro as he continues to kiss and lick down your lower half. He hooks his large fingers under the top band of your panties as he meets your eyes for approval. You give him a slight nod and grin as his feather-like kisses follow the material as he pulls them down your legs. Throwing your head back as you try not to make a noise as he runs his tongue just above your clit. You make a frustrated groan as his tongue suddenly leaves your skin, leaving goosebumps.

Pedro chuckles softly as he sees how your body reacts to him, pulling away with a smirk on his lips. He stands up as he pushes his body against yours, pulling your hips into his. “You are such a good girl for me. Your body is always ready for me,” he whispers as he ducks his head to kiss your neck. “Let’s go in, mi amor.” He gets in first so you can sit in between his thick thighs. He helps you as you slide in between his legs, back against his chest. His rigid member pressed against your lower back, his hands tease your nipples after you get settled. He couldn’t help but let his hands wander as he settled comfortably behind you. He rubs out your sore body but lets his hands focus on your most sensitive spots.

His gentle but firm hands run on either side of your hips as his kisses lay on your shoulders. He inhaled deeply against your skin, causing you to tense up your back as it chills down your spine. He moves his hands from your hips towards your mound. You used one hand to spread your left leg apart, holding it still with just one large hand. His right hand found its way down to tease your slit, playing with your sweet lips. You felt the member on your back begin to throb as he slightly rubbed himself against you. You let out your needy moans and sounds continuous as he worked his fingers against you.

He kept teasing you and kissing your shoulder and neck with his scruffy face. You had enough of his teasing and rigid member. It was rare that you switched roles, but you were both switches. (You can’t tell me that Pedro is not a switch.) You slide out of his grip as you meet his eyes once you are turned around to face him.

You grasp onto his rigid member, holding yourself up on the sides of the tub. He squirms and lets out a moan as you hold yourself over him. “I’m tired of the teasing, Pascal. It’s my turn,” you say as you ease your entrance slowly onto his throbbing tip. You find a comfortable position for your legs as you keep going up and down on his tip. He lets out a loud ‘fuck’ and moans as he squeezes his eyes close. His hands move to your hips, letting you take control. You start to ride him as you push your breast into his face.

One of his hands moved from your hips to grip your tit, “who gave you permission to touch me?” You whisper almost into his ear as he looks up at you with big brown eyes.

“Sorry, miss,” he whimpers back as your speed of volatile movements onto his cock increases. He leans back and rests his arms on the back of the tub as he lets you ride the hell out of him. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes as he groans out in pleasure. “Fuck, mi amor.”

“You like this, don’t you?” You firmly ask him as you force his face into the middle of your tits. He starts to motorboat your breast as you suffocate him gently. The scruff from his face makes you more sensitive than you thought, riding his member harder. “You start fucking me hard, baby. Thrust your big cock into me.”

He meets your eyes with pleasing brown eyes to satisfy your needs. His pleas make you smirk as you nod. Pedro begins to slam his hips into you, moaning as he does. “Thank you, thank you for letting me fuck you.” He pants as he thrusts deep inside of you, feeling his throbbing member hitting every spot.

He grips your body, and his thrust begins to become more rapid as you continue to ride his giant member. Every thrust has the purpose of pleasing you; his hand works its way back up to your breast. He plays aggressively with your nipple, pinching and sucking on it. His other hand gripped onto your ass as his rhythm stayed deep and hard. The overstimulation of his hands and the member inside of you causes you to scream out in pleasure, “Good puppy.” You whimper as you feel your orgasm coming sooner as he leans up and thrusts into you. Pedro chose the pet name on one of the first nights you had taken control of the action.

Eventually, with his rapid thrust and wandering hands, your body starts to shake as you are overcome with pleasure. “Keep going, puppy,” you whimper as he continues to work out your orgasm. “Such a good puppy.” You whisper as you run your hands over his chest. Your body falls into his as you overcome your orgasm, gripping onto his as he continues to pleasure you. He pulls out and fingers your wet pussy, licking his fingers after you finish.

You both lay in the tub for a while as you overcome your orgasm. He held you as you came down from your high, kissing your head. “Was that good for you, mi amor?” He asks gently as he pulls you into his chest. He moved the hair from your face, rubbing his hands down your waist.

You gently nod against him as the day catches up with you. After a few minutes, you get tired of the cramped space of the tub. “Let’s get out, baby,” you mumble to him as you lean up, earning a grunt in return. The guilt of not pleasuring Pedro silently overcame you as you exited the bathtub.

The sound of a low grunt makes you return to the tub as the broad man emerges. You smile mischievously at him as he glances up to meet your grin. His member is still very much erect as he steps in front of you. The fun part of being switch partners was that it could change in a flash. You give Pedro a knowing look as he meets your eyes and stands before you. His eyes and grin light up on his face as he gently guides you onto the counter behind you. “My turn, princesa,” he mumbles and spreads your legs apart as he pushes himself in between them. He pulls your body towards the edge of the counter so your legs wrap around him.

You lean your back against the counter as he holds your lower half, rubbing his throbbing cock against your slick entrance. He leans over your body, sucking on one of your nipples to get a reaction out of you, which it did as you let out a loud moan. Your body reacted as well as it pushed farther onto his member. You both let out a pleasurable sound as his tongue runs down your chest to your stomach. Your hips start to tease him as they grind against him, which causes him to spank the side of your ass. “No, ma’am, it’s daddy’s turn,” he smirks up at you as he moves one of his hands to your nipple. His fingers quickly fondle your right nipple as you moan loudly. “You let daddy fuck your sweet, sweet pussy?”

You let out a satisfied groan as his hand moved down your entrance, gently rubbing you as his thumb ran over your sensitive clit. After gently teasing your pussy with his fingers, he lubed himself up with his fingers from your wetness. His large member enters you again as he holds onto your hips. He pushes inside slowly as you both let out moans.

“You’re so fucking wet, angel. Did ya miss daddy?” He asks as he grips your hips harder, thrusting inside of you. You give a desperate nod as your hands grip onto the edge of the counter. Pedro takes his time as he edges himself in and out of you, giving you all the praises. He pulls up your upper body so your bodies grind against one another, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding your back. “Good girl.”

The friction from the position on your mound makes it hard not to moan and squirm in pleasure. His thrust becomes more rigid and repetitive as his grip holds you gently but firmly. You could feel your orgasm approaching as well from the position. “I’m about to cum, Daddy,” you whimpered as you gripped his firm broad shoulders.

His mouth meets your ear as he groans into your ear. His heavy breathing makes your back arch and push into his thrust more. “Wait for me, baby girl,” he mumbles into your ear as his thrust becomes more sloppy. “Come for me, angel.” He sets you down on the counter as his hands grip your breast, twiddling your nipples with his thick fingers.

Before long, both of you came together with your bodies grinding against one another, along with satisfied noises.

Pedro’s warm brown eyes meet yours before he kisses you. The two of you might not have a title, but the sparks were there every touch. “Such a good girl, angel,” he says as he gently pulls out of you. “Let’s take a quick shower.” He helps you into the shower, where the two of you help wash one another and joke around with stolen kisses in between. After getting ready, Pedro carries you into bed as the two of you order dessert from room service. The rest of the night was full of laughter and heavy makeout. The two of you cuddle up to some cheesy movie and fall asleep midway through it.

These were the perfect nights for you to write a whole album about your feelings for this cheeky, handsome man.

thank you for reading! let me know what you think!🤍

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #din dijarin fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro x you

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weakformingyu · 6 months

Text

Style | Y.J.

Pairing: Jeongin x afab!reader

Summary: you always wanted to do something crazy, something different from what your family expects you to. Who would have guessed that you'd meet Yang Jeongin, the guy who has the worst reputation around town and the one who's ready to deviate you from god's path.

Words count: 7,037

THIS ONE AND ALL MY CONTENTS ARE +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

Warnings: badboy!Jeongin, churchgirl!reader, exaggerated description of conservative/religious families, dirty talk, protected piv, oral(f. receiving), degradation(very little), praise(even less), biting(I think that's all, let me know if I forgot something)

A/N: inspired by TS' song Style, one of my favs.

You have been the pride and joy of your family since your birth, their perfect little daughter who is obedient and never goes against their word. You are a straight A’s student, the main singer of the church's choir, you’re never harsh and never vulgar, you're never free. That makes you mad, you have never enjoyed your life, like truly enjoyed it, you have been living for others this whole time and you’re tired of it.

“You know what?” Soyeon, your newest friend says, “we should go out”

“To go where?” You ask, confused. You two are seated together in your social studies class, she’s different from all your other friends and your parents would definitely kill you if they ever found out that you befriended someone like her. In your eyes, you know there’s nothing wrong with her but you know they would never agree with this friendship the moment they laid eyes on Soyeon.

She has tattoos all over her body and her hair is pink, she wears strong makeup and clothes that show too much skin, nothing like you. You had to beg your parents to let you wear jeans when you got into college, telling them the long dresses would make you stand out too much and at the same time that they gave you an earful because you were giving in to the sins of the world, they agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea for their pristine daughter to get too much attention.

Your circle of friends in college is basically the same as the one you had in high school, mostly people from the church, people just like your parents, who judge others based on looks so it was shocking for you when Soyeon approached you first and it was even more shocking when you realized how much you both have in common. She also comes from a conservative family, but unlike you, she decided to rebel at a young age, she chose to be free.

“There’s a new club in the city, I think you’re going to like it”, she tells you, looking the place up on the internet to show it to you.

“I don’t think my parents would let me go”, you chuckle looking at the pictures and at the people in the pictures, you’d definitely stand out in there.

“And who's talking about asking for permission?” She giggles, watching your horrified face.

“I could never”, you shake your head frantically, anxiety growing in your chest just by thinking about it.

“Y/N, you’re always telling me how much you wanted to be brave and do something impulsive, this is your chance”, she pushes, seeing you bite on your bottom lip, wondering if it would be okay to do that just this once.

“But how am I going to explain to them the reason I’m going out at night?”

Soyeon chuckles, amused.

“Have you ever heard of lying?” She asks, sarcastically, making you blush.

“Stop”, you pout, making her laugh loudly.

“Just tell them you are going to have a sleepover with your righteous friends or whatever, I don’t think they are going to doubt you”, Soyeon suggests.

“Fine, yeah, I can do that”, you say, trying not to shiver at the simple thought of lying. You don’t think you have ever lied to your parents, too afraid of what would happen if you were caught, scared that you’d lose the little bit of freedom you have but maybe it’s worth it this time, maybe you’re going to find a whole new world.

You don’t know why Soyeon asked to meet so much earlier than the actual time of the party. Everything goes well with your parents, you never gave them reason to distrust you so they don’t even think too much of it, telling you to come back first thing in the morning for your prayers.

You go to Soyeon’s house, her parents love you, hoping that you’re going to bring their daughter back to the righteous path, little do they know that she’s the one who’s trying to deviate you from that very path.

Since she’s with you, they believe in everything she says about how you two are going to watch a movie in the theater and then she’s gonna sleep at your house. And you do go to the theater, or better, to the restroom there.

“What are we doing here?” You ask, confused, when she locks you both in the tiny space.

“What do you mean?” She seems as confused as you, looking for something in her bag and then she looks at you, realizing something and laughing. “Girl, bold of you to think I’d let you go dressed like that”, she says, staring at you up and down.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” You ask, looking at yourself.

“Hm, there’s nothing wrong if you were really going to the theater”, she says, pulling out a few clothes out of her bag, “you’re going to a club, you need to look hot.

“Why?” You inquire again, tilting your head.

“Just because”, she loses her patience, handing you the clothes, “now put this on, I’ll do your makeup after you finish dressing.

“I don’t think this is right”, you tell her from inside the booth, opening the door to find Soyeon frowning.

“What is not right?” She asks, and you look down.

“Is this supposed to be a skirt?” You ask, pulling down the small piece of fabric that’s barely covering your ass.

“That’s how people dress, you’re the one who’s always covering yourself”, she explains, coming close to you. “Now, I’m gonna do your makeup, don’t worry, I’m going to take it easy this time”

“This time?” You murmur, making her chuckle, ignoring your question while she pulls her makeup accessories out of the bag.

You can barely recognize yourself when you look in the mirror, but strangely that doesn’t bother you. You are used to always feeling plain and boring but right in this moment, you feel interesting for the first time in your life. Soyeon really didn’t exaggerate on your makeup, she just put on some mascara on your eyes and a red lipstick on your lips. The silk tank top you’re wearing suits you best if you go braless and the skirt is still too short for your taste but anything over knee length is too short for you.

The club is crowded, you don’t think you ever went to a place so full of people and so full of life. People are laughing, kissing each other, dancing, enjoying themselves and that’s something so rare to see in your everyday life, it's delightful to you.

“Do you wanna drink something?” Soyeon asks, loud enough for you to hear.

“I think just water for now”, you tell her and she nods, your friend is not one to pressure you to do something you don’t want.

“I’m going to the bar, okay? I’ll be back in a minute”, she says, as soon as you both reach a booth.

You nod, watching as she struggles to squeeze herself in between the people dancing, you’re not sure if she’s going to be able to arrive safe and sound to the bar.

You look around, you think you know a few people from your school but you hope they don’t recognize you. However, there is a pair of eyes that catch your attention, making you stop to stare at him for a whole minute before he smirks, giving a step in your direction until you realize that he’s coming to you.

You know him, you know him so well. That’s the guy all your friends told you to stay away from, even your parents warned you about him. Yang Jeongin, the city heartthrob.

Jeongin is a known rake, he goes around causing trouble and breaking hearts and that’s something you don’t want anything to do with. Then, why can’t you move? Why does it feel like he’s pulling you like a magnet, like you can’t get up while he has his eyes on you.

You look around, trying to see if Soyeon is close by to save you from him but she’s nowhere to be seen and in an instant he arrives at your table, tilting his head and looking at you up and down. Jeongin raises a brow, watching as you fidget on your seat.

“I don’t think we have met”, he says, sitting down.

“We haven’t”, you say, drily.

“But I think you know me”, he smirks, “And I know you — I mean, the other version of you”

“Well, if you know me, you should also know that there’s nothing for you here”, you tell him, feeling nervous, a strange heat spreading around your lower belly.

He chuckles, sliding in the booth to sit right by your side, slipping his arm around your shoulder.

“Any knowledge I had about you went down the drain the moment you stepped in this party wearing this tiny piece of fabric you call a skirt”, he murmurs too closely, eyes fixed on yours, making your heart beat faster. You should definitely tell him to leave since you have the slight idea about where this is going but at the same time you don't want him to leave. God forbid anyone knows that you ever let this man touch you but you sure want him to. You can't even blame the alcohol since you didn't drink any but you can blame Soyeon for leaving you alone in a place where Jeongin is. Having him so close to you is making your head hurt, you feel your whole body turning hot, the throbbing on your upper body making you dizzy.

Something takes control over you, making you turn your upper body over to him, clicking your tongue next and smirking.

“Shall we get to know each other, then?” You hear your voice but don't know where that courage came from.

“I'd like that”, he squeezes his body even closer to you. Jeongin leans over the table, resting his chin on his hand while he rests his elbow on the metal surface. “You look stunning tonight by the way, very different from the way you look on the daily basis”

“So you really know who I am”, you ask, surprised.

“Of course, you're the college's model for good behavior”, he chuckles, “the amount of times I heard professors bringing you up as an example is crazy”

“Well, it's the opposite with you”, you shrug.

“Ouch”, he pouts, “why does it sounds like you don't like me”

“It's ‘cause I don't”

“I'm sure I can change your mind”, he leans in closer once more.

“Oh, pray tell, how are you going to do that?” You scoff, amused. There's no way this guy has gam-

“Have you ever had your pussy eaten?”

You almost choke on the air you just breathed.

“Wh-what?” You gulp, trying to recompose yourself.

“I'm sure you're gonna like me after I eat you out”, he smirks.

You roll your eyes, scoffing at him, trying to hide your embarrassment and how hot you're feeling.

“Do you say that to all the girls you try to sleep with?” You ask, crossing your arms in front of your chest, making your boobs go up, something that makes Jeongin's eyes go down to stare at your breasts, the smirk growing bigger in his lips.

“Only to the special one's”, he tells you, nonchalantly, raising a brow. Before you can retort, you see Soyeon coming in your direction with drinks in both hands.

“Sorry, it took ages for someone to get my order”, she says, tilting her head in confusion when she looks at Jeongin. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all”, Jeongin is the one to say, “I was just about to leave, it's nice to see you by the way”, he smiles at Soyeon while getting up. “If you change your mind, feel free to come find me”, he says, winking at you before turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

Soyeon sets the drinks on the table, sitting by your side with a puzzled face.

“What was that about?” She asks.

“Nothing”, you sigh, fanning yourself to try and calm down and ease your hot face.

“Well, by the way you are reacting it doesn't look like nothing”

“He was hitting on me”, you say, feeling embarrassed again. “I told him I'm not interested”

“Why?” Soyeon asks, more confused than before.

“What do you mean ‘why’? He's Yang Jeongin, the guy who everyone warns us about”, you answer like it's obvious.

“Nope, he's the guy the people from your church warned you about”, she chuckles, “I know him and he's not that bad, but it's true that he can't keep it in his pants”

“Even if it's not as bad as people painted him to be…”, you lean closer to her so you can talk lower, “... I never did anything, I don't know if it's okay for me to do it here”

“And who's the person who's going to tell you if it's okay or not?” Soyeon asks, “you should do what you feel like doing, don't think about your parents or your church, just think about what you wanna do”

You stare at Soyeon for a moment, biting on your bottom lip. You know she's right, you do, but are you brave enough to take the risk?

“Do you have a con…dom?” You ask, feeling your cheeks hot and a big smile grows on your friend's face.

“I sure do”, she answers, opening her bag and looking for it inside, grabbing two packages and giving it to you. “Don't feel like you have to do this, you can just try and see what happens. I have known Jeongin for quite a while and I know he wouldn't do anything you're not up to”, Soyeon assures you.

You nod, getting up. There's nothing wrong with trying, right? Your parents will never know and it's not like he's going to tell anyone too.

You walk in the direction Jeongin went, squeezing yourself in the middle of the crowd, looking around to find the man. There are so many different people, but you're sure you can spot him without issue if he's nearby.

You do come across him, eyes meeting his back while you watch as he whispers something in another girl's ear. There's an ache in your chest as you watch how she laughs about what he's saying like he's so funny. Well, stupid of you to think he would be waiting for you. You sigh, maybe this is a sign that you should just call it a night and go home.

As if the universe hears what's going through your mind, Jeongin turns around like he could feel your gaze and your eyes meet for a split of a second before you turn to look anywhere else, just to find someone you know. Fuck, it's a girl from your church, her family is really close to yours, what's she doing here?

You spin on your heels, deciding to run to the restroom for now, it's your best option. She's known to be a snitch, if she sees you there's no way she's gonna keep quiet about it to your parents and after that your life is over.

Miraculously, you manage to find an empty bathroom, going in and locking the door. You watch yourself in the mirror, your red lipstick is still intact. You wet your hands, throwing drops of water at your face but not enough to mess your makeup.

You're fine, you're alright, you can just sneak out of this club and get home safely without anyone knowing. You nod, turning around to open the door. And when you get out, you're going to forget any strange ideas you had about-

“Jeongin?” You ask, seeing the man standing in front of the bathroom door. “What are you doing here?”

“This is a public restroom”, he jokes.

“Ah, yeah”, you nod, stepping aside so he can go in and you can walk away.

“I was kidding”, he explains, “I thought I saw you looking for me”, he smiles, crossing his arms in front of his chest while he leans on the door frame

“Was I?” You pretend. You had just decided that you wouldn't let these impulsive feelings control you so why is every fiber of your body telling you to just grab this man by the collar and kiss him.

“Should I come in?” He asks, ignoring your cynical retort. “If you tell me to go in, I'll understand that you're interested in going further in this little game but if you're still not interested, you can just tell me to leave”

You take a few deep breaths, thinking about what you really wanna do, just like Soyeon said.

“Fuck it”, you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, locking the door after.

Jeongin watches you with that damn smirk on his face.

“I won't do anything I'm not comfortable with”, you inform him, making him chuckle as he takes a step closer to you.

“Wouldn't want it any other way”, he says, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing your body against his. Jeongin leans closer slowly, taking his time enjoying how you lick on your lips anxiously and watch him with big eyes. Then he kisses you, his lips gently press against yours, so much more delicate than you thought he could be. His tongue brushes past your lips, going into your mouth and exploring every corner, dancing with yours as he shows you what to do. You kissed someone before but it was nothing like this, you never knew you could feel this hot with a kiss. Your belly feels like it's on fire, warmth spreading everywhere.

Jeongin's hands slide down to your thighs, brushing your skin slightly and making you shiver as his hands goes up, beneath your skirt.

“Is this okay?” He asks, squeezing your ass only covered by your panties and you feel dizzy, nodding frantically. Jeongin smiles, he's not usually so careful but he can guess that you're not very experienced, and the last thing he wants is for any partner to have a bad experience with him.

Jeongin lifts you up, carrying you to the sink and making you sit there, sliding his hands down to your legs to spread them open for him. Your skirt rides up and he can see your baby blue panties and the wet spot between your folds.

“Are you already this wet, baby?” He asks, sliding your underwear to the side as he brushes his fingers slightly in your entrance. Jeongin looks at you, looking for any hesitancy but you're looking at him with expectant eyes, waiting patiently for him to fingerfuck you. He inserts one finger inside you, “Who knew a good girl like you would let someone like me fuck her in the restroom of a club?” He teases, watching as you squirm in embarrassment but also how your walls flutter around his finger. “Hmm, do you enjoy hearing how much of a whore you are?” He thrusts in and out, feeling your pussy sucking his finger more and more as he degrades you, making him add one more.

“Don't say that”, you whine, grabbing him by the shoulders and digging your nails on his jacket, trying to contain the moans that try to escape your lips.

“Oh, but I think you like it”, Jeongin smirks, using his thumb to tease your clit while his other hand wanders beneath your crop top, grabbing one of your breasts, kneading and squeezing the flesh.

“Ah!” You whine, closing your eyes to the feeling. You never thought it would be so good to feel someone else's hands touching you like that, it makes you wonder why it took you so long to try.

As if Jeongin can hear your thoughts and want to torture you, he takes his fingers out of you, make you whimper to the loss of his touch.

“Shh, pretty girl. I'm going to make you feel good real soon”, he kisses you one more time before sliding his jacket down his arms, dropping it on the floor. He's wearing a tank top that looks painfully tight on his body, hugging every bit of his muscles and showing his toned arms.

You gasp when he takes the piece off, showing you his muscular chest, making you gulp and try to close your legs to rub them together to ease the tight knot growing on your lower stomach but being prevented by Jeongin's hips.

“Do you like what you see?” He asks, condescendingly. But contrary to his expectations, you nod frantically, probably not thinking straight anymore. Jeongin chuckles, leaning closer, biting on your earlobe. “After you come in my mouth I'm gonna show you something you're going to like even more”

Before you can ask questions, the man is getting on his knees in between your legs. He pulls your panties, sliding it down your legs, licking his lips to the sight of your glistening cunt. You can feel his hot breath reaching your sensitive spot, Jeongin kisses your inner thighs slowly, making you whine for him to do something, anything to help you feel any sort of relief.

Finally he dives in on your pussy, sticking his tongue between your wet folds and licking a huge strand until he reaches your clit. Jeongin sucks on the hardened bud, circling it with his tongue, digging his fingers on your hips as he pulls your pussy closer to his face, leading your legs over his shoulders. You taste delicious, sweet and wet, he feels like he could stay with his face between your legs forever. When he feels your hips bucking in against his mouth, he groans, eyes fixed on your pleasured drunk face.

Your hands fly to his head, pressing him against your cunt without even realizing, his nose poking on your clit just makes it worse and when he inserts two fingers in your hole at once, you feel your whole body shaking. Your toes curl and a loud moan escapes your lips as Jeongin slows down the movements on your sensitive spot, enjoying seeing you coming down from your high.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, standing up. You open your eyes to stare at him, his face glistening with your juices and you have the inexplicable urge to kiss him, so you grab Jeongin by the neck and crash your lips on his.

He groans in between your sloppy kiss, feeling his painfully hard cock throb even more while listening to your sweet sighs. He feels like he's about to explode when he feels your hand touching the buttons of his jeans, pulling away to look at what you're doing.

“I wanna touch you”, you explain, feeling your cheeks hot but too drunk in pleasure to even feel embarrassed.

“Oh, pretty”, he smirks, your hands freeing his cock in a simple move, making Jeongin bite on his bottom lip to hold on the moan about to come out when he feels your fingers grabbing on his cock.

“I don't know what to do”, you whine, looking at him with expectant eyes, he really wanna curse right now but he doesn't want you to think he's angry.

“Here”, he covers your hand with his, leading yours up and down his shaft. “Like this”, he closes his eyes, leaning on your shoulder and letting you work alone.

“Do you like it, Innie?” You ask, softly. Your movements on his cock makes him whimper, he hates being called that but why does it sound so sweet coming out of your mouth?

Jeongin lifts his head, looking at you. You have your bottom lip stuck between your lips, your eyes are glossy, your red lipstick is all smeared and your breathing is erratic.

“Fuck, you're hot”, he answers, making you giggle, putting more pressure on the caresses you're giving his length. “Can I fuck you, pretty girl?” He asks, making you halt your movements. His hands cup your face and he kisses you, smiling once he pulls away. “We don't have to”, he assures you, “you said you won't do anything you're not comfortable with and I agreed”

“I want to”, you say, feeling your face hot. “It's just that- I never did this before, so I don't know what to do”, you tell the truth. You're having mixed feelings about this whole thing, you really want to do this but you can't shake the thought that something bad is going to happen if you do something to displease your parents.

“We can go slowly, okay?” He asks, pulling you out of your deep overthinking. You nod, giving him the condom that you had stored in the pocket of your skirt. “Oh my, you're dirtier than I thought”, he chuckles, opening the packaging and putting on the protection.

He positions his cock in your entrance, checking once more with you if everything is okay.

“If it hurts too much, I'm going to stop”, he tells you and you nod, feeling him sliding inside you slowly. You gasp, the stretch is rougher than you thought and when he reaches a certain point it starts hurting too much. He stops when he sees the tears running down your face, making him frown in worry. “Are you okay?” He asks, you look at him and nod.

“It just hurts a bit but I can take it”, you assure him, seeing him smile. Jeongin leans closer to you, trying not to move his hips for the time being.

“You're so good, baby”, he praises you, kissing below your eyes, on your tears stained cheeks.

He kisses your lips, feeling you relaxing on his hold and that's when he moves, his cock going all the way in as you whimper in his mouth. “Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“It's good now, I think I'm good”, you whisper, “can you move?” Jeongin nods, thrusting in and out slowly, letting you get used to his cock. Your moans make him believe that you're enjoying yourself. “Oh Innie, Innie, that's so good”, you mumble, feeling like you can see stars.

“Shit, y/n, fuck”, Jeongin groans, feeling his orgasm approaching. “I'm not going to last, baby, I'm gonna come”, he groans, leaning on your shoulder once more and biting on the soft skin, making you cry out.

“Me too, oh- oh”, you moan loudly feeling your release, the faltering thrusts of the man inside you and his low moans tell you he just came too.

You two stay silent for a whole minute, trying to process what just happened. You can't believe you just had sex in the restroom of a club and with Jeongin of all people, but even though you know no one other than Soyeon is going to be excited about that, you can't stop the big smile that grows in your lips.

Three knocks on the door make the both of you come back to reality, you jump from the sink, trying to fix yourself to look presentable outside and before you two can talk about what just happened Soyeon’s voice comes out.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” She sighs.

“Yeah”, you answer while you try to fix your lipstick that's all over your face.

“We have to hurry, a girl from your church saw me and it's just a question of time before she finds you too”, she tells you, making you look at Jeongin.

“I gotta go”, you inform, even though he hears what Soyeon just said.

“Yeah”, it's the only thing he says and that makes you disappointed. You shouldn't have expected much of someone who just fucked you in the restroom of a club but you thought you felt something different, guess you were wrong.

When you walk out of the restroom, Jeongin comes down from his gaze. Fuck, he can't believe he let you go just like that but he was too shocked about the things he felt a few minutes ago. Why did it feel so different this time?

You can't stop thinking about Jeongin, the way he held you that night is stuck into your mind and the way he kissed you made you want more but you can't have him not now and not ever. While you have been torturing yourself and overthinking, Jeongin kept living his life to the fullest like that night never happened, like you never happened.

“That Jeongin guy is so vulgar, I heard he’s got girls left and right, doing God knows what with him”, one of the girls of your church says. You feel your cheeks hot, you know exactly what they are doing with him because you were one of those girls.

“I don’t think we should be talking about that”, you murmur, biting on the insides of your cheek.

“Ah, you’re right”, she nods, smiling empathetically to you, “we shouldn’t talk about such worldly things”, the girl grabs your hand, looking around to the other people and smiling gently. “Shall we talk about the song we will be presenting on Sunday?”

You nod with the others, but you pay no attention to whatever she’s saying or anyone for that matter. Your thoughts traveling far to those ungodly sensations Jeongin caused you.

In your lunch break you don’t really want to be with your church friends, you know that at some point, something about sins is going to come up in the conversation and you’ll have to hear how you were a slut, even though they don’t know that they’re talking about you. So you go to the opposite side of heading to the bathroom, it’s not the most hygienic place to eat but at least you’ll be left alone.

That was your idea, until you feel someone grab you by the wrist and drag you to an empty room. You were ready to curse at the person when your back is pressed against the wall and you have the chance to look at the culprit’s face.

“Jeongin?” You ask confusedly, looking at his sharp eyes.

“The one and only”, he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Aw, baby”, he pouts, “why does it sound like you didn’t miss me?” He asks, taking a step closer to you — if that’s even possible, since you two are already glued.

“Because I didn’t”, you lie, avoiding his gaze, trying to push him away from you but getting your wrists held by his hands the moment they land on his chest. “And by the way, are you crazy? How can you just drag a girl to an empty place like this?”

“I’m sorry, are we still at that time where men and women can’t even be left alone to talk without being forced to marry?” He asks sarcastically, “we already did so much worse than just talk though”

“Just tell me what you want and leave me alone”, you huff, trying to control yourself. His body so close to yours does things to you, thoughts you don’t know if you’ll be able to control.

“Well, even if you didn’t miss me, I missed you”, he suddenly looks too serious, not a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Well, I heard that you’ve been out and about with some other girl”, you scoff, trying to hide your bitterness about the subject.

He sighs, biting on his bottom lip.

“What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinking about that night, about you”, he confesses, making your heart melt for a moment. So he wasn’t as alright as you thought he would be and that gives you some peace of mind, to know that you weren’t just another notch in his belt. However, reality comes crashing in soon after, as you remember that you two could never be together.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” You ask, even though your sentence sounds hostile, you really want an answer.

“We can try and be a thing, I don’t know anything about couple’s shit but I can try if it’s with you”, he scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly and that confession would sound a bit cute if you didn’t know better.

“Jeongin, we can’t be together”, you clear things out, feeling a sudden pain in your chest.

“Why not?” He looks at you like you’re saying something unbelievable and that makes you chuckle.

“Because, we come from two different worlds. You wouldn’t have ever looked at me if it wasn’t for that party”, you bite on your bottom lip. “It’s that girl you’re interested in, the bold and pretty girl who takes risky decisions”, you manage to push him away this time, he’s too shocked by what you’re saying to even try to prevent you. “You’re probably just enchanted with the idea of me and in a few days you’re going to get tired and even though for you I’ll be just another ex-girlfriend, for me… Unfortunately, I can’t recover after you”

You grab your bag that had fallen on the ground, continuing to speak.

“Until I get out of my parents' home, I have to follow their rules and they would never agree with me dating someone like you. My whole life will be a mess after you leave, but yours is going to be as normal as it was before you met me”, you smile sadly to him, waiting for a moment while he stares at you with a scowl in his face before you nod, turning around and leaving him behind.

You feel like throwing up. If he never came after you at least you could pretend that night never happened, that it was just as insignificant to you as it was to him. Why did he have to come after you and make things so complicated? That makes everything so much worse, it’s so much more painful to think about what you two could have been.

You try distracting yourself with your classes and the church choir, trying to get more tasks so you won’t be able to think about Jeongin. You need to stop thinking about him. There’s a point where you even think you might be going crazy, when you see someone just like him at your church on Sunday but there’s no way he’s there, Jeongin would never step foot in a place like that and you’re sure the other people that attend wouldn’t like him there either.

You help get the lunch ready at home, your parents are acting strange and treating you so nicely that you think one of them might be dying and they are trying to sooth you before telling the truth. That’s when you hear the sound of the doorbell, frowning, you didn’t know you were expecting visits.

“Can you get the door, honey?” Your mother asks and you nod, walking to the entrance and opening the door just to find someone who looks exactly like Jeongin, but there’s no way that’s him.

“Good afternoon, y/n”, he greets you, what happened to him? He’s wearing khaki pants and a light blue sweater over a white dress shirt. His hair is styled slipped to the side, not a strand out of place. You close the door fast, in panic.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, holding the knob of the door so your parents won’t open it before he goes away.

“I was invited”, he says nonchalantly, like it’s something he’s used to doing.

“Aren’t you going to invite our guest to come in?” You hear your father’s voice, looking at Jeongin like he’s an alien. He smiles at you, tilting his head while you open the door, suspiciously.

Your parents greet him with a big smile, something you never thought you’d see them doing towards Jeongin.

“Did you have trouble finding the house?” Your mother asks, as she puts some rice on a plate for him.

“Not at all”, he answers politely, “you have a beautiful home”, he smiles charmingly, making the older woman giggle.

“I’m sorry, but can you explain how you know each other?” You ask, confused with their interaction.

“Honey, Jeongin found us at the church earlier and we have never been more proud of you”, she smiles as your father nods.

“Proud of what?” You feel your head spinning, the only thing Jeongin could have told them was about the night you spent together and you’d probably be homeless right now if your parents ever found out about that.

“Now now, don’t be so modest my dear”, your mother smiles. “Jeongin told us how you have been unstoppable about your mission on bringing his soul back to our lord”

You blink once, twice…

“I did what?” You ask, frowning, Jeongin’s hand sneaks right to your thigh, squeezing the flesh, almost making you squeal.

“He told us everything”, you father stops eating, “how you searched for him while he was lost and guided his soul back to our God’s path”

“I told your parents how I became a new man because of you, y/n”, Jeongin says, smiling kindly to your family, “and I asked them if it would be okay if we got to know each other with the intention of marriage in the future”, he says like its nothing, making you choke on the air you just breath.

“Marriage?” You almost yell.

“Only after I’m done with all my studies and when your parents consider me a man worthy of you, of course”, he looks so genuine, you would surely believe him if you didn’t see the corner of his lips slightly upturned.

“And of course we agreed”, your mother says, “someone who got lost once has more chances to get lost again, so who better than you to be by his side, helping him get through the worldly desires without deviating from the right path?”

You nod, not really understanding what's happening but going with the flow.

“May I take y/n for a walk after we eat?” He asks your parents, they look at each other and nod, telling him to go ahead.

The rest of the lunch is unbelievable, Jeongin even quotes the bible, making your family impressed. After everyone eats, he helps your mom collect the dishes and after a few minutes he comes back from the kitchen, smiling kindly at you and offering his hand to you so you can hold and get up. You walk together for a couple of minutes, you’re still too into your own head to ask him anything, everything about this whole situation doesn’t seem real.

“You are insane”, is the only thing you say when you see his car at the end of the road, you look at him just to find his piercing eyes watching you.

“I’m just someone very determined”, he shrugs.

“So what now, you’re going to pretend to be a good boy forever?” You walk straight to his car without even realizing it.

“Not forever, just until you get out of your parents house”, you spin on your heels, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, confused. “You could have anyone you wanted”

“Not you”, he tells you, simply. “And I want you”, he takes a step closer and when you step back, you feel your back press on the door of his car, making him grin, walking even closer to you and pressing his body against yours.

You don’t want to reject him, you never wanted to in the first place and to think that he managed to find a way so you two can be together, it makes you flustered.

“I want you too”, you murmur, feeling your cheeks grow hot.

Jeongin smiles, leaning in to kiss you but stopping before his lips could touch yours, sliding his hand behind your back to pull the handle of the door.

“That’s good, ‘cause you have no idea about how much I’ve been wanting to taste you since I saw you this morning at the mass”, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to be able to swing the door open, pushing you inside of the back seat of his car.

You’re wearing the long dress you always use to go to the church and it makes Jeongin even crazier to see you dressed like this than it did when you wore those tiny little pieces at the club. This way no one else can see you the way he does, everything about you is for him to see, you're all his.

“Innie, we shouldn't do this here”, you whimper when he rides your skirt up, revealing the wet spot in your panties.

“That's not what your pussy is telling me”, he chuckles, pulling the piece of fabric aside and brushing his fingers between your folds. “Fuck, you're soaked”, he groans, leaning down to lick your clit, making your hips thrust involuntarily to feel his mouth in your needy hole.

Jeongin digs his fingers on your hips, preventing you from moving while he licks and sucks on your core. The wetness of your cunt is too much for him, it's overwhelming and your smell makes him go crazy.

“Can't we go to your house?” You whimper, looking around, trying hard to keep your eyes open even though your body is forcing you to close them to enjoy the pleasure.

“Nope, I promised your parents I would have you back home in thirty minutes, we are running out of time”, he raises his brow to you, daring you to protest more but you just give in, enjoying his hot tongue on your cunt and letting yourself come on his mouth.

On the way back to your home, Jeongin promises to keep appearances for your parents but he tells you that what he wants more than anything is to take you out of the righteous path. He says that with that damn smirk on his lips and you're sure he's gonna succeed.

A/N: if you enjoy my work, don't forget to give me some feedback. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated and are the things that keep me motivated to write. You can also buy me a coffee ☕

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cc--2224 · 5 months

Text

I'll Show You Heaven

Pairing: Crosshair x F!Reader

Summary: Crosshair was always someone of interest to you, much to the other clones’ dismay. When he hears a Reg disrespecting you, he doesn’t hesitate to step in. You were told that there was no point trying to fix him, but you knew you could handle dangerous; although it turned out that to you, he wasn’t dangerous at all.

Warnings: This is very much 18+ Minors do not interact! Alcohol and smoking mentions; drunk clones being assholes including one putting the reader in a dangerous/uncomfortable situation but nothing happens! Smut - masturbation, Crosshair having dirty thoughts, oral (m and f receiving), biting/marking, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it!!, praise kink, one instance of Cross being too rough but he corrects it, porn with feelings, language, tons of compliments/pet names, jealous maybe slightly protective Crosshair

Notes: Very slightly based on the song I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Word Count: ~6.4k

Taglist: None, let me know if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

It was just another day. The haze of smoke lingering in the bar, the loud laughter and chatter amongst the patrons, and him.

You had gotten to know most of the regulars at 79s, including Clone Force 99, but you never made it a point to become their friend. The clones, usually drunk, would flirt with you endlessly, but never the 99s. They kept to themselves, and you had learned over the months that they weren't very popular with the others.

You hadn't considered there were social hierarchies among the clones, but you supposed they were no different than any other group of people.

You traced the smoke back to the tall, silver-haired man. He sat at one of the tall tables, not quite facing the bar, but enough that you could see his sharp features silhouetted by the pulsing lights.

He never looked pleased to be there, he seemed to have a permanent scowl, and you couldn't even recall a time where he said more than three words at a time, and none of them kind.

And while these might be negative traits to most, but to you, these traits mixed with his deep brown eyes that you had caught on you once or twice, and the smirk that came along with it, the expression of an all-too-confident man, only helped to draw you in to him.

You had a feeling that he was one to put up a front, wall himself in so that he didn't appear vulnerable. it made sense for a soldier, but there was a part of you that wanted to see what he was like when the walls came down.

"Hey! Cyar'ika!" You heard from behind you, you turned to face the clone holding his glass up to you. "You gonna give me a top up or stare at the reject squad all night?"

You rolled your eyes and turned to him too quickly to see the sharp glare of the man you were just staring at point at the rowdy clone. After refilling his glass, you set it down in front of him and gave him a warning, "Everyone is welcome in my bar, and everyone gets attended to while they're here. Understood, trooper?"

Before he could answer, you walked toward the centre of the bar, making a point to keep an eye on all your patrons so they wouldn't also get the wrong idea about who was getting more attention. Your eyes naturally wandered back to where the 99s were sitting, briefly meeting with the same brown eyes you had been silently admiring just moments ago, the tattooed crosshairs outlining one of them perfectly.

He turned his head back toward the rest of his squad but you could almost see him glance at you through the corner of his eyes at least once before you were called away again.

"Y'know what?" The loud clone called out again, "I think you should just come home with me. I could make you forget all about them." He jerked his head toward the 99s.

"And I think you've had too much to drink." You chided, ignoring his request for another top up.

"C'mon," He groaned. "If you're gonna cut me off, you should at least make it up to me. Wanna come home with a real man? I bet those 99s could never measure up to us if you get my meaning. Whattaya say, copikla?

Several clones laughed at his words, your Mando'a wasn't perfect, but based on their laughs, you assumed it wasn't nice.

Before you could get security to kick him out, you heard a chair scrape against the floor and then the crack of knuckles on flesh. You didn't even see the tall clone cross the bar before he was laying into the loud one.

You ran out from behind the bar and tried to pull him back, as much as you didn't want to, you also didn't want him to be permanently banned either.

Once he noticed you pulling his arm back, he stopped.

"What's going on?" One of the security guards had come over, hearing the commotion.

"Nothing," you said before gesturing to the floor, "He had too much to drink. Best if he goes home."

The security looked at you carefully, making sure you were okay before helping the clone to his feet and walking him out of the bar.

You sighed and returned back to where you were standing before, watching the other clones glare but cautiously move out of the way of the 99.

He started walking back to his table before pausing and turning to look at you, his features almost seeming softer now.

"You didn't have to cover for me." He said, a toothpick lodged between his lips.

You shrugged, "He was getting on my nerves, deserved the punch if you ask me. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay." You smiled up at him.

You could handle yourself, you've been working at 79s for a while, you knew how unruly people could get when alcohol was involved, and as much as you could handle people yelling at you, you didn't like when your regulars hurled insults at groups who were just minding their own business. Especially when, to your understanding, they got enough of that back on their homeworld.

He hummed in response.

"Can I get you guys anything?" You asked after a brief silence had fallen.

"No, we're heading out. See you around." Almost on cue, the rest of his crew stood up and began to leave.

— — —

“You shouldn't have done that.” Hunter warned him quietly when they had returned to the Marauder.

Crosshair shoved past him to get into the ship.

“Regs will always take each other's side, if you get reported for starting a fight…”

“Again,” Tech chimed in.

“I'll deal with it if it happens. Regs are probably too drunk to remember anyway.”

“Why'd you attack him, anyway?” Wrecker asked.

His eyebrows furrowed, “Didn't you hear him? He was treating her like his little pet.”

The others looked at each other, seemingly sharing the same thought between them.

Hunter's voice didn't betray his thoughts, “Even still, you should go back and apologize. Probably scared the poor girl.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes at Hunter's order.

“No promises.”

He went to his bunk and discarded his armour, laying on his bunk in his blacks. He couldn't seem to get your face out of his head. The way your eyes met, how you took his side even though his squad was right, he did start the fight. Your smile when you made sure that he was okay.

This wasn't the first time he had seen you, but it was the first time the two of you had ever spoken; he didn't do small talk, Hunter and Wrecker did.

But he wanted to talk to you again, he wanted to see you again, see you smiling up at him.

The more you crept into his thoughts, the more he couldn't get you to leave.

Eventually with the solitude of his bunk, his thoughts got the better of him. He imagined how you would look, naked and squirming under him. How you'd taste, how you'd feel around him.

He couldn't shoo these thoughts away, he found himself palming his cock over his blacks at the thought of you taking it into your mouth.

He had been with others before, but it was rare for him to feel like this. Usually when he’s with someone it’s just to get his own release, but thinking of you was different. He wanted to make you come, to hear you cry for him, to feel you come on his cock, on his fingers, whatever you’d allow.

He wanted you, all of you. And he couldn’t stand the thought of some Reg pretending to flatter you just to get you into his bunk. You deserved better than that, you deserved someone who would treat you right, make you feel good, someone who could be good for you. Someone like him.

He reached his hand into his blacks, pulling himself out and stroking it. He let his mind continue to wander, imagining everything all over again as a loop. He thought of your voice, telling him how good he was, telling him how he was made for you, how no one else could satisfy you like him. He thought of marking your neck, your tits, your thighs.

As he began to reach his climax, he stroked himself faster, he thought about filling you up with his release, he didn’t know where, whether it was your throat or your cunt, he just knew he wanted to come inside you.

This thought sent him over the edge as he spilled out over his hand with a groan.

He knew it wasn't right to think this way, he didn't even know you, but he also knew there was no way for you to know what was going through his mind.

But would it be so bad if you did?

— — —

Something about his expression when he finally came back to the bar was different than it had been a few days ago. Not bad by any means, just not how he normally looked.

Part of it was likely due to the fact that he was in civilian clothes instead of his armour, nut most of all, his ever-present scowl seemed softer, and he didn't wear a smirk when he noticed you looking at him, instead he almost seemed nervous.

He walked toward the bar and sat on one of the stools, scanning to make sure none of the gathering clones were the one from a few rotations ago.

"Can I get you something?" You asked him with a smile.

He blinked like he still somehow wasn't expecting you to talk to him after what happened, but then shook his head. "No, nothing."

He sighed, looking down at the counter in front of him. "I wanted to..."

You looked at him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"My actions the other day, that wasn't okay."

Your face softened into a small smile. "Don't worry about it, nothing to apologize for."

"Did the Reg apologize to you?"

"Oh, no I haven't seen him, but like I said, nothing to apologize for. I'm used to it." You told him nonchalantly. His gaze snapped up to meet yours and his eyes narrowed.

"Used to it? Being drunk doesn't give them an excuse to be assholes to you." His voice raised slightly.

"Really, it's fine. I'm just sorry you had to hear him talk about your squad like that for so long."

He laughed quietly and used your words back at you, "We're used to it."

Neither of you said anything for a bit. You worked on pouring another glass for one of the other patrons at the bar and then turned back to face him.

"I see you guys around here often, but until the other day, you and I have never spoken, I'd like to change that.” your kind smile at him caused his heart to pound in his chest, but when he didn't answer, you continued. “You have a name, trooper?"

"Crosshair."

You smirked then told him yours.

"Where's the rest of your squad today?"

"They stayed back, wanted me to make sure you were okay. But since you are, I should be going."

He was out of the stool and heading toward the door before you could convince him to stay. He needed to clear his head, it wasn't like him to feel so reserved and shy, but he felt your presence hammering on the walls he had built for himself and he didn't know if he was ready for them to come down.

You watched him as he left and smiled to yourself. Was he really concerned about your opinion of him so much that he came all the way here just to apologize? Or maybe he just wanted to make sure the other trooper kept his distance. Either way, seeing him was always a treat, and now you had a name to go with his face.

"I'd be careful of him." One of the clones said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"Clone Force 99 isn't known for following rules. They have the highest success rate out of any squad, but the way they complete their missions goes against most protocols we have. That one, Crosshair, he's their sniper, a dangerous one at that, and definitely not a friendly sort of person, someone you don't want to get on the bad side of. Not someone you can just fix with that pretty smile of yours."

You listened to him as he warned you, but even still, Crosshair and his squad intrigued you. You wanted to get to know them better.

Crosshair had caught your eye from the moment you had first seen him, and now the gap between you was finally starting to close.

You wanted to be his friend, but you were also curious about being more than that. You wanted to see what he was like when the two of you were alone. Was he sweet? Was he demanding? Was he some mix of both?

You wanted to know what his lips would feel like, what he would taste like, how he'd feel. Thoughts that sparked a flame in your core. You didn't know if you'd ever get an answer to any of them, but the world worked in mysterious ways.

— — —

Once everyone had cleared out and you got some cleaning done, it was finally time to go home.

It was late, too late to be wandering around the understreets of Coruscant alone, but you knew the most direct way back to your apartment, and had a blaster set to stun, just in case.

You turned down the alleyway, and you saw a figure push itself off the wall and walk toward you.

"Awful late, isn't it?" You could hear the faint accent of a clone, and the audible slurring of one that had too much to drink.

"Come on, copikla, let me walk you home."

He stumbled toward you. When he came into the light, you could see the black eye that Crosshair had given him, still purple and blue despite the days that had passed.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Don't be like that, I wanted to apologize and do something nice for you. C'mon." He got closer to you and you felt your hand shake as you reached for your blaster.

"There's no need for that," He told you when you had the blaster fixed on him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then go back to your barracks, trooper."

He smirked, "Y'see the other day, your friend from the reject squad, he gave me this-" He said as he pointed to his eye. "All because I gave you a compliment, so really, you o-"

Before he could finish his sentence you saw a blue bolt whiz past you, hitting the clone and stunning him.

You turned to see where it came from and at the other side of the alleyway, Crosshair stood with a pistol drawn.

He walked toward you, "He hasn't had a very good week." He pointed out, looking at the clone on the ground before bending down to look at his armour, looking for his identifier.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting his ID. He'll probably be sent back to Kamino for a while for breaking protocol."

He brought his comm up to his face. "Tech, I’m sending you coordinates and a trooper ID, arrange a pickup."

"Copy." You heard the distorted voice through the comm link before Crosshair began typing in numbers.

"You seem confused." He said, looking at you now.

"I thought your squad didn't care about rules and protocol."

He smirked, "Regs have been talking about us, huh? That's true, we do our own thing and don't take orders very well but.. we wouldn't put a civ in danger in a dark alleyway, he should have known better."

"Well, thank you for helping me, but.. how did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. After I left the bar earlier, I went back to our ship, but there aren't many places there to think quietly so I went for a walk."

"I see. I guess it's a good thing you were here. I have a blaster for my own safety, but I froze." You looked at the gun in your hand and sighed.

"Don't worry about it, the Coruscant guard will be here before long to deal with him.”

He turned on his heels and began walking away and you watched him before looking down.

“Crosshair?” You called out before he could get too far.

He turned to look at you again but didn't say anything.

“I'm not too far but.. could you walk with me? I just…” You trailed off looking at the stunned clone at your feet.

He walked back over to you, “Of course.”

He was silent for the remainder of the walk, but he walked with you to your door.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked as you punched in the key code.

"You sure?"

You nodded and the door hissed open, you walked in, followed by Crosshair.

He looked around your place, it was small but it was inviting.

He knew he should have just gone back to the Marauder, but part of him wanted to make sure you felt safe, and another, much more hidden part of him thought that if you had invited him in, maybe his thoughts of you hadn't been as one-sided as he thought.

"Make yourself at home." You told him.

He sat on the small sofa in the living room, his arm draped over the back, and you stared at him, remembering what the clone had said at the bar. If Crosshair really was someone to look out for, you didn't see it. You would even go as far as to say that he was being kind to you.

"Like what you see?" He asked when he caught you staring at him, his tone slightly huskier now that he was indoors.

You rolled your eyes, and walked over toward the couch, sitting at the opposite end from him, but turned to look at him.

"What does copikla mean? I know cyar'ika and mesh'la because I get those a lot from the regulars, but that guy was the only one to call me that."

He looked at you and frowned slightly. "It means cute, but in a way you'd say to a child or a tooka kit, not a woman. That Reg wasn't paying you a compliment when he called you that."

"I see. And that's why you jumped him?"

"I had enough of him long before that point, but yes."

You didn't notice that as you spoke, the more distance had been closed between you and Crosshair until your knees brushed lightly.

"What if it were a compliment?" You asked.

"I guess it depends on how you reacted, if you weren't comfortable." His eyes bore into yours now. "But you seem to like the compliments from the Regs."

You shrugged, "As I said earlier, I'm used to it."

His hand moved toward you, gently caressing your face. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips brush against your skin and you leaned into his touch.

"Would you react the same if I complimented you?" He asked, his voice a little more than a whisper.

"You could try." You answered. “See what happens.”

His hand traveled down to rest on the side of your neck, with his thumb stroking your jawline.

He shifted slightly closer to you, eyes half-lidded. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it with how quiet it was in the room.

Crosshair leaned over to you and looked into your eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation, and when he didn't find any, he pulled you into a kiss. It wasn't demanding, but it wasn't gentle either. You could tell that this is what he had been thinking about when he said he had to clear his mind.

Neither of you had been sure if the other wanted this, but when your lips connected, you both figured it out.

His tongue pushed into your mouth and he swallowed the moan you gave when you tasted him.

His other hand had made its way over to you, resting on your waist. Your hands rested on his chest at first, but slowly wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

He sat back to look at you, leaned against the arm of the couch, lips starting to swell, pupils dilated, and he smirked.

"You're beautiful." He told you. You knew he was trying to get a reaction from you, but his voice was sincere.

You could feel yourself getting warmer, and your stomach beginning to coil with the dull ache you felt between your legs.

You slid off the couch and gently took his hand, pulling him up with you.

He seemed confused for a moment, so you clarified.

"Figured you'd want somewhere a bit more comfortable."

His smirk returned, "Presumptuous of you."

"If I'm wrong, we can continue to sit here."

"Oh no, you’re not wrong. Lead the way, mesh'la."

You had heard the Mando'a compliments so many times they didn't even feel like real words to you, but Crosshair saying it brought new life.

When you didn't move, he leaned in to kiss you, but you ducked out of the way and began walking to your room.

He watched you walk away, slightly offended when you dodged his kiss, but that disappeared when he looked at your hips swaying, beckoning him to follow you.

When you walked into your bedroom, you turned on the lamp beside your bed before sitting with your back to the pillows, watching the door for him.

He entered slowly and you finally took a good look at him. He seemed much taller in your apartment than he did at the bar. You eyed him from head to toe, feeling your core clench slightly when you noticed the raised outline of his crotch straining against his jeans.

"Come here," you said, your voice low.

He walked around to the end of your bed, crawling over you with one leg on either side of your ankles.

"Closer." You breathed.

He moved upward, hovering parallel to your hips, eyes fixed on your core.

"Good boy,." You praised him. You didn't expect him to groan at that, but as if something ignited in him, he dipped down, kissing your stomach, then your hips, and moving down to kiss your thighs before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, looking up at you to ask permission.

"Yes, please, Crosshair."

He worked your jeans and panties off in one fell swoop, throwing them to a corner somewhere once they were off. You gasped when you felt his lips on your upper thigh, slowly trailing higher.

You arched your back slightly, desperate to feel him, but he smirked against your leg, biting into the soft flesh, before kissing the mark he had left.

He moaned when he felt your fingernails scratch against his scalp, trying to guide his head when you needed him.

He left another mark on your other thigh before licking a stripe from that mark all the way to your centre.

Your back arched again, pulling his face closer to you.

"You like that, mesh'la?" His voice vibrating against you.

"Y-yes!" You threw your head back in pleasure when you felt his tongue circle your entrance before swiping up between your folds, tasting all you had to give him.

"G-good boy, keep... keep going."

His hands found their way to your hips, holding them in place, you were certain that he was going to leave bruises on each one but you didn't care.

His lips clasped around your clit and he sucked so hard you saw stars, and then he went back to using his tongue, circling the bud slowly, trying to pull every moan from you that he could.

"Say it again." He said against your centre.

"Say what again?" You teased, knowing exactly what he wanted.

"Call me a-" He licked you up and down again, not finishing his question.

"Oh, you want me to call you a good boy?" You asked sweetly.

He rutted his hips against the bed as his tongue dove into you.

You cried out his name. The intensity of him drinking you up had begun to build and with it, you could feel yourself beginning to come undone. You were so close, you could feel your walls clench around his tongue, and he pulled it out.

You looked down at him in time to see his hand slide down from your hip, and he planted two fingers inside you, curling them against your walls.

"Go-good, you're so good, Crosshair, know just what I want."

He groaned, grinding against the bed again before adding another finger, drawing a cry from your lips.

His thumb took over for his tongue against your clit as his long fingers worked on opening you up. He placed gentle, yet desperate kisses wherever he could, nipping at your soft flesh.

"Cro-Crosshair I- I'm so close."

He sucked another mark onto your thigh and groaned when he felt your hand tighten around his hair.

Your hips bucked as you felt yourself get closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, come all over my fingers." His voice coaxed you further, "Let me feel you."

His tongue went back to your center, working circles around you again as your walls continued to clench around him.

It didn't take much else to pull the orgasm out of you, you cried out his name as you came undone, legs twitching and hips bucking as he continued to work you through it.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and kissed your center once again before leaving a trail of kisses up toward your neck, slowly lifting your shirt as he went before it, too, was thrown into the corner of your room. He nipped and kissed the sensitive skin, leaving you another mark before kissing your jawline and lips once more.

He was perched above you, leaning on one of his elbows while he straddled your hips, his jeans doing little to hide the feeling of his stiffness pressing into you.

“How was that, beautiful?” He asked you, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Perfect,” you replied. “I think you deserve some attention now too, for being so good to me.” He bucked his hips involuntarily into you.

He brought his hand up to cup your face. His fingers still wet from your slick. He rested them against your lips before pushing them past. You moaned against his digits as he pressed them against your tongue, making you taste yourself. You circled each of his fingers with your tongue before sucking on them gently. He pressed his head into where your shoulder and neck meet as he reluctantly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, thinking of nothing else but how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock.

“Do you want me to fuck you, cyar'ika?”

“Gods, yes, but first I want to taste you.”

His cock twitched against his jeans.

“I didn't know you could read minds.” He said, his voice low.

“I can't, I just know how I want to reward my good boy.”

Before he could say anything else, he got up from you and sat back on his heels, undoing the button on his jeans, and unzipping them just enough to relieve some of the strain.

You sat up and crawled toward him, resting your hands on his thighs, looking up at him for any sign of discomfort before you pulled on the waistband.

“You know, it's not very fair that you're so covered and I'm not.” You told him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“No? Well, we can fix that.” He quickly pulled his shirt off before throwing it aside, revealing his toned chest. Your hands brushed against his abdomen and he sighed. You began idly tracing the outlines of his muscles and scars, and he took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up to his, kissing you gently at first then with more passion. You felt him bite your bottom lip and you moaned into his mouth. Your hands glided across his skin before finding the waistband of his jeans again.

Without breaking the kiss, he helped you to disrobe him, and when you pulled down on his briefs, he sucked in a breath, feeling his cock spring free.

You looked down at it and instinctively parted your lips slightly, feeling your pussy clench around nothing in anticipation.

“You just going to stare at it all night?” He asked you.

You shook your head, “Can't wait to taste you, to feel you fuck my mouth.”

You saw his cock twitch at your words and you looked up at him with a smirk. “Is that what you want?”

Instead of answering, he laced his fingers through your hair, guiding you down toward him. You were bent over, using your elbows for support with your ass in the air.

“I could get used to this view,” Crosshair said. You didn't have to look up to know he was staring at your ass, but you pulled his gaze back to the back of your head when you kissed the side of his length. His breath hitched at each gentle kiss you gave him, and you heard him try to subdue a moan when you licked a stripe along the vein at the bottom all the way to the head, cleaning up any pre-cum that had already begun to spill out.

“F-Fuck,” He sputtered.

You peered up at him through your lashes and his grip tightened around your hair, trying his hardest to not buck his hips and force himself into your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around his head before you took it into your mouth.

He whispered your name as he guided you further down onto him, and you took him inch by inch.

You couldn't fit him all, you felt yourself gag slightly when he got to the back of your throat, which earned another moan from him, and you wrapped one hand around whatever had been left out.

“Gods, you're taking me so well, wanna feel you gag on me again.”

You moaned around him as he began using your mouth. He bucked his hips into you as he brought your head further down onto him. Your throat closed around him once again and you felt tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

You ran your tongue across the bottom of him again, bobbing your head up and down on him, swallowing around him, sucking on him, all while he was bucking his hips into you.

His thrusts started to quicken, becoming slightly more erratic, and you gave a warning tap on his leg, you couldn't take him that quickly. He understood and slowed down.

“S-Sorry, beautiful, didn't mean to hurt you, I'm just getting close..”

You removed your hand from the base of his length and gently caressed his balls as you continued bobbing on his cock.

“Gonna make me- I'm gonna come down your throat if you- if you keep that up.” He said between pants.

You hummed around him and kept going. You felt him begin to tighten up and you could hear quiet curses fall from his lips.

He moaned your name as your cheeks hollowed out around him. He stilled inside your mouth, and you felt hot spurts of him hit the back of your throat. You swallowed everything he gave you before pulling off of him, a trail of saliva keeping you connected to him for a moment longer before you sat up on your knees.

He was breathing heavily and when he looked at you, you could still see his eyes full of lust.

“Cyar'ika,” He breathed out. “You are so incredible.”

You leaned forward to kiss him before you felt yourself fall back onto the pillows with him caging you in with his arms.

His kisses were hungry, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and you on your tongue.

“Want to fuck you. Want to be so good for you.” He said almost into your mouth. “Want to hear you scream my name as I come inside you.”

His words elicited another moan from you, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue between your lips again.

His cock began pressing into your leg as you felt him getting hard again.

“Crosshair,” you said quietly. He stopped and looked at you, afraid he might have crossed a line. “Lie down.”

He got up from on top of you and rolled onto his back as you moved to straddle his torso.

You kiss him gingerly on the lips, and then his neck. You felt his hands come up and rest on your hips.

“You gonna be good for me?”

He nodded quickly. You kissed the tip of his nose before positioning yourself above his cock. He bucked his hips once trying to close the distance.

“Patience.” You told him before sinking down on him.

Heaven.

That was the only word that could describe how he felt inside of you. His eyes screwed shut, your tight walls felt like they were suffocating his cock as they fluttered around him and he needed to feel more of it. You threw your head back and he tightened his grip on your hips. You sunk yourself down slowly until he had fully disappeared into you.

Once you had adjusted to how he felt, you moved your hips against him as you leaned over him, seeking out his lips. He kissed you back with fervour as his hands slid around to your back and he bucked his hips to meet your movements.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back up with you. His face was buried in your chest when you straighted your back, and you could feel his lips press against your breasts, and then his teeth.

You moaned at the feeling, rolling your hips into him faster. His hands glided along your skin back to your hips. He held them tightly as he lifted you off of him slightly before shoving you back down.

“Fuck, Crosshair!” You cried, feeling him even deeper inside you.

He groaned as your walls constricted around him again, this time when he lifted you off of him, he had nearly pulled out completely before slamming himself back in.

You panted out quiet curses as you tightened your arms around him.

“This okay?” He asked you as he did it again.

“Yes, gods, you feel so good. Want you to fuck me harder, feels so good.”

You didn't need to ask him twice. His hands slid up to your back as he eased you down on the bed before putting his hands on either side of your head.. He used his knee to push your leg up, opening you up more for him.

His slammed himself all the way in again, each thrust seeming to reach further and further. Your hands fell above your head and he used the opportunity to grab both of your wrists with his hand, pinning them above you as he drove himself into you again at a brutal pace, relishing in the way your tits bounced with each of his thrusts.

“Gods Crosshair, being such a good boy for me,” you panted.

His lips landed on your neck, kissing you then biting you, leaving another mark on the soft skin.

“You're marking me up so well.” You said as he gave you another love bite just above the last one.

“Gotta make sure everyone knows that you're mine, make sure that trooper knows who you belong to.”

You arched your back with a moan, just as he thrusted into you. With his relentless pace, you knew you wouldn't last much longer, his words were only sending you further over the edge.

“Getting so close, Crosshair,” you said between thrusts.

He answered by bringing his free hand down to rub circles around your clit.

“Come on my cock, wanna feel you come, wanna hear you scream for me.”

The coil tightened again, he felt your walls squeezing him and his breath hitched.

“I'm gonna come with you, angel,” He told you. “Tell me where you want me.”

“Inside, I want to feel you fill me up.”

His grip on your wrists tightened as his pace with his other hand quickened, pulling moans from you with each thrust.

“Pl-please, I'm so cl- so close,” you whined, getting more desperate for your release.

He knew that he couldn't keep going for much longer as his thrusts became more erratic, but he was determined to wait for you.

Your moans grew louder and you clamped around his cock more with each thrust. The build up was getting to be too much, until eventually the knot in your stomach came undone, you screamed his name as your orgasm finally crashed over you.

“That's it, just like that,” He said, his hand moved from your wrists to intertwine his fingers with yours as he thrusted as far into you as he could, spilling into you, painting your walls with his his release.

You both stayed as you were, panting, looking into each other's eyes and then his lips came crashing down onto yours as he pulled himself out of you.

“You're incredible,” you told him, completely blissed out.

“So are you.” He buried his face in your neck, not moving from on top of you.

“Shower?” You asked, and he sighed and nodded into you.

“Please.”

He got up off you and took your hand, waiting for you to lead him.

“I take it you liked the compliments.” He said, more of a statement than a question.

“Hm?”

“Unless that’s how you always act when a clone compliments you.”

You shook your head, “No, that was reserved only for you.”

He had a smug smile as you began to walk to the fresher with him in tow.

“Can't wait to see what the others say when you walk into the bar, with my marks all over you.” He said, grabbing your hips from behind, pulling you back toward him.

“Well, not all over me, but there's still time, if you're good.”

You escaped from his grip and he all but dragged you into the refresher.

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withleeknow · 5 months

Note

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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astarionancuntnin · 1 month

Text

request for: @ladycroft5245

Public Display of Attention

summary: his consort - his beautiful, too kind for her own good - forever young lover. she was his, and his only, and he believed it was long overdue to make that statement clear among the rest of their group. after tonight, the only name spiling from her luscious lips would be his.

pairing: ascended astarion x reader!tav

rating: E

word count: 4.6k

cw: 18+. astarion POV, late act 3 setting (so potential spoilers), smut, big angst, depiction of racing thoughts due to low self-esteem/jealousy, very possessive behaviour and sex, public sex/exhibisionism/slight voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), hold the moan, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, mating press, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie.

a/n: songs inspo for this one were taste and who were you with last night by ari abdul, if you wanna get an idea of the vibe as i was writing this up

read on ao3

or keep reading down below~

It was in the little things that he noticed it the most. How she was always willing to give a helping hand to anyone who asked — and even those who didn’t, quite honestly. Gods, how it aggravated him in the worst ways. Her kindness was her most admirable trait, yet also her biggest weakness.

Then again, that's how he truly fell for her in the first place.

How she was simply too pure for her own good, and it was most infuriating at times; constantly giving people the benefit of the doubt, believing everyone was inherently good, desiring to befriend everyone and truly believing everyone had a good reason to act the way they did. As if she refused to see the corruption of this world and its people, of him, of all people.

Maybe that's also why she opened her heart to him in the first place. Maybe it had nothing to do with his charms, and although he believed he had successfully and very easily seduced her for his own protection, he kept thinking she would slip away from his grasp at any moment.

The doubts kept growing as one night he spied on her as she indulged Wyll for a dance. Well, not as much spying as they did it right next to the campfire, anyone could see them. Then again, that might be what bothered him so much.

How carefree they were to dance the night away, visible to all and with no shame whatsoever. How he avoided being publicly seen with her, reserving their time together in the privacy of his tent. How the voice in his head screamed, “You're wasting her time. She deserves happiness with someone whole, someone who can make her as happy as she is with Wyll. You could only bring her misery. You don't deserve her.”

And how hard he had tried time and time again to push those thoughts away, to convince himself that she did choose him, that he deserved her love, no matter how novel the concept was to him.

But when he witnessed Wyll leaning in closer, his lips reaching for hers, Astarion turned away, closing the flap of his tent. He couldn't bear to stare much longer, as his heart shattered at the thought that the moments he spent with her were but ephemeral. Gone in an instant, a bittersweet memory, and how foolish of him to believe he could have had a chance at love when he was but the shell of a man. His fear of losing her turned to resentment against not only himself, but also against their companion for experiencing what he could only dream of.

Of course, he thought, how could I be such a fool to believe what we had could ever last?

But that night, before he could enter his reverie, she joined him in his bed. Without a single word, she snuggled up close to him and fell asleep in his arms, bringing cosiness to his bedroll with her hot skin warmed up by the alcohol flowing through her veins, and the soft beating of her heart calming his thoughts as he listened along.

In the morning, he listened in on her discussion with Wyll to learn she had turned him down in favour of Astarion.

He couldn't begin to comprehend what had happened.

She had the opportunity to be with someone better, and yet she chose him, over and over again.

Many weeks later, when she spent her entire evening gallivanting at Gale’s side of the room at the Elfsong as he showed her tricks of the weave, standing close to her — too close — and she smiled, and laughed, and held his shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with amazement at the magic before her, it's as if everything she had ever done to prove her love became meaningless.

He could practically hear what she was saying: Gale, you’re so talented, please, can you show me more? Can I spend more time with you? Oh Gale, how I love when you teach me the magic of the weave, when you touch me, Gods Gale, what I wouldn’t do to feel you inside me, fuck me, oh Gale—

The mere thought of someone else laying their hands on her in any way imaginable sent him down a spiral of dark thoughts. Since defeating Cazador, he only became more selfish, perhaps he would be the most selfish man she would ever know, but he was the only man she should want. After two hundred years of torment, of pure shit, he deserved better. Everything and anything he wanted, he would have.

In the past he couldn’t find it within him to keep her to himself, but now, now that he was all powerful, now that the world was his to claim, it wasn't something he would allow anymore.

No.

This time, he wouldn’t sit by idly, waiting to rot and let those thoughts get the best of him.

He approached them, trying to appear nonchalant despite the seething fury boiling within him.

“My treasure,” he purred in her ear, interrupting Gale through yet another rambling of his. “May I have a word?” She turned her head around, caught off by his sudden presence behind her, with one hand on her waist, and the other on her shoulder, gripping firmly. When he noticed the uncertainty on her face, he answered her unspoken question. “I'm afraid this is of the utmost importance; it really cannot wait.”

He gave a quick glance at Gale to let the wizard know there was no stopping him from stealing away the woman between them.

“Go on,” Gale said, when their leader remained silent. “We can pick up where we left off once our mighty Vampire Ascendant is done indulging in your presence, whether that be tonight or tomorrow.”

She gave him a sad smile and he nodded with a smile of his own, as she tried to apologise for cutting their time short, and it only added onto Astarion's irritation, who pulled her out of their shared room, and away from prying ears.

“What’s wrong?” The worry in those soft, brand new crimson eyes of hers.

Well, truth be told, he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t plan this far ahead, he just wanted to get her away from Gale as fast as possible.

“Oh, how bothersome,” he clicked his tongue. “It seems to have slipped my mind completely.”

“Didn’t you say it was of the utmost importance?” she sighed, pouting.

“I truly apologise for cutting your time short with the wizard, but now that I have you here with me, I might as well keep you close. You do need to feed, don’t you, little love?”

Her eyes wandered; this form was still new to her, she didn’t know yet when or even how to tell if she needed to feed. It was no bother though, he would teach her everything there was to know about it. He would be there for her, be the master he couldn’t have when he was in the same situation centuries ago.

She turned her head aside towards their room, probably thinking about Gale and how she left him hanging. Ugh, why did she have to care so much about the others?

“Ugh,” he sighed desperately. “The wizard will still be there when we're done, dear.”

When she turned back to him, she noticed his sneer in Gale’s direction and that’s all she needed to connect the dots.

“Astarion…” She took a hold of his hand and laid it upon her chest, right over her undead, unbeating heart. His doing. “I promise you there is nothing between Gale and I, or anyone else in our group for that matter. Even Halsin made advances, and — although I am extremely flattered — I’m really not interested. You’re the only one for me.”

Her softness caught him off guard and his face softened temporarily before taking back its haughty state, rolling his eyes.

“Obviously, I know that.” He lifted her chin with his free hand, the other laying over her waist, pulling her closer as he whispered over her, “You’ll be mine forever, after all.”

“Until the end of times,” she whispered back.

There it was, that smile she kept for him only, with her features softened, and yet, he knew that if she still had a pulse, it would be beating out of her chest.

He loved the way her eyes almost closed when he drew her in for a kiss, lips colliding in a passionate embrace. She let herself get lost in it, giving him control over this dance he knew all too well, but a dance he now took pleasure in, with her only.

His most beloved spawn.

His precious consort.

It was the first time in two hundred years he had something for himself, someone to claim as his, and he wanted to show her just how loved she would be with him, to prove to her she didn’t need to seek anyone else’s attention when she had him all to herself. She needed but to ask; anything she desired, he would give her.

But tonight, he would make that decision for her, and he would keep her all to himself.

Pulling back only slightly, leaving her wanting more, he murmured against her lips, “Now, can I interest you in joining me in bed?”

“But I’m not tired,” she sulked. “And Gale was going to show me more tricks with the weave, and—”

“How about I show you what tricks I can do, hm?” He cut her off softly, bringing her attention back to him. He swore, if she mentions the damned wizard once more—

“What kind of tricks are we talking about exactly? Because I wouldn’t call pickpocketing the local bard a trick.”

He smiled at the memory, “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on this one, pet. But I can assure you, you will be exhausted by the time I’m done with you.”

It was so easy to reel her in with just but a few words. By now, he knew the telltale signs that he had caught her interest; a few quick looks as she was processing the possibilities of what this would entail, those same eyes shining as they fluttered shut, and the biting of her lip followed by her playful smile.

“Fine.”

She simply couldn’t resist his offers.

She lifted her chin with eagerness to meet his salacious look, and he got the impression she did so to appear taller, mightier than she really was.

“As long as it doesn’t involve getting people hurt.”

Again, with the others’ interest at heart before her own. He wanted to roll his eyes at her request, but the only thought crossing his mind as he looked at the soft frown she was forcing along with her crossed arms was how utterly adorable she was, and how delicious the sight of her would be with that frown upside down as she panted underneath him, begging for mercy, with his name spilling from her mouth like a prayer.

The thought alone made his trousers feel much, much tighter.

Before the thoughts could overpower him, he answered her request, raising his hand. “I promise only pure, carnal pleasure for the parties involved.”

She gave him a side look with her eyes squinted, and he just took her hand, raising it to his lips before kissing it with a smirk as a response.

“Just follow me, little love, and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

And she did just as she was told, as she followed him back inside the room shared amongst the rest of their friends, to his bed. Most of their companions were already fast asleep, with some others quietly preparing for bed. Gale was among the latter, and to Astarion's demise, his bed was right next to his, with barely a partition separating their respective side of the room.

The faint light cast from Gale’s side depicted his shadow, and when Astarion noticed him reading in bed, he thought that maybe he could take advantage of their bed placement, if only for tonight.

He drew his own partition, hiding them from the rest of the room, before walking back to his consort.

“Now,” he purrs. “For this little trick of mine, I will need your full cooperation. Can I trust you to follow my every command?”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes fixated on his.

“Whatever I do, you must remain silent. Understood?”

Another nod.

His good, little, obedient pet. How he loved that about her.

He walked behind her, leaning his head in the crook of her neck, whispering. “Good girl.”

Slowly, he reached for the lace in her back, untying her dress until it came loose. Her chest rose with anticipation, as he drew his fingers up at her front, lightly brushing his fingers against the light fabric covering her breasts. Hooking his fingers into the crown of her dress, he pulled her top down, releasing her breasts to the crispy air of their room. A warm, deep breath he released against her neck sent shivers down her spine, and she just closed her eyes as she let her head fall back onto his shoulder with a sigh, letting him work her like putty in his hands.

Gods, how he adored that she didn't bother wearing a bra out of combat. It made everything so much easier when it came to indulging his deepest desires: a light brush against the fabric here and there, just to see her nipples harden under his touch, a daring squeeze, sometimes, to feel the fullness of her chest, but his favourite was this dress of hers, and how easy it was to pull down to indulge in a quick nibble.

Maybe that’s also why he was reluctant to her being so damned touchy with the rest of their group, how close she allowed them to be to her precious body. His possession.

It’s okay, he thought to himself, no one will question my ownership after tonight.

Her dress carelessly fell to the floor when he pushed the sleeves down to reveal her everlastingly beautiful body. He pressed his body against her back, rubbing his growing bulge against her ass as he massaged her breast with one hand, while the other roamed south of her navel. A light pinch of her nipple while he reached her clit had her whimper once, potentially loud enough to already give the wizard next door an idea of what they were up to.

“Nuh uh, what did I say? Not a sound, darling.”

“S– sorry…” Her breathing was already heavy with lust.

She could try to keep quiet, but he would do anything in his power to make her crumble beneath his fingers, those same fingers that didn’t waste a second more dipping between her folds, earning another soft moan out of her.

“Already so wet for me, pet.”

He left a trail of wet kisses from her shoulder to her neck, where he licked all the way up to her ear, breathing hot air against her cool skin, while his hands kept working her up.

“Astarion…”

“My sweet, sweet thing, what did we say about keeping quiet, hm?” He dipped two fingers inside of her, and her hand flew to her mouth as she yelped in surprise. “Unless that’s what you really want? To let everyone know who owns you, body and soul? Or maybe you just want poor Gale to know what he’s missing out on?”

She only moaned louder, her palm serving no purpose as her noises escaped it, while he increased the pace of his fingers in and out of her. The lewd wet noises coming from her pussy were loud enough to be heard by their neighbour, he thought, as the shadow before them had put its book aside.

“My, my, what a depraved little thing you are, wanting to put on a show for our friends.” He pushed another finger into her and a soft cry escaped her. “You drive a hard bargain; it would be fun, wouldn’t it?” She kept whimpering and Astarion chuckled softly behind her. "We shouldn't keep them waiting in that case, should we?”

In a swift move, Astarion removed her panties, the only piece of clothing she had left, before picking her up to lay her on his bed and climbing on top of her.

Before them, Gale’s shade was seemingly depicting a far more pleasing activity than reading, with one hand visibly stroking himself and his arm resting under his head.

“Well, well, would you look at that?” He tilted her head aside to make her watch his shadow through the partition. “Seems like our friendly wizard is having some fun of his own, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before she could answer, he left a trail of kisses down her belly, all the way to her delicious cunt that laid before him like a meal, ready for him to devour. He finally tasted her nectar with one languid stroke of his tongue from her entrance up to her clit. Her head fell back into the soft pillow, lifting the side of it to bite down as she held back a moan.

“Astarion…” She breathed heavily, “Gale is right there—”

“And? Look at him.” She turned her head aside, panting as she observed the silhouette dancing. “Clearly the man is enjoying himself, I'm sure it would torture him if we stopped now, and I did promise only pleasure for all the parties involved.” He licked his lips with a salacious smile. “I am nothing but a man of my word.” With one last look up at his lover, he dived back in, his tongue entering her at long last.

She tasted like the sun after centuries of darkness; like a springtime breeze that carried the promise of rebirth; like life, the one thing he had taken from her. Just as his heart beat anew, hers had stopped for eternity, and he liked to think that his heart would beat for them both from the moment he had made her his. Forever grateful for giving him everything.

Among the feverish moans of his beloved consort beneath him, a deep moan from across the room had Astarion lifting his head and turning it aside, where he noticed Gale’s shade now covering his own mouth in a poor attempt to hush his whimpers. Pathetic, he thought. Reduced to pleasuring himself from the pleasure of others.

But he didn’t mind it tonight. No, everything was going according to his plan, and he would seize every chance to state his claim over her, that she belonged to him and him alone, and that the only reason Gale had the opportunity to even hear her is because Astarion allowed it. No one else.

By now, his face was covered in her juices, and he would gladly drown between her legs if it meant making her scream from the top of her lungs and letting Gale know how good she’s getting fucked, and how this poor excuse of a wizard would never even come close to experience this. Astarion’s cock only got harder to the idea of showing off his beloved — his greatest possession — with mere sounds; making her scream with the knowledge that someone was listening in, and someone got off to the sounds he was getting out of her.

His attention moved away from her entrance and over the side of her thighs, where he kissed her before biting down on her soft flesh.

Her hands flew to her mouth once again, trying to suppress her cries as they grew louder, but Astarion would have none of that.

He paused his feast to reach for her wrists, pulling them down near her waist and pinning them to her sides, “Don’t be shy now, my treasure. Let him hear what he can only dream of having.”

With her blood now covering his lips, he moved back to her most sensitive area, where his tongue teased relentlessly and when he felt her squirming under her, he knew she was already close. He just had to push her in the right direction.

Pressing his tongue flat against her clit and swiping up and down, rubbing his taste buds over and over again where he knew she loved the most was all she needed. When she came, he plunged back inside her to drink in everything she had to offer, as her body convulsed from the waves of her orgasm. She couldn’t hold back the screams as Astarion continued to stimulate her, almost crying as the sensation became too much, but he knew her body now, better than anyone else, and he knew how to play with it to make the pleasure last.

He pulled back to admire the sight before him, as she laid eyes fluttering, dazed from the pleasure, trying to catch back her breath — one that she didn’t even need anymore.

Little did she know he was far from done, as he did a quick glance towards Gale’s shadow to notice how his back now arched, lost to the feeling of his own hand as he sped up his pace. Surely the wizard could indulge them a bit longer.

He removed all his clothes, leaving no barriers between his lover and himself anymore, finally freeing the throbbing erection that begged for release in his trousers before he towered over her.

He hooked her legs with his, locking her in place as he positioned himself against her entrance, pausing with the head of his cock poking just against her pussy.

Their eyes met, half-lidded and full of lust. “You’ve been so good to me, little love. I believe you deserve a little treat, don’t you think?”

Her eyes flickered open, and she nodded with her mouth kept open as she breathed hard.

“Come on, you know the magic words,” he taunted.

“P– Please.”

“Please who?” He purred in her ear.

“Astarion! Please, Astarion, please.”

Always so good, so compliant for him. He would give her everything he didn’t have, he would make her his Lady, she could have the world if she only asked him, but for now, a few sips of his ascended blood to quench her thirst would suffice.

He offered his arm to her, and she held it carefully, breathing hard over the visible veins popping out before biting down to taste his delectable crimson.

As his consort, any amount of blood from him wouldn’t break their bond — she would forever be his until he decided otherwise — but he needed to be at the top of his game for this. She drank just enough to get her strength back before he pulled away, leaving her wanting for more.

The sight of her pupils dilated, her tiny fangs glistening from his blood dripping down her chin, it awakened something primal in him. He needed to fuck her, to taste her, now.

With a growl, he thrust his hips into her in one swing, and at the same time, his fangs dived right into her neck, where they had been a few nights ago when she joined him in eternity. He sipped, and gulped, tasting her blood as it was now mixed with his. How exquisite she was, how he would never tire of this, of her, of their lifeblood forever linked.

His ownership over her was clear now, and he felt oh so foolish for believing that Gale of all people stood a chance with her. No — she was completely and utterly his, mind, body, and soul.

His hips swung with languid strokes as he picked his rhythm, feeling her walls tighten around his length with each thrust. Her hands flew to his back, scratching near his scars — but not for long. Before she could do any real damage, he grabbed her wrists, pinning her down in place to focus on the real task at hand: making everyone know who she belonged to.

His fangs left her neck to find her lips, their blood mixing as their tongues entered each other's mouth, and a particularly well placed swing of his hips had her breaking the kiss, as she cried out his name.

“Gods, my name sounds divine coming from your lips, my love. Say it again.”

And she obeyed.

“Louder,” he growled, pouding deeper into her.

Again.

“You’re mine.”

And again.

“Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” she panted. “Only yours, forever yours.”

“That's right, forever and ever after. If our lives end in this timeline, I will find you in the next one and make you mine all. over. again.” He plunged roughly into her with each of his last words, his hips slapping loudly against her with the sound of their mixed fluids. “Now, be a good girl and come around my cock, darling. Come as hard and as loud as you can, understand?”

He fastened his pace, ramming restlessly into her as his fangs dived into the other side of her neck. He bit without even drinking, biting her everywhere he hadn’t before, leaving his trace on her in ways others could never.

The bed was a bloody mess; to anyone else she might’ve looked like a butchered corpse, but to the vampire ascendant, she was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen.

When she came, it was with an otherworldly scream; one that could most certainly wake the dead. Her mind must’ve shattered as she convulsed beneath Astarion, completely losing control of herself.

She was so warm now that she had drank from him, his blood running into her veins, his seed inside her womb. As her walls tightened against him and Astarion neared his own collapse, he only imagined how delightful she would look, belly swollen with his child after shooting loads after loads into her. What better way to tell the whole world he was the one to share her bed than to make her pregnant with his seed? As a spawn, this could’ve never been possible even in his wildest dreams, but as the Vampire Ascendant, it was a door that was potentially open to him once again. He just had to dare to believe.

With those thoughts racing, Astarion came roaring, stilling inside of her as he unloaded himself, a part of him hoping he could spy over a small bump over her belly by the time they were done with their quest against the absolute. He came, and came, until she was so full of him that his come was spilling out of her onto the bed sheets, and yet, he remained inside of her. If he could, he would keep her chained to his bed and spend his days breeding her relentlessly until she was carrying his offspring. The thought alone made his cock twitch in anticipation.

With silence reigning once again over their shared room, Astarion looked back to Gale’s shadow to see a hint of his chest heaving. Whether he came or not, he couldn’t care less, this little demonstration was over.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, wizard,” He shouted. “This was the first and last time you would hear my lover's cries of pleasure. Better have made that count.”

Not a word from the partition, but the shadow clumsily hid under its bed sheets before blowing away the light of the candle that betrayed him.

A devilish smirk now appeared on Astarions lips, as he turned his attention back to his consort, bloody, exhausted, and utterly ruined. Beautiful.

Mine.

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marleyybluu · 1 year

Text

Another Man's Treasure

Oscar Diaz x f!reader

Word count: 6.8k (I am so sorry lmao)

Warnings: 18+, shitty husband, smut, p in v, unprotected (but pls don't be this stupid), creampie, dirty talk, cheating (but is it really if your husband is an ass), flirting, fluff, love at first sight type shit, Spanish/English pet names (pretty lady, hermosa, cariño), limited use of y/n(I literally used it once) idk lmk if I missed any.

(I only mention the first song but the other two are more for the… spicy scene😏)

——

The only escape from reality you had was the small moments of disassociation you had between the screaming of your children and the-

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

The shouting of your overgrown child of a husband playing his stupid games on his stupid PS5 that you wanted to set on fucking fire. This is not the life you pictured as a stay-at-home mom, yes the piles of dirty laundry were expected, and the mountainous dishes in the sink but you never predicted you'd be doing this alone. Your own mother stayed at home with you and your two brothers but your dad would still help her around the house so that she got the time to kick her feet up and relax.

You never got that.

You were living with this dark cloud over your head and deep regrets in your mind, why did you marry this man? You did think he was the love of your life, three years together before you got married proved your theory but never did you think it was going to end up like this. The amount of work you did was overwhelming, just one look at the number of toys on the floor made tears sting your eyes. You were tired, exhausted, drained and absolutely depleted.

If this was a job, you'd quit, you would take your children and quit. You wanted to so badly but the small hope of him changing clung to you like a piece of lint. You sighed holding your eleven-month-old on your hip while you made him a bottle, anything to keep him from wailing in your ears-- Jesus, half the time you couldn't hear.

"Babe!"

Your eyes rolled, you loathed his voice at this point. "What?"

"Can you pass me a water bottle?"

"Get up and get it, I'm making Malakai a bottle."

He groaned. "For fuck sake, you're in the kitchen already."

Your nostrils flared, and your eye twitched. You wanted to cuss at him, shout at him until your voice box shattered but you kept whatever calm you had left and ignored him. A small hand landed on your nose and you smiled kissing the tiny palm. "I love you too bubba."

He flashed a little smile and your heart sobbed at the fact that your last baby was growing so fast, teeth already emerging from his gums when just months ago he didn't have any. You could never regret your three little creatures, you loved them dearly, so much so you were willing to put up with the man that helped you create them just so they could have a two-parent household but you didn't know how much longer you could take this.

Heavy footsteps trailed inside the kitchen, you could tell he was angry at the fact that he had to pause his little game just to grab some water. He looked over the sink, utterly disgusted by the site in front of him and instead of just keeping his mouth shut or for once volunteering to do them he decided to spit out a sentence that made you want to knock his head off with the glass bottle you were holding; "You need to wash the dishes."

Your blood was boiling, if life was a cartoon you'd have steam coming out of your ears. "Why don't you get off of the game and do them?" You bit.

He cracked open the bottle cap. "Hey, I'm the one that works all week, you just stay home and do nothing."

Nothing? NOTHING!?

That was it.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Your shoulders dropped and he left the kitchen, there was that ringing in your ears again that came and went every time you zoned out. Ever since you got married you'd felt nothing but unappreciated by him, you quit your job to stay home with your children and not even a thank you, you made sure he had a good meal when he went to work and all you got in return was an "it was okay." And the disgustingly dirty dish tossed right in the sink you'd just emptied. You were at the end of your rope.

You held back your tears and lightly kissed your son on his head handing him his bottle and putting him on a beam bag so he could lay down and drink. You trotted upstairs to check in on your oldest twins who were in their room colouring and getting along for once. Then you headed to the bathroom locking the door behind you, your body sliding down to the floor, you curled up in a ball burying your head between your knees you let out a long and heavy sigh before your river of tears took over.

A cry session your body and mind were so used to. You wailed into the void, muffling your weeps so that your children wouldn't hear you and come asking what was wrong, a question you couldn't answer without them turning on their father and you didn't want to ruin that relationship they had with him.

You were just so tired.

As night fell you remained mute when it came to your husband, whatever he had to say you didn't respond to, you were just happy that it was Sunday and soon he'd be out of your face for a few hours.

With the kids all asleep you were in the kitchen on FaceTime with your older brother. "The kids are great, they're sleeping." You conversed.

"And how have you been?"

There was no hiding how you felt when it came to your siblings, you were the baby and the only girl so when you were hurt they knew and they'd do whatever they could to fix it. "I'm okay... I'll be okay." You reassured. He was the only one who knew some small details about what you were going through and you begged him not to say anything not even to your mother until you figured out how to deal with everything yourself.

"Hey, listen, Jordyn is going on vacation next week, she's hitting Fiji, and I think you should go with her."

You squinched up your face, you didn't have a problem with your brother's wife, always so thankful for the sister you never got but what about your kids? Could you even trust that man to take over your duties even for a day?

As if he read your mind he continued. "I mean it'll be summer break next week, and they can stay by me if you want. I just, I really think you need time away from life. I want to see my little sister happy."

You pouted, it really touched your heart how concerned he was. A vacation would be wonderful, it was all you could dream of after the kids were born, you loved them but you just wanted to be by yourself.

"I'll think about it."

"Well, don't think too hard." He joked. "Whatever. I gotta get their lunches together, I'll call you when I make my decision."

"Sounds good, night."

"Night."

The call ended and you finished packing the twins' lunch placing the bags on the only empty spot on the counter. You huffed at the dishes and your husband's words replayed in your head. Nothing. You do absolutely nothing.

The longer you stared a vengeful plan began to brew. You were about to show him what doing nothing meant.

You decided you were going on that trip, Jordyn was excited and your brother was happy with your choice. The week flew by quickly, you kept up your normal appearance of keeping the house clean and to your husband's liking and by each day you grew more distant from him not like he cared in the first place.

On the last day of school you explained to the twins that you were taking a trip with Aunty Jordyn and they, unfortunately, couldn't come but they'd be staying with their uncle and they'd loved that man to death so they were excited either way. Your house was a mess and for once you smiled at it, you'd been letting everything pile up for the last two days, packing the clean clothes they did have in advance. The only explanation you gave your husband was that they were all staying by your brother for the week but you didn't mention that you weren't coming back.

You were leaving tonight and there would be no stopping you. You loaded the van with their stuff and yours and hollered for them to get their little butts in the car. "Last one in the car has stinky feet!" You laughed at the building volume of stomping feet coming across the hall and down the stairs, your twins were out and your youngest sat on your hip giggling at their antics. You happily wrote a short note.

Bye.

That's it.

You showered your baby in kisses and grabbed your keys before heading out the door, you locked it and made your way to the car, buckling in your baby and making sure the other two were in securely. You closed the door and first time in a long time you felt a weight off your shoulders, you smiled in satisfaction at how you left the house knowing you were not going to answer a single phone call from that man.

Jordyn squealed. "Ugh! I am so excited I don't even know what to do with myself!" You laughed at her enthusiasm as you put your hair up in a ponytail. It was day 2 of your trip and you were living life, you couldn't remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Now, of course, you missed your children it'd been the longest you'd ever been apart from them so you were a bit clingy with the calls but it was all understandable.

You two were hitting the beach today and you were a bit nervous, nobody had seen your body in almost a year not even your husband but Jordyn had persuaded you to find your behind in a two-piece bikini and you argued that you'd wear it as long as you could wear a cover-up so it was a deal. You looked yourself over in the mirror, you felt oddly confident. You looked fucking good. Three kids did your body right.

"You sure you want that cover-up?" She teased watching you admire yourself. "Hmm," You angled your lower half so you could check out your bum, how plump it had become over the years. "Maybe not."

She winked. "That's my girl."

You two grabbed what you needed and headed down to the beach which was right in front of the hotel you were staying at. The slight wind brushed against the water sending a cool and comforting breeze your way, your ears wiggled at the sound of the waves, and the giggles of other vacationers enjoying their time like you were.

The cushiony sand had greeted your toes after overflowing onto your sandals. You two travelled until you found a decent spot, it was close to the bar and the body of water. You set up your area as best as you could but you were in a battle with the beach umbrella Jordyn insisted on bringing. She watched with her hand covering her mouth to camouflage her laughter. "Okay, you know what, I'll handle this and you go handle us some drinks."

You childishly stuck out your tongue and strutted your way over to the bar, you hopped on an available stool. The bartender noticed you asking for you to just give him a minute. "No worries." You responded. You went on your phone and checked the many pictures your brother sent of your children, you smiled and a bit of sadness tugged at your heart. You missed your babies dearly.

The number of messages went up and it could only be one person. You promised you wouldn't look but you just had to, you swiped and tapped on your husband's name.

Where the fuck are you!?

The house is a fucking mess!

I'm not cleaning up, I hope you know that.

Baby, come on, we can work this out. Please.

You scoffed at the last message and put your phone down casually being greeted by the bartender who watched your various emotions while you went through your phone. "Everything's okay?"

Oh. Wow.

He presented a sweet smile, your eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of you. He was handsome, scratch that, he was fine as fuck. The shaved head didn't usually work on a lot of men but it did him justice, the scattered tattoos on his pretty and tanned skin, his broad shoulders that looked like they were made for legs to be hooked on and not to mention his big arms that looked like they could hold you snug and tight all through the night.

"Uh, yeah, everything's... everything is good." You stammered, a queasy feeling crept through you as it settled in your lower stomach. Butterflies? But you couldn't even remember what that felt like in order to come to that conclusion.

"Good to know. What can I get you, ma?"

You shuddered at his voice. He could talk to you all day.

"One Long Island, and one Piña Colada please."

He nodded. "Starting off slow I see." He chuckled. "Eh, we're on vacation, gotta soak it all up before we go back."

"I see," He multitasked making your drinks and conversing. "And when does the pretty lady go back?"

You blushed, should you even tell this literal stranger when you're actually leaving? But he felt... comfortable, easy to talk to and it's not like you'd ever see him again. "End of the week."

"Oh, you have plenty of time to get shit-faced." He encouraged. He'd finished your order and placed the liquored-down drinks in front of you. "Don't worry about paying yeah? It's on the house. Enjoy your vacation pretty lady."

"Y/n... you could just call me Y/n."

Not like you wanted him to, pretty lady was working just fine

"Nice to meet you. Oscar... Diaz." He winked. "Thanks, for the drinks."

"Anytime, pretty lady."

Your legs felt wonky as you walked away, and your breathing quickened. You did your best to walk back to Jordyn without looking back, if you did you were pretty sure you'd fall, just clumsy as fuck. "Girl, that man was watching you walk away." She whispered. "Stop." You poked, shoving her drink toward her. "Oh please, his eyes were on you." Jordyn gazed over to the bar, "He's still staring."

You casually whipped your head around and sucked your teeth when you noticed he wasn't. You glared at her. She snickered taking a sip from her Long Island. "Makes good drinks too."

You sighed, "Shut up."

The topic was silenced, you downed a few more drinks but sent Jordyn to get them instead while you swam around in the cooling water, floating around enjoying the peace the water brought you. But you couldn't help but occasionally look over to the bar. Oscar Diaz... nice name. Nice face. Cute little moustache that sat above his lips and a goatee that sat below. Pretty rosy pink lips...

Your eyes darted away. You're married.

Are you though?

You swam back up to the beach, it was beginning to get dark and the patrons on the beach became scarce. You wrapped yourself in a towel and collected anything Jordyn hadn't packed up yet. "You want one more drink before they close up? Maybe your new friend will allow it." She teased. You took off your flip-flop and threw it at her but your reaction only made her laugh.

A familiar voice was heard behind you. "So she's beautiful and she's got good aim, better watch out."

You quietly gasped. "Hi... Oscar."

"Hey, uhm, listen I own a club not too far from here and you know it's a decent hangout for the locals... and the visitors." He winked. "Wanted to know if you two would like to come check it out?"

You fought back a smile. "We could try." You answer without even thinking. "I'll take that," He reached into his pocket handing you a folded piece of paper, you assumed had the address of the place he owned. Your fingers brushed against his, prickles felt like they were forming on your skin and those weird feelings returned in your lower stomach.

He sent you another wink and headed back off to the bar to close up.

Of course, Jordyn was down to go. You groaned internally as you two pulled up to a crowded place, looking up at the illuminated sign reading Cloud 9. Hmm, cute. You pulled down your dress as it rose up with each step, your heels clicking against the cold ground, the music booming so loud you could feel your body vibrating the closer you got to the entrance, flashing lights of different colours beamed through the door every time it opened blinding whoever entered. "Where's your friend?" Jordyn asked. "Have patience, I just told him we got here."

"Mhm." She sassed. Your heart thumped in your ears, it pounded against your chest. What were you doing? It was a question you asked yourself from the moment you got back to your room and began to get ready for tonight. You shook off your thoughts and shifted your eyes over to a black door that slowly began to open. "Hey, over here." Oscar waved you two over and you followed. "What's going on, pretty lady?... And pretty lady's friend."

Jordyn nodded at him as a silent greeting, she was just here to observe your anxious behaviour for her entertainment. "Come on," You followed him through a dimly lit hallway and up a flight of stairs, your nerves building and sudden regret forming in your bones until you entered a brighter atmosphere, the loud music returning to your eardrums. He had led you two to a section that only had a few people, you could assume it was the VIP section.

"Anything you two want to drink just let me know and I got you."

Jordyn raised her eyebrows at the tempting bottle of unopened champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. Oscar chuckled granting her permission to open it, she shimmied her shoulders in excitement and got to work. You shook your head at her, you travelled over to the balcony and looks down at all the patrons having the time of their lives, a few familiar faces from the resort and others that weren't recognizable which you could only assume were locals.

Oscar found his place beside you and nudged your shoulder with his. "You want anything to drink?"

"No, not yet, I'm good."

He slowly nodded. "So, what are you doing in Fiji? Besides vacationing."

You huffed, "I just needed time to myself... to get away from shit."

"I hear that." You could just feel those sweet and curious brown eyes boring into the side of your head, you poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue and looked down at your shoes, just anything to not make eye contact with him. You were shy, you were never shy not even with your husband when you first met him. It's like this was a new feeling, you were queasy and nervous and it honestly felt good in a weird way-- it felt good to not be comfortable, to get all flustered over someone like a schoolgirl crush.

"You really own this place?"

He scrunched up his face. "Half own, I guess. My brother and I came here for an escape just like you and we ended up staying. Now, we own Cloud Nine and I work down at the resort once in a while."

"Oh, you're a busy man."

"I try to be." Oscar chuckled. He was so easy to talk to, why was he so easy to talk to?

You found yourself moving a bit closer. "What were you trying to escape from?"

"Life. I wasn't happy where I was living and I wanted better but... given the circumstances, we just couldn't get it. So I threw a dart on a map, so to speak, it landed on Fiji and we've been here ever since."

"Where are you from then?"

"Originally born in Mexico, we moved to LA, and then out here."

"Would you ever go back to the States?" You asked finally looking up at him knowing he hadn't taken his eyes off you all night. He leaned forward, officially entering your bubble. "If I had a good enough reason... yeah."

You looked up at him through your lashes and softly smiled, meanwhile, Jordyn sat on the couch sipping and shaking her head at the sight in front of her. She would playfully scold you in the morning but tonight she'd let you have your harmless fun.

As the party went on you were getting a bit bored being upstairs so you grabbed your girl and headed downstairs to where the crowd was and of course Oscar was right behind you, he felt a sense of protection over you two tonight given this was your first time out here and inside his establishment. You had found enough confidence to start dancing around, a little two-step from left to right to get you going, but soon the constant flow of drinks Jordyn handed you helped you loosen out of that as well.

The DJ was beginning to play all the oldies, and that was your specialty. Oscar watched in adornment as you killed every lyric, every adlib and every beat to whichever song came on. It had transitioned from a bit of Hip-hop to something a lot slower.

"Right now, we're gonna slow it down a bit, so grab your lovers and take your time."

The lights changed to blue and a recognizable first note had you close your eyes.

Mmm ooooh, my my my my my my my babyyy ouuuuuu

Jordyn had already found herself dancing with a random woman. She looked widened her eyes at you and quickly flicked them over to Oscar, trying her best to encourage you to make your move. But he was faster. You felt yourself being pulled into his warm embrace, his strong chest against your exposed back, his hands carefully snaking around your waist as if he was worried about you rejecting his touch but you gladly welcomed it.

Melting into his hold you two swayed side to side, he leaned down comfortably nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. You were lost in the vibes of Keith Sweat's Right and a Wrong Way. You reached back hooking your arm around his neck lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. "You smell so good, mamita." He whispered, it was a miracle that you heard him. Your lips parted slightly as you felt his warm breath tickle your skin. His swift hands ran up your sides resting right under your breasts and gliding back down to your hips.

A thumping began between your thighs, now that was something you hadn't felt in a long time. You put that feeling to the side no matter how hard it was to do so. The rest of the night it felt like all the songs were targeted for just you two, you hadn't eased up on him once-- always in close proximity to him. He touched you in simple ways, ways you hadn't been touched in almost a year.

It was getting super late, almost three in the morning and you couldn't recall the last time you were out like this, it'd give you hell when you woke up but it was worth it. You and Jordyn rode back to the resort with Oscar, she exited the car first thanking him for the night out and wobbling her way inside. You giggled watching her walk away, "I should get in there before she tries the key on the wrong room."

But you didn't want to leave him.

And he didn't want to leave you.

"Thanks for tonight, I had a lot of fun."

"No problem, anything to help a pretty lady escape." He bit his lip. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Recovering," You laughed, "But other than that nothing."

"Can I see you again?"

You gulped and nodded. "Mhm."

He laid out his palm your eyebrows furrowed as you rested yours on top of his, he brought the back of your hand to his lips and placed such a gentle kiss on your skin. "Goodnight, mamita."

You wanted to scream. You left the car putting a little swing in your hips as you walked away, you looked over your shoulder and sent him a cute little wave before disappearing behind the doors.

— —

And that's how you spent the rest of your trip, shamelessly flirting with Oscar. You got to know each other a lot more, when you weren't spending time with Jordyn you were with him. Giggling like an airhead and blushing red like Rudolph's nose.

Jordyn constantly teases you about the crush you'd seem to quickly develop.

"Is this stupid?" You ask shoving your face in the pillow. This all felt too good to be fucking true, a guy that you met only four days ago was treating you so much better than the man you married four years ago. Oscar had flowers for you at the front desk of the resort every morning and sent you the sweetest messages throughout the day about how he was thinking of you, how he caught a glimpse of you today and you looked stunning, calling you the prettiest woman he'd ever seen step on this island.

You convinced yourself they were all lies, sugarcoating you like he probably did every woman but who were you fooling? Certainly not yourself and certainly not Jordyn.

"It's not."

"I'm married." You argued tiredly to which she fake yawned. "I don't see a ring on that finger and I don't see that man treating you any better than Oscar has. Just saying."

The fingers on your right hand brushed your vacant ring finger, you'd taken it off the minute you got on the plane, you didn't want to be reminded of him on this trip at all and yet there was that piece in the back of your mind that reached out to him. Checking his messages once in a while but never responding, he was giving you the attention you wanted but it didn't feel right.

The fact that you had to spontaneously leave to get even a fraction of what you were asking for was bullshit. Downright bullshit.

You groaned sitting up the pads of your fingers now rubbing your temples, tired and stressed. The trip was almost over and you dreaded going back to that house that was no longer a home. He'd sent you pictures that he'd finally cleaned up but you had a feeling once you returned home things would go back to the way they were and you did not want that.

"I think your brother would agree with me, you've smiled more in these past few days than I've seen back home, I mean you two are always so distant when you come over. And don't think I don't hear your rants when you and your brother are on the phone. Now I don't condone cheating but, hey, I didn't see shit."

You sighed checking your phone for any recent texts from your husband but Jordyn caught wind of what you were doing and snatched your device. "Enough with him. Flirt and have fun before you have to go back to normalcy."

You heard your phone buzz in her hand, she looked at the message for you. "Speaking of, someone is downstairs."

You felt nauseous. "Where are you two going anyway?"

"Down to the beach, said he has to restock the bar... and I wanted to spend time with him so I offered to help."

"Mhm." She winked. You grabbed your phone back from her grasp and told her you'd be back soon. You left your room, entered the elevator and headed downstairs where Oscar was happily waiting for you. "Hola querida." He become more comfortable speaking Spanish around you, especially when he noticed how the little nicknames got a reaction out of you.

"Hi," Oscar noticed the shaky tone in your response and made note of it You had comfortably slipped your hand inside his, he immediately hooked his fingers in the spaces of yours. Like he was your puzzle piece.

You two headed down to the decent-sized Hut, your eyes widened at the number of boxes sitting on the sand. "Don't worry, I got the heavy bottles, you just get the small ones." He reassured pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You loved those, so innocent and sweet, although you wish sometimes he'd kiss you on your lips or you had to courage to kiss his. "Think I can't handle the big boxes?" You scoffed walking inside after him.

"I think you can, I just don't think my pretty lady needs to."

My pretty lady.

ugh!

With music playing in the background you two got to work, "Do you still think about running your own restaurant?" You asked sparking a conversation, you squatted down to the lower shelves and propped the glass bottles in an organized fashion, eyes tearing through the material of your sundress and you could feel them. "I do, yeah. Why?"

You bit your lip. "Would it still be down here?"

There was a beat of silence. "Most likely."

Another pause in the moment aside from your soft humming to the music. "You excited to see your kids?" He asked. You smiled at the mere thought of them. "I am. My three little headaches." Oscar found himself next to you, leaning against the counter, you stopped your movements and looked up-- he had one arm folded over the other and a bit of a scowl on his face.

"What?" You innocently question standing up to match his eye line, well more-like chest line. "Nothing, just trying to take my time to remember this face." He reached for your cheek, his fingers ghosting your flesh. "You flirt like this with all the girls here?"

A question that was supposed to come out jokingly but you were a bit serious. "Nah," You squinted at him watching his lips press together, his chest stuttering as he held back a laugh. "You asshole, I knew it." A dramatic hand to your heart as you playfully pouted at him and fake cried. Oscar's arms enveloped you in their warmth, you attempted to push him off but it was no use, your feet suddenly off the ground, you squealed and giggled as he switched positions with you plopping you on top of the counter.

He placed his palms flat on the side of your thighs while he was positioned comfortably between them. "To be fair, hermosa, it is kind of my job. But believe me when I say I've never spent any time with them. And I've definitely never brought them back here after hours." His thumb and pointer finger pinching your chin. "Just you, princesa."

You melted, your whole body could be seen physically slumping in his hold. His eyes sparkled while he looked at you, the crinkles in his eyes appearing as he smirked. Before you could comprehend anything his lips brushed yours, your head suddenly becoming foggy with the inappropriate images of him that you'd conjured up these past few days.

His nimble fingers danced along the hem of your dress, a rush of heat passing over you as he hiked it up further exposing more of your flesh.

This was no longer a want... it was a need.

Your hands landed right under his jaw as you pulled him in crashing your lips onto his and he happily reciprocated your energy, his hands wandered up to your hips tugging you closer to him as if it were possible. Your lips moved as one, tongues passing by in the heat of the moment, the only thing on your mind was him and you wanted it to remain so for as long as possible.

Tingles scattered around your body, both of you flushed with lust and arousal. Your hands travelled to the bottom of his shirt quietly begging for him to take it off, you needed to feel his skin, thankfully he got the message-- pulling away for a brief moment to remove his top. Your eyes glazed over his lightly tanned skin, little scars here and there you can only presume he earned before he got here.

You smiled at the strewed ink on his torso, chest and ribs. "What are you thinking about?" He inquired. You looked back up into his brown iris'. "I wish I had met you first." You mumbled drawing him back down, this kiss was a lot more passionate and slow unlike the first.

Oscar's hands gently tugged at the neckline of your dress, your breasts spilling over and his calloused hands finding them. You softly moaned against his lips, your nipples hardening from the cool breeze and his fondling. He pinched and rolled them between his fingers, your head tipped back and his teeth nipped at the column of your neck.

You were forming a small pool in your panties at his teasing. His tongue grazed your neck continuously licking and sucking a specific spot that was getting a squirming reaction out of you. You felt his devilish smile, he knew what he was doing to you and he liked it.

His hands moved from torturing your swollen breasts back down to your thighs shoving your dress up until your little black panties were on display. You sat on the edge of the counter making it a bit easier for him to remove them, the cool air hitting your soaking slit.

"Touch me, please, touch me." You whined not caring about how desperate and needy you sounded. Oscar listened to your pleas and dipped one hand between your legs, his fingers quickly finding your slick folds. You shuddered as he glided two fingers up and down, dipping them inside you once in a while.

You were soaking, you were throbbing, and you just wanted him inside you where he fucking belonged. He slowly plunged his fingers inside, you clench around them happy to have something pleasuring you. Your eyes are closed and your legs spread further for him, nails digging into his shoulder blade hopefully leaving little indents.

He pumped them in and out of you with the squidgy noise of your wetness to follow. "Yes... oh yes, like that."

Oscar felt himself twitch under his boxers using his other hand to undo his belt and pulled down his materials. His dick is hard and his tip a rosy pink turning cherry red oozing with a bit of cream, his hips buckled once his hand brushed over it-- equally as desperate as you were. Your erotic moans were like music to his ears, so much sexier than he could've pictured. You whined once he removed them your hole flexing around nothing as you caught your breath.

Oscar hooked your legs over his arms spreading you to his desire, you reached between your bodies firmly (but not too tight) grasping his length and guiding it to your entrance, his swollen head prodding inside you as the rest of him followed.

Your jaw slacked at the feeling of him deliciously stretching you out, he was so thick and it felt so nice. Oscar croaked out a moan while burying himself deep inside your warmth-- coating his dick with your sticky walls, so slick and welcoming that he didn't want to move.

You caressed the back of his neck as he pressed another kiss on yours, trailing it up the side and finally landing on your mouth. You giggled into the kiss, Oscar pulled back with a questioning look. "I can't tell the last time I felt like this." You mumbled under your breath but he heard you. He didn't want you to leave, hell if you didn't have kids he'd probably try to convince you to move out here with him.

He didn't say anything in response just pulled out and pushed back in. "Fuck." You both moaned.

His head dipped back down, nibbling on your sweet skin.

You whimpered through every tantalizing stroke he gave you, his tip poking right at your hot spot and you knew you wouldn't last. "You feel so good!" A sentence broken by little gasps. Oscar grunted, violently gripping your thighs as he pounded you, pulling the filthiest sounds from your pretty little throat. So loud and erotic he was sure they could hear you back at the resort.

Your eyes squeeze in absolute bliss, your head hazy from the constant pleasure you received, quickly feeling a sensation in your lower belly a wave of heat threatening to take over. Your palm lay flat on his back while the other gripped the edge of the counter.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oscar!"

He lifted you off the counter a bit, relentlessly slamming into you now. Your high getting closer and closer. "I can, shit, I can feel you mamita. So fucking tight."

Your toes curled and your eyes rolled. "Baby, ohhh, I need to..."

Oscar smiled. "You wanna cum for me, baby? Come, mi amor, all of it."

His words tipped you off the edge, your back arched and your body trembled from the shockwaves of your orgasm, he held you closely revelling in your pulsating pussy dripping down his shaft.

He quickly brought you off the countertop, your wobbly legs barely holding your support. He turned you around, you barely recovered from the first position.

You were sensitive and extra wet just how he wanted you. You flinched when he pressed himself against your entrance once again, pushing in ever so carefully. "Fuck... you."

He laughed menacingly, his hands squeezing your hips. "That's what I'm doin' pretty lady."

You wanted to give him a smart-ass answer but it was cut short when he began to move. Your nipples were hard against the surface, you rested your head down and whined. "So fucking good."

"Yeah?" He chuckled spanking you. He was enjoying the pornographic sounds that you provided, all going straight to his dick.

He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you up against him, back pressed on his chest, his warm breath in your ear. "Can't get enough of you I swear." He admitted.

He poked and prodded against that familiar spot, tears of overwhelming pleasure threatening to spill when he pinched your nipple. "Fuck! I'm gonna miss you, so fucking much."

"You gonna think about me?"

"Yes! Oh!"

You felt him twitch inside you, you smiled egging him on. "I won't stop thinking about you, when I touch myself I'll picture it's you-"

"Fuck, cariño,"

"Ou, you're the only one I want inside me."

You convulsed around him feeling another orgasm quickly building and getting ready to fall apart. A few more thrusts and Oscar held himself still inside you, your body shivering at the warm cream he just spilled inside you. His high triggering yours. You reached behind hooking your arm around his now sweaty neck.

The sound of the wind against the water and the waves crashing describe exactly how you felt right now.

"Oh... my god." You said breathlessly.

"You're okay?" He asked with a laugh. You giggled tipping your head back on to his shoulder. "Better than okay."

He sighed kissing your back. "I meant it..." You said.

"What?"

"I'm gonna miss you."

He smiled sheepishly. "I'll miss you too."

Those moments replayed in your head constantly, it was the only thing getting you by once you came back home. You two still talked every day, called and FaceTimed but it wasn't enough. You would stare at the prices of tickets and sigh, you couldn't afford to go back right now.

Your life was the same, unloved and unappreciated, despite the embarrassingly desperate messages your husband had sent when you were on your trip. You stared at another pile of dishes, your shoulder sinking with exhaustion. With your two older ones at school and your son almost an hour into his nap you decided to just relax. You clicked on Netflix and attempted to finish Bridgerton's, Queen Charlotte.

Your eyelids felt heavy, sleep threatened to take over but the doorbell had them shoot open. It wasn't just one ring it was multiple and it was annoying so you assumed it was your brother. You groaned trudging to the door. You swung it open aggressively, ready to give him a piece of your mind. "You're going to wake-"

There he was. Standing in front of you, on your doorstep... at your house. "O-Oscar..." You poked his chest to see if he was really there. "Said I'd come back when I have a good reason." Your eyes softened, your arms reaching for him. His lips immediately find yours. "I," kiss, "fucking," kiss "missed you."

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he stepped inside closing the door. He carried you over to the couch and plopped you on the cushions. You laughed, your mood immediately changing with him around. "Jordyn told you where I lived didn't she?"

He nodded. You rolled your eyes. "Of course."

"Not happy to see me?"

You pulled him down for another kiss.

"Beyond happy."

I was going to wait until the weekend to post this but I am a little too excited to get this out.

Shoutout to my girl @darqchilddaydreamz for her input on a few things and her encouragement. Holdin it down ✊🏾

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Alsooooo thank you for 800 followers, yall cool as fuck thanks for fucking with me and my antics.

Peace and love see you in the next one✌🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @skyesthebomb @realhotgurlshit

#Spotify #oscar diaz #spooky #spooky x reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #smut #oscar diaz smut #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 6 months

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omg this just popped into my head and i desperately need it like i literally will not be able to stop thinking about it about it till it is written but, ethan landry x reader fic based on gods and monsters by lana del rey oml like it would be phenomenal… i don’t want it to incorporate the lyrics i just want it based on the idea of the song? but not about them being actual gods and monsters like to her ethan is a god. especially the lyrics “this is heaven, what i truly want. it’s innocence lost.”. basically reader is super innocent and ethan sees her as an angel and feels the need to ruin her and she sees him as a god and is obsessed with him. super smutty and him praising her and talking her through it. i know this was a lot but i am obsessed with your writing and i think if you wrote this it would be amazing, but only if you’re comfortable 🫶☺️

HI! I hope this was what you wanted. 💕

Gods & Monsters - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You're obsessed with Ethan and he's obsessed with you, but he'd dying to destroy your innocence.

Contains: Fluff-ish moments, Smut - Oral(m and f receiving), fingering, p in v, riding, rough-ish sex. Reader isn't a virgin but doesn't have a lot of experience.

A/N: This was one of the fics I lost the other day, and I'm so sad because I liked what I'd already written before. BUT I was determined to get this done lmao

You didn’t expect to fall so hard for Ethan Landry. What started as a small crush on one of your friends led to full-blown infatuation. Once you found yourself hanging off every word that slipped past his perfect lips, always making sure you were beside him whenever you’d go out with your friends, and even letting your grades slip a little just so you’d have the excuse to be alone with him to study, you realized how fucked you were. You didn’t care, though, because he’s everything you wanted.

He was tall, and very attractive. But what really sucked you in was the way he lit up whenever he talked to you about the things he was passionate about. The way his voice sounded first thing in the morning when you’d all spent the night at Tara’s. The way he ignored any other girls that looked in his direction, at least when he was with you.

Ethan was just as caught up in you as you were with him. The first night you walked into Tara’s, he could’ve sworn you were literally glowing. He thought you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen, and once he talked to you and realized how sweet you were, he knew he had to make you his. He found himself daydreaming about taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing you. But sometimes, his thoughts weren’t so innocent.

He knew you weren’t a virgin, but after a drunken game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ turned sexual, he learned that there were a lot of things you hadn’t done. He wanted to be the first, and hopefully only person you’d do those things with. He even went as far as wondering how you’d sound, the faces you’d make, how much of him you could take in your mouth before it was too much. He felt a little guilty from time to time for thinking about you in that way, because you were just so sweet. But the desire to destroy your innocence just kept getting stronger, no matter how hard he’d try to push those thoughts about you to the side.

The two of you shamelessly flirted with each other, so much that the rest of your friends thought there was something more going on than there was. It wasn’t uncommon for Ethan to pull you into his lap whenever there wasn’t an empty seat available beside him, or for the two of you to be so caught up in your own conversations that you’d forget your friends were even there. He wanted to take things to the next level, but he’d always get nervous and shut down whenever he got close to kissing you.

You lived down the hall from Tara, which made it so convenient for you and Ethan’s study sessions. Whenever you had plans with your friends, Ethan would come to your apartment to study with you before. With exams coming up, Ethan couldn’t stop thinking about how he needed to get over his nerves and finally make a move. He knew he’d still get to see you, but he wouldn’t have the excuse to spend alone time with you.

As Ethan sat on your bed, his fingers moving against his keyboard, you started to get bored. He kept peaking over his laptop screen to see you stretched out on your stomach at the foot of your bed, scrolling through your phone.

“That’s not homework,” he said, playfully scolding you as you sat up to look at him.

“If I have to keep looking at anything school related, I’m going to go crazy.”

“We still have over an hour before we have to go to Tara’s. What would you like to do?” He asked, closing his computer to give you his attention.

“We could watch a funny movie. I need to laugh,” you suggested, as he shook his head.

“We don’t have enough time for that…but,” he said, sitting his laptop on the bed beside him. “I know how to make you laugh.”

He smirked as he crawled closer to you. You knew what was coming, the slight look of panic in your eyes making him chuckle before his fingers dug into your sides.

“Ethan,” you whined, trying to grab at his hands to pull them off you. You were starting to tear up from laughing, and your breathing was getting heavier. “Stop it! You’re going to make me fall off the bed!”

“I’d never let that happen,” he said, his fingers not letting up.

“Seriously, Ethan!” You were starting to wheeze from laughing so hard, so he finally pulled his hands away. You placed one of your hands on your chest as you tried to take deep breaths, as Ethan settled back into the spot he was in before on your bed. “That was so mean.”

“I think it’s funny that you’ve never tried to get me back,” he said, a smug look on his face. “Is it because I’m stronger than you?”

“Knowing you, you’d have me pinned to the bed so I wouldn’t be able to move while you tickled me.”

Ethan got a little caught up in the idea of that. He wanted to have you pinned to the bed, but not to tickle you. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you were moving closer to him, the only thing bringing him back into the moment was when your fingertips started to move against his sides.

“Hey!” he said through his laughter as he grabbed at your hands. You weren’t going to give up easily, so you moved to straddle him, pulling your hands away every time he reached for them. “Please, you gotta stop!”

“No,” you said, your hands moving further up his ribs, making him laugh even harder. He knew it wasn’t meant to be sexual, but the way your ass was rubbing against him as you moved was making him hard.

“Stop!” he yelled, finally grabbing your hands. Your face dropped as you looked at him, and he immediately felt guilty for yelling at you like that. “I’m sorry…you’re just,” he said, letting out a gasp once you started to move off him, your eyes going wide once you felt how hard he was underneath you. “That. You’re making me hard.”

“Oh,” you softly said, staring at the bulge in his jeans. “Is it a bad thing that I did?”

“No…I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he sighed, before he sat up. “Does it make you uncomfortable that you do that to me?”

He watched your cheeks turn pink at his question. This wasn’t how he planned on making his move, but the door was wide open for him to have the conversation.

“No,” you said, “have I made you hard before?”

“I get hard just thinking about you,” he confessed, the sexual tension in the room getting stronger as each second passed.

You were starting to get nervous as you sat there. You didn’t have the most experience in the world, your previous sexual encounters with your ex mainly consisted of you just laying there and waiting until he was done, so you didn’t know how to give a blow job. But you wanted to learn. You wanted Ethan to teach you.

“Can I…suck it?” you asked, his eyes growing wide. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“No, it’s not stupid…do you want me to tell you how to do it?” he asked, as you smiled and nodded. “Okay, uh, I’ll just get these off.”

He slid off the side of your bed and unbuttoned his jeans before shimmying them down his legs. You gawked as you saw the tent in his boxers, wondering if you were in over your head for even thinking you could do this.

“I hate to ask this…” no he didn’t. “But would you want to get on the floor? It’d be easier for you.” You nodded as you slid off the side of the bed and stood in front of him. “Wait,” he said, once you started to drop to your knees. You stood back up to face him, as he leaned in to kiss you. You needily kissed him back, your hands on his cheeks as he started to rub your hips. Once you pulled back, he smiled at you. “You don’t feel like you have to do this, right?”

“No, I want to do this,” you said, looking at him as you sank onto the floor.

“Fuck…eye contact like that is good,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I guess I’ll just slide these down.”

His fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxers as he slid them down his thighs, his cock springing free right in front of your face. He let out a sweet laugh once he noticed how wide your eyes got.

“Do I just put it in my mouth?” you asked, as he groaned at how innocent you were.

“Let’s start with just touching it,” he suggested, as you nodded and reached your hand up. “Wrap your hand around it…just like that, baby,” he said, taking a deep breath as he tried to contain himself. “Now move your hand back and forth, but not too fast.”

You did as he said, your eyes glancing between his and his cock. You weren’t sure if you were good at what you were doing, but he was breathing heavier the longer you did it.

“Do you want to try to put it in your mouth?” he asked, as you nodded and leaned forward. “How about you just do what you think is right and I’ll tell you if it’s bad or good?”

“Okay,” you shyly said, hoping that you would get it right.

Ethan’s biggest fantasy was coming to fruition. His head was spinning as you took the head of his cock in your mouth, your hand still stroking him. Even though you weren’t a virgin, he still felt like he was devirginizing you, at least in this way.

“That’s perfect,” he said, his eyes looking into yours as you sucked on his sensitive tip. “Try to take a little more.”

You did as he said, easing a little more of him into your mouth. His hand tangled in your hair, his grip loose. The last thing he wanted was to push you too far and make you want to stop when you’d just started. He was about to ask you for more, when you boldly took as much of him as you could in your mouth, to the point that you were gagging around him. You quickly pulled your head back, refusing to make eye contact like you’d just done something wrong.

“Hey,” Ethan said, his hand that was in your hair moved to your chin. He tilted your head so you’d look at him, your eyes already watery from the gagging. “If you want to keep going, there’s a little tip that helps with that.”

He showed you the thumb trick, and talked to you about bobbing your head too, along with moving your hand. Once you felt like you had a better understanding of what you needed to do, you leaned forward, taking just as much of him in your mouth as you did before.

You were still gagging a little, but not as bad as you did the first time. Your mouth kept getting more and more wet, the feeling making Ethan groan. His hand snaked back in your hair as he fought the urge to thrust in your mouth.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he praised, “Twist your hand a little…oh fuck.”

You were catching on quickly, and Ethan was so proud of you. Your eyes stayed on his, even when tears started to slip past your lower lash line. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I try something?” he asked, his eyes pleading with yours. You hummed around him to let him know he could, because the last thing you wanted to do was pull him out of your mouth.

He started to thrust past your lips as you gagged around him, your free hand gripping your thumb as hard as you could. Big, fat teardrops were flowing down your cheeks, but you were loving it. His eyes were fluttering as his jaw dropped open, but he still stayed focused on you, not wanting any of this to be too much.

“I’m gonna cum,” he said, his voice a little raspy from his panting. “Can I cum in your mouth?”

You hummed around him again to respond, the vibrations around his cock sending him over the edge as his hand tensed up in your hair, tugging on it harder than he wanted to. You just kept moaning around him, so turned on as his salty cum coated your tastebuds. He gave a few more weak thrusts as his hand in your hair relaxed before he slowly slid out of your mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching down to take your hand. He helped you to your feet before wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“Yeah, I liked that,” you said, your voice raw from all the gagging. “Can we do it again?”

“We can do anything you want to,” he said, placing his hands on your hips to hold you close. “But right now, can I eat you out?”

“Oh, Um,” you mumbled, your cheeks getting rosy at the idea. “You want to do that?”

“I’m not your ex,” he said, smirking at you. “I bet he never made you cum.”

“He didn’t,” you sighed, as Ethan backed you towards the bed.

“I will,” he said, as he started to lift your shirt.

Ethan got you out of your jeans and shirt, leaving you in just your bra and panties. He hovered over you, his mouth moving against your neck as his hand roamed your body. You were squirming as you tried to patient, but it was getting harder for you, especially when his hand reached in between your thighs and rubbed you over your panties.

“So wet,” he mumbled against your neck, his breath giving you goosebumps. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

He pulled his hand away as he sat up, grabbing your hands for you to sit up, too. His hands reached around you to unhook your bra, his mouth not leaving your neck as he slid the straps down your arms and threw it to the other side of the room.

“We have to go to Tara’s soon,” you reminded him, as he pulled away and started to laugh.

“We’re probably going to be late.”

He leaned down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You started to whimper as he sucked, pulling off it with a soft pop before he moved to the other side.

Once his lips trailed further down your body, you were trying so hard to be in the moment, but your mind started to wander. You practically worshiped the ground Ethan walked on, and all he wanted in that moment was you, but you still didn’t know if this was going to anything more than a friends with benefits situation, or if he wanted to be with you like you wanted to be with him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, pulling you from your thoughts as he started to kiss your inner thighs.

“Mmm, it’s nothing,” you moaned once he started to suck your flesh into his mouth.

He pulled away to look at you, “No, tell me.”

You sighed in frustration, both from him stopping and you really didn’t want to pour your heart out to him in that moment. But he just kept staring at you, waiting for you to say something.

“I’ve…fuck,” you sighed, taking a deep breath. “I want this…but I need to know how you feel about me.”

He smiled at you as your blush spread across your cheeks. “You haven’t realized that I’m in love with you yet?”

“In love with me?” you asked, as he slid your panties down your legs.

“Mhm, I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he said, before he buried his head between your thighs.

“Shit,” you gasped, as his tongue licked fat stripes from your entrance to your clit.

He started to focus on your clit, giving all the attention to your needy bundle of nerves. You looked down to see that he was watching you, taking in all the little faces you were making. He was alternating between swirling and lightly sucking, the stimulation making your entire body feel hot.

He slid one of his fingers inside of you, your legs feeling shaky as he moved it against the spot inside of you that you weren’t even sure existed. He watched you start to fall apart over just one finger, and once he added another one, you were a whimpering mess. He licked your clit a few more times before he pulled away to talk to you, his fingers still moving.

“You never told me how you feel about me,” he said, curving his fingers to apply more pressure.

“Unfff, fuck,” you whined, your hands tightly gripping the comforter underneath you.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll stop,” he playfully said, smirking as his fingers brought you closer to the edge.

Your brain was turning to mush, but you pulled yourself together for a second, not wanting him to stop. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He leaned back down to your clit, sucking on it a little harder than he had before. Your whines got louder as the euphoric feeling washed over you, his free hand holding down your bucking hips. It felt so good that your eyes started to water, your entire body tingling as he worked you through it.

Just as you came down from your high, you heard a knock coming from your front door. You were too fucked out from Ethan’s fingers to even care, as he started to laugh.

“I bet that’s Tara,” he said, as he laid down beside you. “We’re late.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lazily sliding your naked body off the side of your bed, landing on your feet.

You grabbed your robe and put it on, your legs still wobbly as you made your way to the front door. You looked out the peephole to see Tara and Mindy.

“Hey,” Tara said once you opened the door, her smile dropping once she noticed you weren’t dressed. “Are you still coming over?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon,” you said, noticing both of them staring at something. “What?”

“Is Ethan here?” Mindy asked, a smirk playing on her lips as she realized what was going on.

“Yeah, we’ll both be over in a few,” you said, still not understanding what they were looking at.

“Okay…you might want to cover that up before you come over,” Mindy said, gesturing to your neck as Tara started to giggle.

You bit your bottom lip as the embarrassment hit, realizing that Ethan sucking on your neck earlier must’ve left a hickey.

“No, you know what? You guys finish whatever ‘studying’ you’re doing, then come over. We’re sorry for interrupting,” Tara said, fighting off her laughter as she and Mindy walked down the hall to her apartment.

You sighed as you closed the door, knowing that you and Ethan were definitely going to be grilled once you did go to Tara’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me you put this on my neck?” you said, glancing at it in the mirror after you walked back in your room.

“Are you embarrassed that they know you’re mine?” he questioned, walking up behind you. He rested his head against your shoulder, but your mind was in a haze once you felt his hard cock pressing against you.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to be yours? I’m definitely not embarrassed,” you said, making him laugh as he moved your hair to the side the place more kisses to your neck.

“Well, I did hear them say we should finish studying,” he said, as his hand reached over to untie your robe. “I’m not done studying you yet.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, when his hand started to massage one of your breasts, gently pinching at your nipple. Your back leaned against his chest as you relaxed into his touches, your breathing getting heavier as his hand trailed lower. “Can I be on top?”

“For a little bit, yeah,” he mumbled against you as his fingers rubbed across your still-soaked pussy. “Is that okay?”

“Mhm.”

You had so many things you wanted to do with Ethan, so many things you hadn’t experienced yet. Any nerves you had about your inexperience faded, your confidence showing as you got on top to straddle him.

“Take your time, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, as you grabbed his cock that was resting against his lower stomach. You lined him up with your entrance and started to sink down on him. “So tight,” he groaned, as you tried to get used to the stretched-out feeling. He wasn’t all the way in and you already felt so full.

“Mmm,” you moaned once you’d taken all of him, your ass meeting the top of his thighs.

You took a minute, trying to adjust your legs to the most comfortable position as his hands ran up your sides. Once you started to bounce on him, his hands went to your hips to help you move. Your bottom lip went in between your teeth as you held eye contact with him. Once he started to thrust up into you, your hands went to your breasts, massaging them as he helped your hips meet his.

He loved having you on top, and he loved watching the way your tits bounced, but he needed to be in control. He needed to push your limits a little until you were falling apart underneath him. He held your hips in place a few seconds before he flipped you over, a squeal flying out of your mouth. He smirked down at you before he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them toward you with his hands.

“Stop me if anything hurts, okay?” he said, as you smiled and nodded. He slid back inside of you, his hands right below the back of your knees as he started to pound into you.

Your mouth fell open as he fucked you, every sound that built up in your throat flying out. He was so deep, but the tip of his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust.

“That feel good?” he asked, pushing your legs closer to you. You babbled in response, the new angle making him go even deeper. “Look at you, so cock drunk, so perfect.”

All you could do was whimper as you felt yourself getting close. You were fighting to keep your fluttering eyes open, because you didn’t want to miss a single second of watching him. The beautiful boy that you’d fallen so hard for had a thin layer of sweat on his forehead that his curls were starting to stick to, his bottom lip was in between his teeth. You felt so submissive as you just laid there and took it. You were okay with him using you in whatever way he wanted, because you’d do anything for him.

“You gonna cum, baby?” he asked, as he felt your walls start to flutter.

“Yes!” you cried out, your hands shakily gripping the comforter again as the wave crashed into you so hard your vision got fuzzy. You kept trying to talk as he fucked you through it, his teeth showing as he smiled at your babbles.

“I’m almost there, baby. Can you take it a little longer?” he asked as your eyes peeled open to look at him.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you moaned, as he sped up, chasing his orgasm.

Your body kept jolting like little aftershocks from the intensity of your own orgasm, and you were feeling a little overstimulated, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. He was going so fast and so deep as he panted, mumbling your name as his head started to roll back.

“Gonna…fuck. Cum,” he said, pulling his cock out and shooting his release all over your tummy. He caught his breath as he looked at you through his hooded eyes. You smiled at him as he moved to lay on the bed beside you.

“I think we need to shower,” you said, glancing down at his cum on you. “I don’t really have anything that has a manly scent, though.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get to smell like you,” he said, his fingertips brushing against your arm.

After your shower with Ethan, you concealed the giant purple mark on your neck and took the walk of shame over to Tara’s. Your friends got quiet as you walked in, glancing back and forth between you and Ethan.

“Sooo,” Chad said, noticing Ethan’s wet hair, “Did you two finally realize that you’re meant to be together?”

“Oh yeah,” Ethan said, as Chad walked over to dap him up.

“It’s about time. It was getting exhausting to watch the two of you,” Mindy said, as Tara nodded in agreement.

You, Ethan and Chad walked over to sit on the couch as Mindy pushed play on the movie she was waiting to start until you got there. After a few minutes, Chad looked over to Ethan.

“Dude, this is a little blunt, but you smell so good right now.”

You started to giggle as Ethan laughed and wrapped his arm around you, holding you close.

“He’s right, you do smell good.”

#ethan landry #scream smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #smut

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javier-pena · 4 months

Text

quicksand

Pairing: Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You meet a stranger at a party.

Notes: Last week I saw these behind the scenes shots of Pedro in Materialists and somehow I had to write 8,000 words about that? I'm also not quite sure what happened, it was supposed to be like 3k max. There was also this ask Han @swiftispunk received that I couldn't get out of my head. The title is inspired by Ms Swift's song Treacherous (And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands / And I'd be smart to walk away / But you're quicksand), the rest is inspired by going completely feral whenever new pictures dropped. Tremendous thanks to Dani @alexturner who just beta'd a long-ass fic last week and then this fic this week - you're being way too good to me with indulging all thoughts I have that I have to turn into short stories 🫣 My dear, sweet anon who kept sending me encouraging asks, this is for you!!

***

There’s laughter coming from downstairs, deep, rumbling laughter impossible to ignore. Your whole body seems to shake with it, your heart stutters in your chest angrily, and you press your hands over your ears. But the loud voices are still there, mocking you with their indifference to your pain. You bury your face in your cool satin pillow and sob into it, ruining the expensive fabric. You don’t fucking care.

All your friends warned you this would happen and you hate how they were right. “You’re nothing but a toy to him.” Shut up, Marissa, you’re just jealous. “Maybe you should look for a boyfriend who’s closer to you in age.” Maybe you should look for a boyfriend, period. “You’re only a fuckmaid to him, do you realize that?” That was the point you stopped listening to them and, at the same time, it was the point you should have started listening.

You are nothing but a toy to him. You should have looked for someone closer to you in age. You are … no, you can’t bring yourself to even think the word, because the truth hurts too much. The truth and your blindness and your stupidity and the fact that you’re throwing your life away for a man who breaks every promise he makes and who treats you like a pet. A beautiful, expensive pet that can be ignored whenever it’s convenient.

“Come with me to the Keys,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hotter than his steadily cooling release sticking to your thighs.

“What?” you asked, heart clenching painfully. When was the last time he cared enough to make you come? Months ago?

“Come with me to the Keys,” he repeated. “The change of scenery will be good for us. I’ll show you around. We can go deep sea fishing. I’ll buy you some dresses and bathing suits. Just take my card tomorrow.”

He brushed your hair away from your neck, kissed the skin there, cupped one of your breasts, squeezed it hard. “Piers,” you warned, tried to get away from him. But there was nowhere to go.

The truth is you had been looking forward to his trip. Had been looking forward to having the apartment to yourself for a while. It’s not like you would’ve done anything in particular except just breathe for once.

“Don’t be like that,” he mumbled against your neck, squeezed your breast again. “Don’t you want to sip on a nice cocktail? Wear a risqué outfit for me?”

No, you didn’t want that. But if you didn’t say yes soon, he’d get angry. “Okay,” you gave in. “But you have to promise me that you’ll spend one day with me. No business.”

What’s easily promised is easily broken.

Today is supposed to be your day. And for once in your life, you thought it would be. Piers took you out for breakfast, right by the water. You watched the sunshine dance across the waves. Then he showed you around town, took you to his favorite spots in Key West, even held your hand. And you thought, This is it. I’m finally worthy of him. Then came the call, followed by those emails, and suddenly Piers was like, “Sorry, babe, I have to meet them, they’re important business partners. Why don’t you go to the beach club, buy yourself a nice massage? Here’s my card.”

Here's my card. You’ve never hated three words more.

What you didn’t expect was to come home to a party. At least twenty men were milling around the house Piers liked to refer to as his “Key West Residence”, a late 19th century villa. Twenty loud men, rich like Piers, most of them his age, leering at you as you stepped through the front door, mistaking you for tonight’s entertainment.

“Babe!” Piers boomed, spilling half his drink while opening his arms as if he meant to hug you. The glances didn’t stop. “Go upstairs, freshen up, put on something nice, and then let me show you off.”

You managed to complete the first step before breaking down on your bed. You’ve been sobbing ever since.

Something breaks downstairs and some of the men roar. You bury your face deeper against the pillow, terrified to go back downstairs, terrified to stay up here. Whatever you do, it will be the wrong thing. You close your eyes and think about what it would be like if the men downstairs vanished. If you had the house to yourself, sharing it with a person you loved and who loved you in return. You could be having dinner on the patio now. Before that, you might go for a swim in the pool, knowing the only eyes on you were your partner’s, the only glances you received were welcome.

You sit up straight. You might hate it when Piers’ business partners look at you like you’re a piece of meat, but Piers hates it too if they don’t do it without being invited. Twenty men imagining all the vile ways in which they could fuck you is the last thing you want right now, but it’s also the last thing Piers wants.

You stumble into the bathroom and wash your face with ice cold water, willing the puffiness of your eyes to recede. You put on your most expensive makeup, the kind that only comes off with intensive scrubbing, then you pick your most revealing bikini and put it on. If those men stared at you like that in a long sundress, their heads will probably explode if they see you like this.

Chin held high, beach towel thrown over your shoulder, you make your way downstairs on high heels the same shade of black as your bikini. You feel utterly stupid, like you’re giving them exactly what they want, but the flush that spreads across Piers’ cheeks when he sees you is worth it. There are some whistles, a few crude comments, one man slaps your ass, but you make it to the pool. None of them are brave enough to follow you outside.

The water is cool against your skin, doing its best to extinguish the fire that burns within you. The flames don’t die down completely but they’re certainly soothed. You start to swim, one length, then three, and soon the party resumes and the men pick up their conversations again. This almost feels normal; this almost feels like a life you could enjoy. Except that you’re alone. And not in a way you crave.

You stop swimming and start drifting on your back, watching the sky above turn from a gentle blue into a soft pink, a bright orange, a deep purple. Soon, the sun will go down and the party will pick up speed. You should go, put on a dress, let Piers show you off, vanish before they’ve had too much alcohol.

You climb out of the pool, squeeze water out of your hair, wrap the towel around yourself. No one is paying attention to you now, so you pick up your heels to carry them back upstairs. There’s no way you’ll make it back to your room without one or two unwanted glances, without the odd rude comment, but you can live with that. You step onto the patio, eyes firmly fixed on your destination, then start walking through the gathering, careful not to look at anyone, careful not to be seen.

Someone sees you though. It’s not Piers, and it also isn’t one of the men who look at you and lick their lips. It’s someone watching you from the shadows, someone on one of the chairs in the parlor. Keep your eyes on the stairs, you tell yourself. Nothing good can come from this. While you were in the pool, Piers must have turned on the music, old jazz songs he always plays when he wants to appear sophisticated. The tinny sounds of saxophones make your ears ring, irritating you more than the heavy smell of cigar smoke that seems to be seeping into every corner of the house. You feel horrible between all those men dressed in their suits, even with the towel covering most of your skin. And you wish that one man would stop watching you because it makes you feel hunted, makes your body beg to run and hide.

At the foot of the stairs you pause, your heart in your throat. A man brushes past you, pretending like there is only so little room he has to press his palm against the small of your back. You turn around looking for Piers, ready to pretend you have a horrific migraine and won’t be joining him after all, when your eyes land on the man who is making the hair at the back of your neck stand with his unrelenting gaze.

You can’t see him properly because he’s half hidden behind the door to the parlor, a room that’s devoid of proper lighting and full of cigar smoke. But you see his dark eyes on you, feel them look right through you, see you for who you are, while he laughs at something the man next to him is saying. You crane your neck to get a better look at him but two other men walk past, obscuring your view. When they spot you and start to make their way toward you, you bolt up the stairs. At least no one will dare to follow you up here.

*******

“There she is!” Piers announces later, opening his arms wide again. He doesn’t spill his drink this time. You step into his embrace and let him kiss your cheek. “Took you long enough, doll.” You hate it when he calls you that, but you keep on smiling. Then he leans closer and whispers, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it. Letting another man touch you! What’s wrong with you?”

So it did bother him after all. It should make you feel proud, but it only makes you feel empty. “I’m sorry,” you whisper back and kiss him. Someone at the back of the room whistles.

“Just try to behave for the rest of the night,” he says coldly, then smiles at you and asks in his loud business voice, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Some of the men nod but none dare to look at you directly. Not when Piers has his arm slung around your shoulder anyway.

“How about a drink?” he asks you and when you nod, he takes your hand and leads you toward the bar at the back of the parlor. You follow him, shivering slightly from the evening breeze blowing in through the open French doors. The smoke in the room makes your eyes sting.

With practiced ease, Piers fills a sparkling glass with vodka and soda, adding a bit of lime juice. You try to ignore the man who is standing a little bit too close to you, whose eyes hang a little bit too low.

“Here you are.” Piers hands you the glass. “I have something to discuss with those gentlemen over there,” he nods at two men standing by the door to his study, “but I shouldn’t be too long. Try not to cause too much of a scene while I’m gone.”

You close your fingers around the glass and nod. All you want to do is run.

As soon as he’s gone, they start to close in on you. It’s what Piers wants. He wants others to desire what belongs to him – his apartment, his car, his life. You’re part of all of that. He wants these men to desire you, to think they can have you. You should have listened to your friends, to Marissa and Annie and all the others. If you had, you might hate yourself less.

You know they all want to talk to you and they won’t take no for an answer, so you start to make your way toward the open French doors to escape into the garden. If you stand right at the edge, you can hear the waves whisper and feel the ocean breeze on your face. And if you keep still long enough, they might forget about you.

You don’t even make it out the door before your eyes start to wander from the lush green bushes and trees outside and land on a man sitting in a leather armchair close to the open doors. You don’t know if it’s the same one whose gaze you felt on you earlier, but there’s something about him that makes it hard for you to look away. He’s in the middle of a conversation, one leg comfortably slung across the other, ankle resting against thigh. One of his hands is spread on his knee, his fingers stroking and tapping the expensive fabric of his back dress pants in a nervous tick. His other hand is wrapped around a glass full of amber liquid that he takes a swig from right as you walk past, pretending not to notice how the muscles in his neck work as he swallows, pretending not to notice the gold ring on his little finger that clinks against the glass as he lowers it again.

Your own drink untouched, you stand on the patio, off to the side where you hope no one will notice you but where you can look at that stranger from time to time. You don’t think you’ve seen him before, but you don’t usually pay a lot of attention to Piers’ associates. None of the men here this evening look familiar. Still, there is something about the way this man runs his fingers through his dark curls from time to time, the way he tries to smooth the wrinkles in his white shirt, the way he takes a drag from a big, dark brown cigar once in a while that makes it impossible for you to look away. Until another man demands your attention.

“Hi there,” he says, his laugh showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I’m Hutton.”

You think about saying, “And I’m not interested,” but to Piers that would probably count as causing a scene. And Hutton looks like he’s one of the younger men here, probably in his late 30s. There are worse guys to talk to. “Hi,” you reply with a sweet smile.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” He steps closer to you, encouraged by your smile.

“Yes,” you reply. “So how do you know Piers?”

If he’s annoyed by you bringing up your boyfriend right away, he doesn’t let it show. “We work together,” he answers, which could mean anything in Piers’s world.

“And what brings you to Key West?”

“The scenery,” Hutton answers, not even trying to hide his hungry gaze that glides over your naked shoulders and cleavage.

“I thought it was business,” you say, your smile faltering slightly. “Seeing you’re here.”

“I try not to mix business with pleasure.” Hutton leans against the small sliver of wall between the French doors and the corner of the house. “It’s neither good for business nor pleasure.”

You hum, trying to take a step back. You’re already at the edge of the patio though, and you almost stumble off it, losing your footing.

Hutton grabs your arm and pulls you toward him. “Careful there, pretty girl.”

You try to pull your arm back but he won’t let go. “Thank you,” you say at the same time as he says, “Have you ever thought about exchanging Piers for a younger model?”

It didn’t take him more than a few words exchanged to get to the point.

You yank your arm free but he grabs it again. “Stop it,” you command in your strictest voice but he only grins at you.

“Don’t be like this. I’m only fooling around.”

“Then let go of me.” He doesn’t.

You’re about to throw your drink in his face, even if it means Piers will be angry with you again, when someone steps out onto the patio.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He’s standing right there, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants, the other holding his cigar. Shame washes over you and your palms grow sweaty. You really don’t need this right now. But Hutton immediately lets go of you and turns to face the newcomer.

“We’re good here, thanks,” he says, his jaw clenched.

The stranger takes his time to take a drag on his cigar, lets out the smoke while looking up at the now deep purple evening sky. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asks and Hutton lets out a sigh.

“Are you just going to keep standing there?” he asks.

The stranger shrugs.

You glance into the parlor, at all the men milling about, wondering if you could make your escape without anyone noticing. But there is something in the way the stranger holds himself that makes you want to stay and find out how this ends. Piers, by now, would have rushed past Hutton, a snarl on his lips, his anger directed at you. The stranger just stands there, his shoulders relaxed, acting as if he doesn’t even particularly care that you and Hutton are out here on the patio as well. It’s a different kind of threat … a different kind of protectiveness.

Hutton turns to you. “Are you coming?”

You shake your head and with a roll of his eyes and an annoyed, “Whatever,” he vanishes into the house, leaving you alone with him.

The silence unbearable, you say, “Thank you.”

He takes another drag on his cigar, then comes closer to you. You ignore how your heart flutters at his approach. He reaches for your hand and for a wild moment you think he’s going to grab your arm too, but he only takes the drink from your hand, sniffs the contents of the glass, then dumps it over the edge of the patio. “Let’s get you a proper drink,” he says.

You’re too stunned to do much more than follow him back into the house and toward the bar. Around you, the volume has risen since you stepped out onto the patio, but you don’t care as much as you did before. It’s hard to care about anything when your stomach is in a tight knot and when you feel like the world around you has gone completely quiet.

The man steps behind the bar, gently places his cigar in an ashtray, then regards the collection of bottles before him with his hands on his hips. “You don’t look like a vodka girl to me,” he mumbles, and you feel your face grow hot. You don’t know why. “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vermouth. You only now notice how big his hands are, and your mind immediately starts to replay the evening. His hand on his knee, his hand around his glass, his hand … You shake your head, but the shiny gold ring on his little finger glitters enticingly as he unscrews the bottle of vermouth to smell the alcohol within. It’s like you’re a magpie, enchanted by everything that glitters.

“Sweet enough,” he concludes, pouring a little vermouth and a lot of whiskey into a martini glass. Then he goes through all the bottles once more until he finds one of lavender bitter and adds it to the mix.

“What is that?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not done yet.” There’s a small jar of cocktail cherries he unscrews. With skilled movements, he skewers two of them onto a silver cocktail stick before handing you the glass. The mix inside is orange on top, a reddish purple deeper below. It looks like the sunset you watched earlier.

“What is it?” you ask again.

“Taste it,” he tells you, an eager glint in his eyes.

You take a careful sip and widen your eyes in surprise at the strong yet sweet taste. “Oh, this is really good!”

“It’s sweet, like you,” he says, then seems to change his mind, adopting a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “It’s a Manhattan. That’s where you belong, not in this tourist trash kind of town.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, I like it here.”

The bar is still between you but he leans on it to get closer to you. “I bet you would also like Manhattan if I showed you around.”

“I’m from Manhattan,” you tell him. “I live there, actually.”

“I do too,” he responds. “Funny how we should run into each other here, of all places.”

You inhale shakily. You don’t know why. “If you hate it here so much, what are you doing here?”

He smiles at you, and you’re sure your heart stops. “I heard you talk to that other guy. I’m not here to have a conversation like that with you.”

You take another sip from your cocktail even though it makes your head spin. “What are you here for then?”

“That’s just another way of asking me what I’m doing here, angel eyes,” he points out. He does it so smoothly you almost don’t notice the diminutive.

You straighten your back, only now realizing you were leaning on the bar close to him. He mirrors you, then walks around the wood between you so he can stand directly next to you. “You tell me what you want to talk about then. After all, you approached me, you made me a drink, you wanted to whisk me off to Manhattan.”

“That was before I realized how worldly you are,” he says and his smile turns sly.

“Oh?” you make. You swallow. “Am I too difficult for you then?”

“I like a challenge.”

This is where you should stop. This is where you should thank him again for rescuing you, and for the drink, and where you should walk away to find your boyfriend, who surely has to be done with his meeting by now. But how can you step away when he’s still smiling at you as if he’s having the time of his life, when you felt drawn to him all evening, when having his eyes on you makes you feel truly seen? Yes, he isn’t exactly subtle in the way he flirts with you, but there is a kindness in his gaze you’ve never seen on another man before. And then he touches you, straightening the strap of your short, tight dress, and your whole body comes alive.

“You know smoking is bad for you, right?” is the only thing you can come up with, willing your voice to remain steady.

“I like things that are bad for me,” he replies.

It’s such a cheesy line, it makes you want to bury your face in your hands. But, god, does talking to him make you feel good.

“Ha!” He points at you. “That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen all evening.

“Call me ‘sweet’ again and you might see some more,” you retort. All you want to do is to tell him you don’t mind his harmless flirting, that whatever this is between you is fun, but it comes out heavy with implications. Implications you can’t take back because you don’t want to.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and you think you might die. “You’re very brave.” It’s a statement. “I saw you walk to the pool earlier in –”

“I know,” you interrupt him. “I saw you watching me.”

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “It made me want to kiss you.”

You freeze. There is nothing you can say that won’t end badly for you. “So you made me a drink instead?”

He plucks the cocktail stick out of your glass and holds it up to your mouth. You close your lips around the first cocktail cherry and pull it off slowly, your eyes fixed to his. It might just be the low lighting but you think his pupils dilate. He drops the stick back into the glass and takes a big swig of your drink, his eyes momentarily leaving yours. You do your best not to watch his throat as he swallows.

“You really are something,” he concludes, putting down the glass on the bar.

You feel lightheaded, as if you’d just made out with him for half an hour. “I’m also in a relationship.” The words are out before you can stop yourself. You didn’t mean to say them.

“I don’t give a damn.”

You giggle, actually giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “You sound like the hero in one of those ancient black-and-white movies.”

“Or maybe I’m the villain.”

This time you do bury your face in your hands. “Oh, stop it.”

“No,” he simply says, and you get it. You want to kiss him too.

Instead, you glance at the small gold wrist watch on your arm. “It’s late. I should –”

He interrupts you. “Don’t –,” but you don’t let him finish.

“Thank you for the drink. And thank you for making me laugh. You made this whole thing bearable.”

You don’t know if you should shake his hand or kiss his cheek so you don’t do any of it. You pat his arm, once, trying not to notice how it feels against your palm, then walk toward the stairs, your heart breaking with each step. If you were single, you wouldn’t have hesitated to sleep with this man. If you weren’t Piers’ girlfriend, he would never have looked your way. It’s better to end it here.

The quietness of your room engulfs you, just like the soothing coolness of the pool earlier. As soon as you close the door behind you and lean against it, you can breathe. Yes, you can still hear the sounds of the party, but they’re muffled. You can finally hear yourself think again and you exhale shakily. You almost made the biggest mistake of your life. The adrenaline rush you got from it makes you snicker.

Piers isn’t entirely faithful. He attends parties with strippers, he looks at other women, you know all that. But it doesn’t mean anything because at the end of the day he comes home to you. What you just did … it goes beyond everything Piers has ever done, and you wouldn’t have been able to look at yourself in the mirror if you had spent one more minute in the presence of that handsome stranger. Even if your flirting made you happier than Piers has in months.

There’s a knock at your door and you jump. Expecting Piers, you open it without a second thought. “I’ll be right …,” you start but forget every word in the English language when you come face to face with the stranger.

“Hello,” he says, and that handsome smile is back on his face, even if he keeps a careful distance. “You vanished so quickly it made me wonder … did I do something wrong?”

“What?” you ask because it’s the only word you can remember.

“I’ll go back downstairs if you don’t want me here,” he goes on, “just say the word.”

They never come up the stairs. Never. Who does he think he is? “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just tired.” You try to close the door in his face, but he steps closer, bracing a hand against the wooden doorframe. “Excuse me,” you say insistently.

“Can I come in?”

Into your room? “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you reject him. You laugh, but it sounds insincere. “You should go back downstairs.”

“Alright,” he agrees, “but you have to say it like you mean it.”

“Listen here,” you start in your best no-nonsense voice. He tightens his grip on the wood and you hear it creak, despite the noise downstairs. “I want you to …”

It’s no use. You don’t know who he is, you don’t even know his name, but you also know that if you don’t let yourself have this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

“You need to say the words, sweet –”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You both freeze. His mouth hangs open, still in the middle of forming the next word he wanted to say. You tense, well aware that you said something you can not take back.

The few seconds that pass feel like an eternity. Then he pushes himself past the doorframe into your room, into your personal space. You smell the heavy scent of cigar smoke on him, you smell leather and lavender and citrus. You see his smile that turns into something more determined the closer he gets to you. You notice the stubble on his cheek, the glint in his eyes, the small dark spot on the collar of his white shirt. You feel … you feel his body pressing against yours, his hand pressing against the small of your back, his breath on your face, and then everything is reduced to his lips on yours, your breaths mingling, his … his tongue coaxing you open, not gently but insistent, and you not hesitating to open yourself up for him.

It's as if you’re watching it all from above, you pushing him backward, him closing the door with a hard slam, the both of you pulling at each other while kissing and kissing and …

“Careful,” he chuckles when you bite down on his bottom lip. “You said kiss, not –”

“I don’t give a fuck what I said,” you interrupt him, pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says and grabs your wrist.

You groan. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

He pulls you in for another kiss. “I’m not. You’re just … We’re doing this on my terms or not at all.”

Something throbs deep within your core.

He tightens his hold on you. “I’ve had all evening to think about this. To picture all the things I want to do to you.”

“It’s not going to be just kissing then?” you ask, relishing the chuckle you draw out of him.

“I knew I wouldn’t leave here tonight without feeling your pretty little cunt clench around me.”

It sounds like a line straight out of a porn movie. You should laugh, tell him to take you seriously. But all you can do is whimper at the thought of him sitting in his chair downstairs, talking to one of Piers’ associates or even Piers himself while thinking about being buried deep inside of you. Every other man would send you fleeing. Not him though.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Does it matter? Once I’m done with you, you’ll have forgotten your own name.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Those are some big words,” you point out.

He lets go of your wrist, then bunches the fabric of your dress up in his hand until he can reach below the hem, his broad, warm hand landing on your naked skin, his ring digging into your soft flesh. You gasp.

“Do you really think I’d disappoint you?”

“No,” you say too quickly, too rashly.

He grabs your dress again. “How about you take this off for me?”

“No,” you repeat, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh at the look of shock on his face. Then you turn around. “I can’t really open the zipper without some assistance.”

He runs both his hands over your naked shoulders and down to the middle of your back. You expect him to take his time, but he yanks the zipper down so quickly you think you hear fabric tear. You almost don’t have enough time to slip out of the thin shoulder straps before he falls to his knees behind you, pulling the dress with him. His hands are on your butt cheeks now, massaging, grabbing you as if he’s set on memorizing every detail. He slips his thumb under the hem of your panties, dips the tip into the wetness there.

You gasp at the same time as he whispers, “Knew it.”

You pull him away from you and turn around, well aware you’re completely naked except for your panties. “Well, it’s hardly surprising,” you start, your voice airy, but then it dies down completely at the sight of him kneeling in front of you looking up at you with so much heat in his gaze you’re getting burned. How did you get here?

You want him to tease you back, but he only pulls you close, his hands clasping your hips insistently, and kisses your belly, right above the hem of your panties. Then he kisses your thighs and your sides, and your belly button, and then he pulls down your panties and buries his face in your wetness with a relieved sigh. Your hands shoot forward and grab his curls, dig into them, desperate for purchase, as your head swims from the overstimulation. You would like to focus on the feeling of his hair between your fingers. You would like to focus on his tongue swirling around your clit. You would like to focus on the growl he makes when you run your nails over his scalp.

You think you’re laughing. You think you say, “Does that still count as kissing?”

“Yes,” he mumbles against the soft skin of your thighs. His curls are already a mess, his face is flushed, but when he glances up at you, his eyes are bright with determination.

“I think you have to show me that definition of kissing someday,” you go on, glancing up at the ceiling. You can’t look at him directly, it feels too intimate.

“That’s enough talking,” he decides and licks a broad stripe across your drenched folds.

You tighten your grip on his curls in response because your legs start to quiver. You hope he doesn’t notice, but his fingers dig into your thighs to steady you. The edges of his ring are cutting into you almost painfully – you want more of it. His hair wrapped around your fingers you pull him closer into you and he moans against you … actually moans. You push away those thoughts that make you compare him to Piers, how Piers would never moan if he was between your legs, how Piers never eats you out. This isn’t about him – it’s about you.

There’s something in the way that stranger rolls and flicks his tongue that tells you he won’t make you wait for an orgasm. You want to hold on longer because you can’t bear the thought of this being over already, but there is something in the way he devours you that pushes you toward the edge at a rapid speed. You don’t even hear the sounds of the party anymore, the laughter, the music; it’s just him and his deep sighs and moans.

You’re almost embarrassed by how fast you come. One second you’re appreciating the way his tongue flicks your clit, the next you can barely stay upright when your whole body releases months and months of built-up tension. You quiver in his grip and he holds you close, licking and licking until you can’t take it anymore. You think you mumble, “Fuckfuckfuck,” but there is no way to be sure. All you know is that you just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

You laugh as if the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. What else is there to do? “So this is doing things on your terms?” you ask.

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You think you might explode at that sight. “No, that was for your benefit. The rest is going to be for mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at your bed that’s rumpled from you crying on it earlier. If he can make you feel like that with just his tongue, what will he be –

“No, sugar, not like that,” he tells you, immediately pulling your attention back to him.

Your throat is dry when you ask, “What then?”

He stands and cups your cheek, his hand pleasantly warm. You lean into the touch immediately. “Don’t be so impatient. Enjoy the moment for a while.”

“What moment …?” you start but you don’t get far. He claims your mouth in a searing kiss that makes you wish you had been paying more attention to what he was doing when he was eating you out. You kiss him back, slinging your arms around his neck, the soft fabric of his white shirt rubbing against your naked chest. He licks across your bottom lip until you open your mouth for him, and then he claims you like no one has before. You fear that if you start thinking about how you can taste yourself on him, you’ll go insane.

“You’re so easy to kiss,” he mumbles against your lips. You’re not quite sure how he means it, but your chest still expands at the compliment.

“And you’re very handsome,” you retort lamely.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about telling me all evening?”

“No,” you reply too slowly this time.

He kisses your temple, then brings his mouth right next to your ear. “I’ve been thinking about watching myself fuck you.”

He doesn’t give you time to process, takes you over to the vanity that stands opposite your bed, its mirror dull in the dim light of the room. Even when he places your hands on the table top, telling you to hold on, you still don’t think he’s serious. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the makeup smudges below your eyes, the birth mark on your throat that you hate, how your mouth hangs open in a way that looks so very unsexy. Behind you, that stranger you invited into your room, this man you know nothing about, is unbuttoning his expensive dress pants, his white shirt obscuring the view. What does he see in you that makes him want you like this?

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s holding himself now, but you can’t see his hand moving without turning around. And he didn’t tell you you’re allowed to look. Your palms begin to sweat against the wooden surface of the vanity, at the thought of him telling you what you are and aren’t allowed to do, at him praising you for doing well and punishing you if you don’t. You don’t recognize that side of yourself.

His eyes are open again and he searches for yours in the mirror. “I asked you a question.”

You swallow hard. “No, I don’t,” you say, fighting down a giggle. It’s nerves.

“I’d better show you then,” he concludes, and he pushes inside of you with one hard stroke, filling you faster than you can spread your legs.

You both take a moment to breathe. He adjusts himself, you try to get used to the angle, the feeling of fullness. You haven’t seen his hard cock, but you know he’s more than Piers, so much more the stretch is almost uncomfortable. The wood beneath your fingers starts to swim when your vision blurs and –

“No, none of that.” He grips your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve also been thinking about you watching me fuck you.”

His hand looks so big holding your face like that, and when you swallow again, he can feel it against his fingers.

His own face is right there next to yours, his eyes firmly fixed to yours through the glass. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you can take it.”

Before you can think of anything to say, he pulls out of you and thrusts back in in a tentative motion that is enough for your eyes to flutter shut in pleasure.

“No, no, no,” he whispers into your ear. “Keep them open.”

You do as you’re told and he rewards you with a sharp bite to the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. Your hips thrust back of their own accord, meeting his in a quick snap.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were making any, too transfixed by watching him move behind you. Whenever your gaze wavers and flutters to your own face, embarrassment sends adrenaline shooting through your body. But he … watching his shoulders and arms tense and relax beneath his shirt that looks all too tight now, watching him meet your gaze, eyes full of lust … you don’t know why you would fuck anyone any other way than this.

He straightens his back, changing the angle slightly, and now you do hear yourself groan. He grabs your chin tighter and pushes two fingers into your mouth. “You know,” he says, and his hips snap with more force, faster, making the vanity rattle beneath your hands, “if you were mine, I’d let no man touch you. I would’ve broken his arm.”

It takes you a few seconds to figure out what he means; you’re too busy relishing the taste of his skin on your tongue. There must have been a man who touched you … when you were coming down the stairs … You can see it all clearly now. He would grab that man’s arm, calm and collected, twist it, make him shout in surprise … you can almost hear the bones snap.

“Oh, look at that,” he groans, and you do. You look at yourself in the mirror, unashamed, eyes wide. You watch how you eagerly suck and lick his fingers, watch it as if another person was doing it. You’re trembling in his grip … or is he making everything shake with his thrusts that are coming faster and faster now as he fucks you, taking what he needs? “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You almost don’t hear him, too transfixed by how depraved he’s making you feel. “You’d get off on that, a good man protecting you. Shame I’m not good, really.”

You don’t care. You’re done with those men who act politely, who treat you with care when they know Piers is around, but who talk about you taking it up the ass when your back is turned. You’d much rather have this, a man who isn’t scared to say these things to your face. Even if he thinks he isn’t all good, he still protected you.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and you whimper at the loss, watching how a thread of spit connecting his digits to your lips breaks. With his other hand, he suddenly grabs one of your breasts, squeezing your hard nipple with practiced ease, and you arch your back with a moan, exposing your throat to him. His fingers close around it, hard, restricting the airflow, his ring pressing against one of the most vulnerable spots of your body in a way that doesn’t leave any room for doubt – you’re doing this on his terms.

He tightens his grip on your throat until you start seeing stars, the loosens it. “I’m going to make you come now. I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what you look like coming around my cock.”

If you could, you would nod, but he isn’t looking for your consent. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger one last time, then lowers his hand to find your clit. When he touches you, you make a sound like never before, one that’s feral and animalistic and can’t possibly be coming from you.

He shushes you, his breath tickling your neck. “You don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You don’t? You have no idea. You can’t form a single coherent thought as he pounds into you, making sure you’ll be able to feel him long after he’s done with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your voice is breathless after that scream, hoarse and raw. Your gaze flickers to his fingers curled tightly around your neck.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, baby girl,” he orders.

Baby girl.

That’s what does it. You watch your eyes widen and your mouth fall open as your body shakes first from his thrusts and then from wave after wave of pleasure. He was right. You love this. You love watching yourself come while he forces you to watch yourself, love to watch your orgasm play out across your face. He’s watching you too, licking his lips hungrily, never faltering. But you can see it in his eyes, the way he’s memorizing every detail of your orgasm.

“Well done,” he says once you’re done and moves your chin so he can kiss your lips.

Then he suddenly pushes you down so your chest connects with the table top. You grunt in surprise, then in pain when he rolls your head to the side so you can still somewhat glimpse his reflection above you.

“My turn,” he growls.

His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes are firmly fixed on his own reflection, and he holds you down with such a strong grip you can’t move, but also in a way that’s so casual it makes you feel like he’s using you. Your heart stutters with longing so intense at that thought that the feeling spreads to the rest of your body and becomes so intense he feels it in his own. At least you think that is what’s going on when he smiles down on you.

The position you’re in and the tenderness between your legs steadily turns from pleasurable to uncomfortable to simply too much. But he doesn’t finish. He keeps going and going, not as fast as before, seemingly transfixed by what you’re doing. You reach back for him and he grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back.

“Please,” you whimper, and it makes his intense gaze falter for just one second.

“Almost there, baby girl,” he replies, “you’re doing so well. Just keep taking it a little while longer.” You think you could bear anything if he just kept talking to you like that.

Then suddenly it’s over. There is one last thrust that pushes you onto the tips of your toes and then he stills. The only movement comes from his hips that are twitching as he empties himself inside of you. You don’t even dare to breathe, watching as his reflection slowly relaxes and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, he pulls out of you and you try to stand, but he pushes you back down again. “Stay. We’re not done yet.”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, but your mind is blank, unable to imagine what else he could have in store for you. You don’t feel anything at first, you just hear him moan, and then you realize he’s kneeling behind you, cleaning you up with his tongue, eagerly licking his own release off your skin. It makes you feel so lewd you forget about everything, even Piers. Especially when he doesn’t stop at your thighs but moves further and further up your legs until his tongue and nose are buried in your folds once more and he’s spreading you open with his big hands.

You can’t help it.

“Fuck, fu- I- I’m gonna –”

There’s no time for you to finish the warning before you’re coming a third time, your hips desperately twitching against the vanity. He licks you through it, catching every last drop you’re giving him on his tongue. You can’t tell for sure but you think he’s chuckling and for some reason the shame you feel turns you on even more.

When it’s all over, he peels you off the vanity and pulls you into his arms, brushing your hair out of your face that is sticky with sweat. “You sure are a greedy little thing,” he says before he kisses you tenderly.

You swallow a sob and give him a sigh instead.

“Half the people downstairs probably heard us.” There’s a big grin on his face at that thought.

“I don’t give a fuck,” you repeat your earlier sentiment, surprised to discover that it’s true.

“Someone wants to get caught,” he teases and kisses you again.

“What I want is for you to fuck me like that again.”

“Oh, baby girl.” You almost hate how he’s already figured out what hearing him call you that does to you. “There are a million more things I want to do with you. This was just a taste.”

You’re not sure if you can believe him, but you decide to indulge that fantasy. You put on your sweetest smile. “Can’t wait.”

He lets go of you and walks toward your door. “Why don’t you give me a call once you’re back in Manhattan.”

A red warning light switches on somewhere in your brain. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Something tells me you’ll find out.” And with that, he’s gone.

#materialists fanfiction #materialists #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #is this anything?#quicksand

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joelmillerisapunk · 7 months

Text

Italy ~ let go and let daddy

soft daddy!Joel x f!reader

Masterlist ♥︎ Soft Daddy Masterlist

Wordcount: 4,915

Summary: As your adventure begins, it becomes clear that Joel is determined to make this the best summer of your life.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, f oral receiving, lots of soft daddy stuff - like so much, use of 'baby girl, good girl, my girl, baby, daddy', reader has breasts and wears a dress, just Joel doting on you so so hard. The endinnnggggg 👀🤭

Notes: Hi friendinos! Thank you for waiting so patienly for this! I wish I could write them here forever so I could have them see more, but Joel has a short timeline to show reader the world, shining, shimmering, splendid.

Joel's song for this entire AU: To Be With You - Mr. Big

As you start your summer adventure headed to Italy, you can feel the excitement building up inside of you. You never expected that you'd be traveling the world let alone with an older man like Joel, a man you've only been seeing on and off for a short while, but as you think back to your time with him, you know that he's going to take care of you, and you can't wait to see what kind of adventures he has planned.

Joel's plane tickets are first class, and as you board the plane, you can't believe how luxurious everything is. You're immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. The plane is decorated in rich, warm tones, with plush leather seats and polished wood accents.

You notice the attentive service. The flight attendants welcome you aboard with warm smiles and promptly offer you a glass of champagne. You feel like you're dreaming. The most you've ever been offered on a normal flight is a packaged biscuit and half a can of cola.

As you settle into your seat, which feels like an entire room, you can't help but feel pampered. The seat itself is incredibly comfortable, with ample legroom and a built-in massage function that you take advantage of immediately. The entertainment system is state-of-the-art, with a wide selection of movies, TV shows, and music to choose from.

And just when you get settled, you're presented with a menu featuring dishes prepared by a Michelin-starred chef, complete with wine pairings selected by an expert sommelier. You opt for the seared scallops with cauliflower puree to start, followed by a tender filet mignon with truffle mashed potatoes.

Obviously the food is impeccably presented, and each bite is a symphony of flavors. You feel like you could get used to this. As the flight attendants clear away the food Joel suggests watching a movie together and after a brief disagreement about which one to choose, him wanting action, you wanting something a little less intense, he finally relents and decides on watching "The Notebook," a movie that he knows you love. However, he takes forever trying to line up the movie on his device so that it plays at the exact same time as yours.

"Come on, Joel. Just press play already," you say, giggling.

"Okay, okay. But I want to make sure we're synced up perfectly," he responds, trying to fix the timing one last time. “Okay press play on yours in -” he pauses to look over at your screen and then back at his, “in 5 seconds.”

“Yes sir.” You wink at him.

Finally, he presses play, and as the movie progresses, you find yourself getting lost in the story you laugh, you cry, and you even find yourself holding Joel's hand during the more emotional scenes. Joel is surprisingly engaged in the movie, laughing at all the right moments and making thoughtful comments about the characters and their motivations.

You can't help but feel a warm glow spreading through your chest as you listen to him. You've never felt this close to anyone before - not like this, at least. You find yourself getting lost in Joel's gaze, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way you can almost hear a southern twang when he laughs too hard.

He suddenly glances over, looking at you, his eyes are filled with warmth and tenderness. You feel a flutter in your chest, and you can't help but smile.

"What?" he asks, grinning.

"Nothing. I just... I'm happy,"

"Me too, darlin'. Me too," he says. "I'm glad you're here with me.”

"Me too," you whisper, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

Throughout the rest of the flight, you're constantly amazed by the level of service. The flight attendants anticipate your every need, making sure your glass is always full and your needs are met. Even the bathroom is luxurious, with plush towels and premium skincare products.

As you prepare to land, it's clear that Joel has pulled out all the stops to make this trip unforgettable.

When you arrive, Joel has arranged for a private car to take you to your destination and as you ride through the winding streets of Italy, you can't help but feel like you're in some kind of dream.

When you step out of the car, you're immediately struck by the beauty of the where youre staying. The architecture is a stunning blend of modern and traditional Italian styles, with intricate details and ornate accents that reflect the country's rich history. The grounds are immaculately maintained, with lush gardens, sprawling lawns, and a picturesque courtyard. As you enter the lobby, you're greeted by a warm, inviting atmosphere.

The hotel staff is impeccably attired, with friendly smiles and welcoming words. They escort you to the check-in desk, where you're presented with a chilled glass of prosecco and a warm, freshly baked cookie. The check-in process is seamless, and as Joel finishes with the receptionist, she provides you both with a detailed itinerary of the hotel's amenities and services.

After settling into your private villa, you can't help but marvel at the incredible space as you start to walk around. You've never seen a place so big. The living room is spacious and inviting, with plush sofas and armchairs arranged around a crackling fireplace. The dining area features a table that can seat at least ten, with crystal china and silverware already laid out for your convenience. The bedroom is a true sanctuary, with a comfortable king-sized bed adorned with plush linens and pillows. A flat-screen TV hangs across from it on the wall. The ensuite bathroom has a deep soaking tub, a separate shower, and a dual vanity area and is stocked with luxurious bath products, including high-quality soaps and scented candles. And just as you think you've seen it all, you discover a fully equipped kitchen, a home office, and a private patio with an outdoor grill and dining area.

The pièce de résistance, however, is the private pool off the bedroom, which features a stunning infinity edge that seems to blend seamlessly into the ocean beyond.

After you spend some more time exploring the Villa, Joel interrupts you, leading you out to a separate balcony that overlooks the ocean and picturesque view. He stands behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist.

You both stand there enjoying the moment before you say something, “what a beautiful view, huh?”

But Joel's not paying attention to the view. He's studying you, how you look so surprised and happy. He never takes his eyes off you when he replies, “sure is darlin’, nothing more beautiful.” He pauses for a moment longer. “Now come with me." He grabs your hand and leads you to the massively oversized bed and helps you sit down on the edge. He has a mischievous glint in his eye, and you can tell that he's excited.

“Alright, close your eyes.”

You do as he says.

He quickly starts moving a small table in front of you and positioning boxes and bags onto it.

You hear the rustling of tissue paper and your curiosity peaks.

“Okay - open.”

Your jaw drops in amazement. In front of you are an array of beautifully wrapped boxes, each one perfectly tied with a satin ribbon. In addition, there are bags from some of the most exclusive designer stores in the world, Gucci, Prada, and Versace. Joel smiles at your reaction.

“Joel, this is too much, I -”

Joel interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "No, no, darlin'. It's not. I want you to have the best of everything. You deserve it. Just open ‘em, please." He says, almost desperate.

You look up at him a little unsure, before slowly getting off the bed like you're trying to be quiet.

“Here,” Joel intercepts with a box, he can still see your clear reservations about all of this.

You're overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the items inside. There are designer dresses, shoes, handbags, and accessories, each one more beautiful than the last. You try on a few pieces, and they fit you perfectly, as if they were made just for you. But you can't help feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, you're overwhelmed by the generosity and thoughtfulness of Joel's gifts. You've never had anything this extravagant before, and you can't believe that someone would go to such lengths to make you feel special.

On the other hand, you can't shake the feeling that you don't deserve any of this. You've always been a simple girl, content with the basics, and never really needing much more. You've never been one to indulge in luxury, and the thought of wearing designer clothes and accessories makes you a little uneasy, like a fish out of water. But as you look up at Joel, you can see the joy and excitement in his eyes. He's clearly thrilled to be able to share this with you. You can't bring yourself to disappoint him. So you push your reservations aside and continue to try on the beautiful items, smiling and thanking him with each new gift.

"Joel, these are all so beautiful. I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll wear them for me,"his eyes are sparkling with excitement. "I want to see you in all of these beautiful things. You deserve to feel as special and loved as you are, darlin'."

You can't help but be touched by Joel's words. You've never felt this seen or appreciated by anyone before. You take a deep breath and push your reservations aside once again. "Okay, I'll wear them for you," you say, smiling up at Joel. "I can't believe you did all of this for me."

“I can’t believe how damn good you look, baby.”

Joel's face lights up with each outfit change. He wants to help you try them on, but you force him to stay while you run in and out of the bathroom, piecing each option together.

As you try on the last item, a stunning designer gown that fits you like your fairy godmother had magically placed it on you, you stop to look at yourself in such disbelief that this is even happening. When you step out, Joel takes your hand and spins you around, looking you up and down.

"Better call NASA because you're out of this world, darlin." Joel's face is filled with admiration as he takes in your appearance. "Wow, just wow, takin’ my breath away. Can't wait to show you off."

You feel your body get warm with pleasure at his words. You've never felt this beautiful before. The dress really is stunning, and it makes you feel like a million bucks.

After trying on all of the beautiful clothing and accessories, you and Joel decide to head out for a romantic dinner at a local Italian restaurant. The food is delicious, and the atmosphere is warm and intimate. You can't help but feel grateful for this amazing experience and for the man sitting across from you. As the night wears on, you can see the exhaustion setting in on Joel's face. He's been going nonstop since you arrived, making sure every detail of your trip is perfect.

"Joel, why don't we head back to the hotel? You look exhausted," you suggest.

"I am a bit tired, darlin'. But I don't want the night to end just yet. How ‘bout we head back and I'll run you a bath?"

You can't help but feel a surge of love for this man. He's always taking care of you, always making sure you're happy and comfortable. "Only if you join me," you say, smiling at him.

“Wouldn't have it any other way.”

As you make your way back to the hotel, you can feel the tiredness setting in on your own body as well. The day has been a whirlwind of excitement and new experiences, and you're looking forward to a relaxing bath.

When you arrive back at the villa, Joel guides you to the bed. You sit on the edge, feeling the comforting pull of the bed beneath you. You're about to reach for your shoes, but Joel grabs your wrist and kneels down in front of you. “Let daddy take care of you.”

Joel starts to undress you slowly, taking his time to savor every moment. As he removes your shoes, he kisses your feet gently, causing you to giggle and squirm with delight. He then moves up to your legs, gently rolling down your stockings and kissing your thighs as he goes.

“You deserve to be taken care of, baby girl. You've had a long day, wanna make sure you're comfortable."

"Thank you, Daddy," you say, smiling down at him.

Joel's face lights up at your words. He stands up and takes your hand to help you to your feet, he turns you so your back is facing him and he slowly unzips the your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he goes. The fabric slides off your shoulders, revealing your bare skin underneath. Joel can't help but let out a low whistle as he takes in your bare shoulders and the curve of your back.

"You're so beautiful, darlin',"

He helps you step out of the dress, carefully folding it and setting it aside. He then turns his attention back to you, slowly sliding your bra straps down your arms, and unclasping it in the back. Then he works your panties off. You feel a shiver of pleasure run down your spine as he undresses you. It's like he's worshipping your body.

Once you're completely naked, Joel helps you onto the bed, covering you with a soft blanket and tucking you in. He leans down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. "Be right back, darlin'. I'm gonna run you a bath and get everything ready," he murmurs.

You nod, feeling a sense of warmth and safety spreading through your chest. You snuggle deeper into the blankets, your mind drifting as you wait for Joel to return.

Joel returns carrying two flutes of champagne. He sets them down on the bedside table and then helps you up from the bed. He grabs the drinks, and you make your way to the bathroom. The tub is filled with steaming hot water and scented bubbles. Candles flicker on the edges, casting a warm, inviting glow.

Joel holds your hand as you step into the tub, making sure you don't slip. Once you're settled in, he hands you a champagne flute. "For you, my love," he says, his eyes sparkling with affection.

The name catches you off guard. He's never called you something so - relationshipy. But you try not to think too much about that and take a sip of the champagne, feeling the bubbles dance on your tongue. It's the perfect complement to the warm, soothing water.

Joel joins you in the bathtub. He sits down behind you, his legs on either side of your body. He takes the washcloth and begins to gently wash your body, starting at your shoulders. His touch is tender and loving, and you can feel your body relax under his ministrations.

As he washes you, he praises you, telling you how beautiful and sexy you are. He tells you how much he loves your body and how much he loves being with you. His words are like a balm to your soul. He moves up to your hair, massaging your scalp with his fingers. It feels so good that you can't help but let out a soft moan. Joel smiles. "That's it, darlin'. Let go and let daddy take care of you.” As he moves down and washes your neck, he leans in to press a soft kiss to your skin, causing you to shiver with pleasure.

"You like that, baby girl?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yes, daddy, feels so good," you whisper.

Joel smiles, pleased with your response. He continues to wash you, moving down to your shoulders and arms. Massaging your muscles with the washcloth, helping to ease any tension or knots. His hands move down to your chest. He washes your breasts gently, taking care to avoid your nipples. You can feel your body responding to his touch, your breasts feeling sensitive.

"Daddy.." you moan, your voice filled with longing.

"I know, baby," Joel replies, his voice low and husky. "But, I want to take care of you first. You deserve to be pampered."

He moves down to your stomach and hips. He's meticulous and thorough, making sure to cover every inch of you. As he reaches your thighs, he pauses for a moment, his fingers lingering on your skin.

"Can I wash you here, darlin'?".

“Yes please.” You're so turned on that you can feel yourself trembling with anticipation. Joel smiles, pleased with your response. He washes you gently, his fingers exploring your folds with care.

His fingers keep rubbing over your clit again and again, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge. "Daddy, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." you moan, unable to finish your sentence.

"Shhh s'okay," Joel replies, his voice soothing, as he kisses the top of your head. "I've got you baby."

With those words, you let yourself go, your body shuddering with pleasure. Joel holds you close, his free arm wrapped around you as he whispers into your ear as you come down from your high, “there's my good girl, always so good for me.”

As you come down from your orgasm, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed at how loudly you moaned. But Joel's gentle touch and soothing words help to put you at ease.

"You're so beautiful when you come, princess," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

—

As the water starts to cool, Joel helps you out of the tub and wraps you in a soft, fluffy towel and leads you to the bed, helping you to lie down on your back.

All you can do is let out a contented sigh as you relax into the bed.

"Does daddy need to take care of his baby?” he asks.

You nod, unable to speak. You're stuck in some kind of love haze, and all you feel is calm and euphoric.

"S'okay baby, you don't have to think about anything, just relax, let daddy do all the work.” He hums as he starts to massage your shoulders, working out any knots or tension that you might have. His strong hands move down your arms. You can feel your muscles melting beneath his fingers. As his hands move down to your chest, he pauses for a moment, "Can daddy play with your tits, baby?"

“Mhmm..” You lightly moan

He starts to massage your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples until they're hard and sensitive. You can feel yourself getting wetter with every touch.

As his hands move down to your hips and then your thighs, he finds your sensitive nub and starts to rub slow circles over the bundle of nerves. Your breathing becomes frantic, “Daddy need you inside me, I- fuck -”

"I know, I know, my princess, but first you gonna come all over daddy's fingers, arentcha? Dont worry m’gonna take real good care of this beautiful pussy."

Joel's fingers continue to work their magic, building you up to the brink of ecstasy once again. You can feel yourself getting close, your hips bucking against his hand as you chase your release. "That's it, baby," Joel murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Let daddy make you feel good."

With a final thrust of his fingers, you come apart, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Joel holds you close, murmuring words of love and praise as you ride out the waves of pleasure. “Oh, I know, I know, I gotcha baby girl, you're okay daddy's here.”

When you finally come down from your high, Joel begins to kiss his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He pauses at your hips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he looks up at you.

"You're so damn perfect, darlin'," he says, his voice filled with awe. "Daddy’s gonna have a lil snack now, okay?"

You nod your consent, your breath hitching in your throat as Joel's mouth descends on your clit. He licks and sucks, his tongue exploring every inch of you as you writhe beneath him. It's overwhelming, the sensation of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, and you can feel yourself building up to another orgasm already.

"Daddy, I'm gonna come again," you gasp, your fingers threading through Joel's hair as you hold him close.

"Come for me, baby," Joel murmurs against your skin. "Soak daddy's face.”

With a final thrust of his fingers and a flick of his tongue, you come undone, your orgasm shuddering through you like an earthquake. Joel stays with you, his mouth on you as you buck around, until the last aftershock fades away.

When he finally pulls away, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it only serves to heighten your desperation for him even more.

"Need to be inside you, darlin'," Joel growls. "Need to feel you wrapped around me."

“Please daddy, please.”

He gently caresses your cheeks with his large hands. The sensation feels similar to being in a sensory deprivation tank, making you feel calm and warm. His hands cradle your face like it's made of the most delicate china. “Shhh, baby, I'm here, m’gonna give you whatcha need,” he says before kissing the top of your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment.

He pulls away and positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours as he pushes inside, inch by inch. You're so wet, so ready for him, that he slides in easily, filling you up in a way that makes you feel like you're home.

Joel starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. You can feel the tension building up inside of you again, the coil of pleasure in your belly getting tighter and tighter.

"Daddy, I - I can't, gonna come again," you gasp, your fingers digging into Joel's shoulders. The feeling is incredibly overwhelming this time as Joel's rock hard cock fills your walls, it feels like he could break through and rip you to shreds.

"Yes baby, come for me," Joel growls, his thrusts getting faster, harder. "Come for daddy.” He never takes his eyes off you, “That's a good girl.”

As your orgasm crashes over you, you feel yourself clenching around Joel's cock, your walls pulsing in time with the waves of pleasure. Joel lets out a low growl as he feels you coming, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own release.

"Fuck, darlin'," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you. "I'm gonna come, baby."

You can feel him swelling inside of you, his cock twitching as he gets closer and closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he comes undone, his release filling you up in a way that makes you feel impossibly full.

Joel collapses on top of you, his heavy weight making you feel warm and safe and secure. eventually, he shifts his weight, so he's beside you and wrapping you in his arms. "My princess," he murmurs, stroking your hair lovingly. You look up at him, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. His brown eyes gaze down at you.

Your hand reaches out, your fingertips running along the side of his face, his stubble scraping against your skin. Joel leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips inches from yours.

"Thank you," you say softly. You want to thank him for being there for you, for loving you unconditionally, for taking care of you, and giving you everything.

"There's nothin' to thank me for,” he replies tenderly. "I couldn't be happier than I am right now, havin' you in my arms."

You rest your head against his chest, your eyes fluttering closed. You're not sure how long you lie there, but eventually, you start to feel the pull of sleep. Your eyelids grow heavy, and your breathing evens out.

—

When you wake up, you're not sure how long you've been asleep, but you feel refreshed and energized. Joel is still lying beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Joel murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you reply softly, turning to face him.

Joel's eyes are still closed, but he's smiling. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby," you reply, snuggling closer to him.

Joel's arms tighten around you, and you can feel his heart beating faster. "Good," he murmurs. "I have a surprise for you."

You look up at him, your curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise," Joel says, his eyes still closed. "But I think you're going to like it."

You wait patiently, your mind racing with possibilities. Finally, Joel opens his eyes and sits up. "Come on, get dressed," he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

You do as he says, slipping on a pair of jeans and a cute top. You're not sure what Joel has planned, but you're excited to find out.

When you're ready, Joel takes your hand and leads you out of the Villa. You follow him through the lobby and out onto the street. Joel leads you through the winding streets, pointing out different landmarks and telling you little stories about each one.

Eventually, you come to a small courtyard, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city. In the center of the courtyard, there's a wall covered in locks, each one engraved with the names of two people.

"This is the wall of love locks," Joel says, his voice soft. "Couples come here to declare their love for each other, and then they throw away the key."

You look up at him, your eyes wide. "That's so romantic," you say, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Joel smiles at you, taking your hand. "I want to add our own lock to the wall, if that's okay with you."

You nod, your eyes filling with tears. "That would be amazing, I've always dreamed of seeing this. "You say, your voice thick with emotion.

Joel leads you over to the wall, and you pick out a lock together. You engrave your names on it, along with the date, and then you secure it to the wall.

As you throw away the key, you feel a sense of finality.

Joel's face breaks out into a wide smile, pulling you into a tight embrace. As you stand there, surrounded by the love of the people who came before you, you can't help but feel a sense of unease and happiness mixing together.

Eventually, you make your way back to the hotel. Joel pauses in the lobby, “Hey, you head up, princess, just need to check on something at the front desk.” he hands you the key card and watches you disappear into the elevator.

He walks up to the front desk, “hello Mr. Miller, how can I be of service?”

“Just checking in for a delivery, small box?”

“Ah, yes, it was just delivered. One moment, sir.”

The receptionist heads into a room behind the desk, not long before coming back out with a small box in their gloved hand.

Joel takes the small black box and opens it, staring at the stunning ring nestled inside. He knows that he's found something special with you, and he's not going to let it go. He's going to make sure that you have the best summer of your life, and he's going to make sure that you never forget him.

—

Thank you so much for reading! Where should they go next?

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader

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deanbrainrotwritings · 9 months

Text

— GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction.

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door.

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men.

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son.

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos.

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June.

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one.

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle.

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily.

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass.

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room.

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at.

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh.

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself.

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on.

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans.

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely.

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people.

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving.

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean.

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow.

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway.

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation.

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him.

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective.

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently.

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly.

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet.

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter.

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera.

What a funny thing.

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights.

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything.

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction.

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters.

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted.

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward.

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants.

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire.

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer.

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand.

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds.

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over.

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it.

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie.

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added.

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth.

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him.

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie.

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog.

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth.

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair.

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap.

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table.

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor.

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time.

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss.

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts.

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.”

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching.

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name.

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly.

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned.

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more.

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head.

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole.

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely.

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly. “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes.

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy.

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths.

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw.

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.”

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch.

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly.

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath.

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit.

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her.

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt.

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily.

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his.

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit.

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would.

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure.

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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simplygojo · 13 days

Text

Can't Remember To Forget You

Author's Note: I totally agree with you anon. This song does fit Toji sooooo well. I recommend listening to the song on repeat while reading, it really helps set the mood. Thank you so much for your kind words about The Devil He Made Me and my writing, and thank you for requesting!!

My requests are always open :)

Request: “Can I please request a smutty fic with Tojiiii? I was hoping you could base it on the song Can't Remember To Forget You by Shakira and Rihanna...I just think it fits him soooooo wellllll....Love your writing so much!! (Also obsessed with the devil he made me with Gojo <3) THANK YOU” - Anonymous

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f/reader

Word Count : 3.3K

Warnings : 18+ Content, SMUT!, fingering, intercourse, spanking, hair pulling ;)

You woke up with a start, sheets tangled around your legs, breath uneven. The faint light slipping through the blinds barely lit the room, but you didn’t need much to see the Post-it note stuck to your nightstand.

"Forget about him."

Three simple words scrawled in your own handwriting, a reminder you forced yourself to leave before bed, knowing how easily your mind wandered when you weren’t careful. The sight of the note made your stomach churn, but not in the way it should have.

The words echoed in your head as you crumpled the note in your fist, tossing it aside. You knew Toji Fushiguro was a problem. A criminal. A danger to everyone, including you. He was the kind of man you were supposed to run far, far away from. But every time you closed your eyes, it wasn’t fear you felt when you remembered him—it was heat. He had a hold on you—you’d never met someone so…different.

Even though your mind knew the truth, which was that he was an ass, your body remembered something else.

Damn that selective memory, you thought.

You sighed, trying to shake the thought, but you couldn’t escape it. You could only ever remember the way he felt inside you. The way he gripped your body so rough.

—

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

The first time Toji touched you, it wasn’t gentle. There was nothing soft or tender about him. He’d cornered you in an alleyway, his towering figure looming over you like a predator with prey. His smirk was sharp, full of arrogance and danger, like he knew exactly how easy it would be to have you.

And in that moment—you hated how much you wanted him.

You could still feel the way his fingers had curled around your wrist, pulling you close with a rough tug, his body heat scorching against yours. His breath had been hot on your neck as he leaned in, that deep, gravelly voice of his laced with something sinful.

"You're shaking, y/n," he’d whispered, but the way his lips ghosted over the pulse point on your neck made it clear he knew it wasn’t fear. "Can't decide if you wanna run or stay."

You had wanted to run, but your body betrayed you, legs rooted to the ground as he pressed closer. The way his hands slid down your body was possessive as if he had already claimed you in his mind long before you could resist.

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

—

You groaned, tossing the covers off as you sat up, trying to shake the memory from your head. But it was no use. The way your skin burned just thinking about him only brought more moments rushing back, one after another, each one more intoxicating than the last.

His voice and touch were branded into your skin, impossible to forget. And even if you could, did you want to?

Toji was always rough, always urgent. His hands were large and calloused, dragging over your skin with a hunger that felt primal. Every time you were with him, it was a fight—against him, against yourself. And every time, you lost.

You could still hear the low grunt he’d made that night, the way his mouth crashed against yours, all teeth and tongue like he couldn’t get enough of you. His grip was tight, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pushed you back against the nearest wall. You remembered how he had pinned you there, his weight pressing into you, his lips travelling down your neck, biting and sucking until your legs gave out.

You shook the thoughts away and went to the bathroom to wash up. You splashed the cold water on your face, reaching lazily for your toothbrush and toothpaste. As you brushed your teeth, you couldn’t help but watch your own reflection in the mirror. The bruises left by his lips still lingered on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. And your mind could not help but wander to that night, only a few days ago…

—

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

That night, the rain had been pouring outside, drumming loudly against the windows of your dimly lit apartment. Toji hadn’t knocked when he arrived hadn’t bothered with pleasantries or words of warning. He had barged in like he owned the place, the weight of his presence commanding attention.

You remembered the way he’d closed the door behind him, his eyes locking on yours, dark and unreadable. There was something animalistic about him, something primal in the way he prowled toward you, like a predator cornering its prey.

His large hands were rough as they gripped your arms, pulling you close as he towered over you. There was no softness in his touch—only pure, raw need.

"Why do you always look like you're waiting for me to take you apart, y/n?" he had whispered, his voice a low growl against your ear. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t a kiss meant to be sweet—it was possessive, consuming, like he was trying to devour every part of you. His fingers curled into your hair, tugging hard as his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"You want this, don’t you?" he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with arrogance and lust.

Your body betrayed you. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your legs felt weak beneath you, your hands instinctively reaching for him. The heat between your bodies was electric, sparking with every touch, every desperate kiss.

You could only moan in response, your body too lost in the sensation to form words. The way his hands held you in place, the way his mouth moved over your skin, made it impossible to think of anything else but him—of how he made you feel, how he always knew exactly how to push you to the edge, only to pull you back with a sharp, knowing grin.

And as you gasped his name, as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, you knew this was a moment you’d never be able to forget.

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

—

The memory lingered like a shadow, its intensity just as raw as the night it happened. Toji wasn’t a man who made you feel safe—he made you feel alive, in the most dangerous, reckless way possible. No matter how much you tried to push the thoughts away, your body remembered. It always remembered.

You ran a hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face as you stood up from the bed, legs feeling heavy.

The morning air was cool against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to douse the flames licking at your insides. You wandered toward the kitchen, hoping coffee would wake you up and make you forget about him, even for just a little while.

“I really need to practice the art of self-control,” you muttered to yourself as you opened a window to let some fresh air into your apartment.

But you knew the truth: no matter how many times you tried to remind yourself that Toji was bad for you and that you should forget him, you knew you never would.

He was a permanent scar on your skin, a reminder of every time you gave in to temptation. The kind of man you knew was dangerous, but that danger had been exactly what drew you in.

You sighed, standing in the middle of your apartment, hands on your hips, eyes scanning the mess. The dishes were piled in the sink, laundry strewn across the couch, and empty coffee cups cluttering the table. You hadn’t realized how much of a mess things had gotten.

Maybe that’s what happens when you let your mind get consumed by someone like Toji.

"Focus, y/n," you muttered to yourself, pushing the sleeves of your oversized shirt up your arms, determined to keep your thoughts from wandering.

You started with the dishes, running hot water and letting the steam rise, hoping it would help clear your head. The repetitive motion of scrubbing the plates, rinsing them off, and stacking them on the drying rack was calming, and mindless. You could almost let yourself relax.

Moving to the living room, you started gathering the clothes scattered across the couch, tossing them into a basket with more force than necessary. The silence in the apartment felt too heavy, too full of the memories you were trying to escape.

You could almost hear his voice again, low and teasing.

"Miss me already?"

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as you shoved another shirt into the basket. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted him, how badly you wanted him to bend you over like he did.

But it was there, undeniable, no matter how much you tried to fill your day with mundane tasks.

You turned to the coffee table, stacking the empty cups and sweeping crumbs into your hand. Your movements were stiff, hurried, as if moving faster would help clear your head. It didn’t.

As you wiped the table, you caught sight of something half-hidden underneath a book—a crumpled piece of paper. You hesitated before pulling it out, smoothing it flat.

"Forget about him." Another goddamn post-it note.

The words from the note you’d written stared back at you, mocking. It was so simple in theory, but your body wouldn’t let you forget. Every time you tried to push him out of your mind, he slipped right back in—like a shadow, always lurking just out of sight, waiting for you to let your guard down.

—

Later, as you sat on your couch, tea in hand, your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced at the screen, your heart sinking when you saw the name.

Toji.

You stared at it for a long moment, fingers hovering over the screen as you debated answering.

You shouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. But your body reacted before your mind could catch up, thumb swiping across the screen to answer the call.

"Miss me, y/n?" His voice was a low purr, sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, heart racing as your mind screamed at you to hang up, to put the phone down and block his number for good. But all you could think about was the feel of his hands on your skin and the way he stretched you out just right.

"I…"

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

Toji laughed softly on the other end, and you could almost see the smug smirk on his face, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

"I’ll be over in 20 minutes, just collecting a bounty near your area." He said, voice thick with promise. "Don’t you try to forget about me. I want you ready when I arrive. "

The line went dead, and you stared at the phone in your hand, pulse quickening. You knew what you should do—lock the door, turn off the lights, pretend you weren’t home. But the memory of him was too strong, the pull too irresistible.

As you set the phone down and stood, a familiar heat began to pool between your legs. God, just the thought of him made you squirm.

You’d try to forget later. For now, you knew exactly where the night was heading.

‘Oh here we go…’ you thought to yourself, crossing your legs in an attempt to quell the arousal you already felt.

—

Your hand lingered on the phone, still warm from the call, as Toji’s words echoed in your head. “Don’t try to forget me.” It wasn’t just a statement—it was a command, one that you were powerless to disobey.

You swallowed hard, glancing around your apartment. The air felt heavy with anticipation, the minutes ticking by too slowly as you waited for him to arrive.

Part of you considered fighting it, locking the door, ignoring the inevitable. But it was pointless. Every time he appeared, you crumbled.

Every time you swore it was the last, you ended up right back in his arms, a willing prisoner to your own desires.

The knock at the door came quicker than you’d expected, your heart skipping a beat as you turned toward the sound. The moment you heard his voice on the phone, you should have known better than to think you could resist.

You crossed the room slowly, feeling the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on you.

Before you could reach the door, it opened, his tall figure waltzing into the room with no care in the world. "Didn’t expect me to wait, did you?" Toji’s voice was low, rough as his eyes scanned your body.

Toji leaned against the wall, that familiar cocky grin playing on his lips. His dark eyes locked onto yours, taking in the way you stood there, staring at him like you’d been caught in a trap. And maybe you had.

"Told you I’d be here soon," he said, taking a step forward without waiting for an invitation, his broad frame filling the space as he slowly closed the space between you.

You should have stopped him—should have said something, anything, to slow him down—but the between your thighs grew unbearable, your body betraying you.

His presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, and the tension between you two snapped the second his hand gripped your waist, pulling you close.

His fingers dug into your hips, his body pressing against yours with a possessive force that made your pulse race.

You tilted your head back, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment before his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, full of the raw need that neither of you could deny.

He didn’t wait for permission—he never did. His hands moved over your body, sliding under your shirt, his rough palms grazing your bare skin.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he pressed you back against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat flooding your body.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a line of fire in their wake, his teeth grazing your skin where you were already marked, with enough pressure to make you moan.

"Sounds like someone missed, hmm?" He growled against your throat, his voice thick with amusement, though he already knew the answer.

The way his hands roamed over your body, pulling at your clothes, left you too breathless to form words. His touch was rough, unrelenting, and exactly what you had been craving.

Toji’s hands made quick work of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside before his mouth found your beautiful tits, his teeth sinking into the delicate skin. You let out a loud whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched against him, desperate for more.

"What happened to wanting to forget me?" he rasped, his voice dark and low as his hands gripped your thighs, lifting you off the ground with ease.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, your back pressed hard against the wall as he held you in place, with one hand around your neck, his mouth colliding with yours, and his tongue entering your mouth without permission.

Your pussy was just throbbing at this point, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you pulled him closer, your body burning with need.

The truth was, you didn’t want to forget. Not right now.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he carried you to the couch, not even bothering to close the blinds to your window before practically ripping off your pants, his mouth never leaving yours.

The world outside ceased to exist the moment Toji pushed you down onto the couch, his body hovering over yours like a storm about to break. He was all you could see, all you could feel.

His touch was rough, his kisses demanding, and the way his hands moved over you left no room for doubt.

He was in control—just like always—and you were more than willing to let him take what he wanted.

As soon as your skin came in contact with the cool leather couch, you felt the lace of your panties snap as his two fingers tore them from your body.

And there you were: Toji hadn’t been here for 5 minutes yet, and there you were—completely naked, just squirming under his rough touch.

He leaned down, hovering two fingers over your soaked pussy as his thumb circled your clit, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t even try.

Instead, you let your body speak for you, arching against him, your hands gripping his back as he moved over you, every touch sending another wave of heat crashing through you.

“God—You’re just desperate for me.” He said darkly, his unlit gaze piercing your wide eyes before forcefully shoving his two fingers into you, thrusting in and out of you roughly.

His name left your lips in a desperate moan, your body responding to his in ways you couldn’t control.

And with that, he claimed you, every movement, every rough kiss, and every growl reminding you why you could never truly forget him.

Before you could respond, he lifted you up from the couch, removing his fingers and gripping your hips with an unrelenting force as he pushed you forward, bending you over the back of the couch. The fabric dug into your stomach, grounding you in the moment as heat flooded your body.

He gave your ass a rough slap, one that caused a loud yelp to escape from your lips. “You think you even could forget me, forget this?” He taunted, his one hand still dripping with your juices, caressing your ass.

With his other hand, he swiftly undid his own pants, pulling them down just enough so he could fuck you. His long cock, dripping with precum, was positioned at your entrance, almost teasing you as you squirmed under him.

"I don't think so," he rasped, his breath hot against the back of your neck as he leaned over you, moving your hair to one side of your face so he would still have a view of it.

He entered you slowly, making sure to feel every inch of your warmth consume his hardened cock. You let out a pornographic moan, fingers gripping the edge of the couch as you felt him stretch you in every direction, his hands pulling your hips back as he pushed his into yours.

Once he put his entire shaft in you, he groaned loudly before quickening the pace, the couch moving along with you.

His touch was rough, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks—a reminder that he owned this moment, and he owned you.

His rapid pace was causing you to see stars as he fucked you into oblivion. He leaned forward again, this time only briefly, to grab a handful of your hair to tilt your head back so he could see your rosy face.

“You look so good when you’re getting fucked by me.” He bragged as if complimenting himself, too.

Your only response was a loud moan as his hands travelled down to your clit, massaging it with dominance. The couch shifted under your weight, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, closing the distance between you both. The moment felt thick with tension, electric in its intensity.

Toji’s grip on your hair tightened, and his pace was dominating, his voice low and dark as he whispered, "You won't forget this."

And you knew he was right–Toji Fushiguro was a mistake you had no issues with repeating.

You knew better—You knew you should’ve learned to forget him.

But these days, you just couldn't remember to forget him.

174 notes · View notes

lis-likes-fics · 4 months

Text

Shades of Red

Pairings: Jonathan Crane x hero!Reader Word Count: 11.4k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (m! and f!receiving), fingering, switch!reader, switch!Jonathan, biting, scratching, multilple orgasms, creampie, p in v sex, riding sex, slight praise kink, slight begging kink, slight degradation, swearing... A/N: I just really love writing for Jonathan Crane. Any Cillian Murphy character in general. Why is he so cunty? Just so good. Anyway, I hope you like it! Thanks!

It's busy tonight. The building has been filling with guests all evening, packed to the brim with men and women here for business and pleasure and everything in between. That's why you're so glad to be in here, tucked away in one of the private rooms of the club. Though less glad that you sit across the lap of a sleazy gang boss that you honestly find quite disgusting.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist and the other resting on your upper thigh. He's whispering in your ear, his lips so close to your skin that they brush her cheek every now and then.

The door opens and the both of you turn to see who is interrupting—for you, fortunately. A sly smirk slips onto your lips as you lay your eyes on a handsome face.

He smiles back at you, watching you through glasses, his unbuttoned shirt displaying his chest to you in his version of laid-back. It's a good look on him.

“Why, hello, Miss Cherry,” Jonathan Crane greets you as he closes the door behind him.

Benjamin looks at him and sits back, his hand still caressing your thigh as he sighs.

You chuckle lightly, licking your bottom lip as you do. “Hello, doctor,” you purr, beckoning him closer with nothing but a look. “I missed you last night.”

He walks forward, standing in front of you as he sets his finger under your chin. “Forgive me, angel,” he says, glancing at Benjamin. “I had business to take care of.”

He sits in the chair next to the sofa Benjamin takes up, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “Speaking of,” he sighs, “I think it's best you run along while Mr. Liste and I have a talk.”

You raise an amused brow, your attention shifting when the man in question speaks. “Nonsense,” he says. “She'll behave herself, won't she?” His hand lightly smacks your side and you nod, finding his touch particularly repulsive but being unfazed anyway.

“Of course.” You smile between the two of them, shifting your gaze to Crane. “Anything that makes you happy.”

Benjamin reaches inside of his suit jacket, pulling out an expensive cigar to set between his lips. You reach inside, pressing your hand against his chest as you pull his lighter out. You move slowly, sensually, in your quest to light the end. He thanks you with a grin, and you look at Crane with half-lidded eyes and a permanent smirk.

Crane stares for a moment. “Very well,” he concedes. He points at you with somewhat of a warning finger, tilting his head to the side. “But you have to promise me you'll keep this between the three of us.”

You feign surprise, setting a manicured hand over your chest with a soft gasp. “I won't tell a soul. Promise.” You raise two fingers in boy scout's honor and kiss them.

Benjamin laughs heavily. “That's a good girl.” Your skin crawls. “See? What’d I tell ya?” He hums, sitting back again as his hand continues to stroke you. “So what have you got for me?”

He shrugs, clasping his hands in his lap. “That entirely depends on what you have for me, Mr. Liste.”

He takes in a long breath, holding it for a moment before allowing a puff of smoke to gather in the air around your head. You hold your breath and stifle your tears before they can start.

“Give us a show, little cherry bomb,” he grins, patting you before you stand. You stalk to the wall, turning up the knob that controls the volume until you hear a song playing through the speakers. You go to the small platform in the middle of the room and take a hold of the pole, their eyes glued to your body, the skimpy clothes adorning you leaving little to the imagination.

Once you've begun dancing, they sink into their conversation, and you listen closely as you entertain.

“Shipments made it to the port last night,” Benjamin says as he flicks cigar ashes onto the floor carelessly.

Crane raises an inquisitive brow. “And you didn't tell me then?” You could feel the disdain from here.

Benjamin doesn't care as he shrugs. “Well, Johnny, me and my guys have decided we're gonna hang onto it a little while longer.”

Crane does his best to keep his anger seething and not explosive. He gets a better message across by staying calm. “That wasn't part of our deal.”

“Yeah?” Smoke billows from the butt of his cigar. “This is good stuff we've got on our hands. There are plenty of other interested parties who would double—even triple the fee you're offering.” He shrugs, letting out a heavy sigh. He looks away from you and points to Crane with his cigar. “Why should I give it to you?”

Crane stares at him, unblinking, his expression the same as when he walked in…perfectly cordial. “Let's just say,” he leans forward onto his knees, clasping his hands, “I provide traitors with worse consequences.”

And you believe that…

You've seen what it looks like in that godforsaken prison he runs.

“Let's just say…” he rolls his eyes, “if you can't outbid any of my potential clients, you're wasting my time.” He takes a smoke and looks back at you, admiring the way you move, raking his eyes up and down your body. Your skin feels like syrup, thick and slimy and sticky and gross.

“Besides, betrayal insinuates we had some trust going on between us.” He chuckles at the notion. “I don't trust you, you don't trust me. That's that.”

Crane sighs, looking away from him to look at you. When he drinks you in, you don't feel so slimy and gross. You wink his way just for the fun of it, just to tick Benjamin off just a little bit.

Benjamin clears his throat. “I want my money by tomorrow night at twelve. If you can't get me that, consider your shipment gone.”

There's a long pause as they watch each other, daring the other to give in, to concede and accept an offer. You see something change in Crane’s eyes as he sits back, humming to himself as he nods gently.

“Where shall I meet you?”

You're ready to listen when Benjamin turns to you, his gaze so demeaning as he speaks. “I'm gonna need you to cover your ears for this one, sweetheart.”

You smile, raising your hands to your ears to cover them. When he's sure you've been deafened, his lips form a word you have to piece together with your knowledge of shipment docks in Gotham. Chesterport.

He pushes off his pants, standing and making his way toward you as he sets a hand on your back, cueing you to remove your hands from your ears. You step down from your platform to join him on the floor.

“Thank you, Cherry,” he smiles. He turns to Crane, letting his cigar hang from his lips. “Twelve o'clock or it's done. You got me?”

You can make out the smallest smirk on his lips as he nods slowly. “Twelve o'clock.”

Benjamin chuckles heartily. “Good boy.”

You just know Crane hated that. Part of you finds it amusing. But you'd find it more amusing if you knew he wasn't going to do something insane over it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Benjamin says, his face inching toward yours. You don't move, but it's clear he won't kiss you. He's big and powerful but he knows the rules. “You and I need a little one-on-one time.”

You chuckle lightly. “Of course, sir,” you murmur. You turn a seductive eye towards your Jonathan Crane, winking at him as you walk. “Buh-bye, doctor. I'll see you soon.”

He nods his head, his eyes dark with an unclaimed desire. The power you hold over these men is a delectable kind of knowledge. “Cherry.”

Blowing a kiss, you spin on your heel and walk away with Benjamin. He's going to pay for a lap dance, and then he's going to leave to take care of the rest of his business. Just as he always does. It's a more fortunate fate than it would have been if certain rules weren't set in place to keep the dancers here as safe as they can be in this godforsaken city.

And once he leaves, you can follow suit to get ready for a midnight appointment tomorrow at Chesterport.

Don't judge.

Living in Gotham is dangerous and fucking expensive. Saving it doesn't pay the bills.

If you have to swing on a pole and show a little skin for some extra bills to pay for rent, that’s what you’ll do. And, sure, being a vigilante in this city means you know the Bats. You bumped into him on your second mission, and he laid down the ground rules of you remaining a crime fighter from the very beginning (with plenty of threats to keep you in line with said rules). Over time, you’ve become close and you can honestly call The Batman your friend, but that doesn't mean he's paying your bills either.

Is it because you told him not to? Possibly. But you even it out by making him provide the needs for your weapons and other protections. He's a philanthropist, he wasn't going to let you get away without some financial support. (But it looks weird being funded by the Bruce Wayne when all you are is some stripper down at a popular and dangerous club in Gotham.)

The city won't thank you for helping to save it, but the men sure thank you for winking their way and making them feel a little good-looking every now and then.

So, yes, sneaking into the Wayne Manor isn't unusual for you, and he's never surprised to see you when you randomly appear in the bat-ridden cave.

“Why do you need a gas mask?”

You kick your feet as they dangle off the side of his desk where he tries to work—more improvements on his suit, it seems. Alfred is somewhere in here, but you suppose he's busy for the moment.

“Because Crane is up to stuff,” you shrug, picking up a precision knife and twirling it in your hands, “and that toxin of his is not something I want to have to deal with.” You had a go at it once before…it didn't end pleasantly.

Bruce taps through his tablet, looking at all the designs he has stored in it as he examines said mask. “When do you need it?”

You smile, looking as innocent as you can. But he's fallen immune to your charms by now, no matter how convincing you're trying to be. “Tonight?”

He sighs, shaking his head at your ridiculousness. “Why can't you just make your own?”

You roll your eyes. “Because I'm low on supplies with all of my bomb tech and mine won't be as good as yours anyway. Oh, and you're my supplier. So you're supposed to supply my needs.” When he raises a brow at you, you pout. “You don't want me getting hurt, do you?”

He huffs lightly, looking down at his tablet and murmuring to himself. “Seriously considering it.”

You know he's joking, but it's fun to screw around.

“Shut up,” you say. “It's because of me you have an extra load off your shoulders.”

He shakes his head but doesn't disagree. It's quiet for a moment as he thinks. “I'll give you mine—temporarily—while I make yours for future purposes.” He tilts his head. “Not that there should be one.”

You hum. “We've already had this discussion—and no, I'm still not going to quit.” You hop off the desk, walking around it to meddle with his things. “Besides, Crane is my best patron. What would he do if his favorite hero disappeared?”

Bruce brushes you off and ignores your activities, used to your antics. You have an air around you that drips with seduction and sexual debauchery that he has become immune to by now. So even when you run your finger down his shoulder and linger, he remains entirely unfazed.

He walks off, and you follow as he leads you to the wall of all his different techs. He pulls his mask from one of his suits, similar to that of a medical face mask, but this one is made of metal with respiratory tubes to prevent the user from suffocating.

He doesn't give it to you yet. “Where will you be again?”

“Are you going to crash?” you complain. “I can handle myself.”

He chuckles lightly, it's just a breath through his nose. “I am fully aware of your capabilities.” He shakes his head. “I have my own things to deal with, this is just as a safety measure in case you need backup.”

“Which I won't need.”

You reach for the mask, but he puts it out of your reach.

“Cherry.”

Your lip curls. You always find it amusing when he calls you that. He never uses your real name, always the stage name. It's always fun to hear him say it, so you throw him a bone.

“Chesterport dock at twelve.”

He studies you for a moment before slowly handing you the mask, which you snatch up as you turn on your heel to leave.

Don't get hurt.”

“Never do.”

He shakes his head and gets back to work.

Underneath the movement and conversation of the men at the port, the water sounds peaceful. It's easy to hide in a place like this. It's dark, full of giant containers that you can take cover in.

You're practically twiddling your thumbs as you wait there, the past near hour almost as boring as watching paint dry as these gangbangers do nothing but laugh loudly, play cards, all the stereotypical activities of criminals before any real activity happens. You're checking your watch for the hundredth time—a quarter to twelve—and feel a yawn arising in you. You stay later at the club, but this is just boring.

You almost chuckle as you consider taking a brief nap…like that would go over well.

“See? I knew you'd deliver, Johnny Boy.”

You perk up at the sound of Benjamin's voice. You look down from your hiding place, your eyes landing on Dr. Crane as he arrives with a group of goons behind him. He looks as sophisticated as ever. You enjoy looking at him.

He comes to a stop, staring at the man as he thinks to himself. Silently, he tilts his head slightly toward his shoulder and one of his guys steps forward with a briefcase. Benjamin does the same, and his meets the other.

They hand over the case, shoving the playing cards to the side as they set the case on a crate to open it up. Upon the first glance, Benjamin's face screws up in annoyance and disgust.

“What is this?” he scoffs. “This isn't even half of what we originally promised.”

Crane shrugs nonchalantly, clasping his hands in front of him as he sighs. “Your promises weren't kept,” he says, “why should mine be?”

Benjamin's angry now, and it honestly amuses you to see him so peeved as you continue to peer in on the confrontation. “Because I'm a powerful man with a lot of powerful friends.”

Crane’s brows furrow and he turns to look around himself. “Funny,” he hums. “I don't see any.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, the air thick with suffocating masculinity (though a lot of it drips from Benjamin, as Crane doesn't necessarily need masculinity to frustrate him). Then Benjamin starts to laugh, throwing his head back as he takes it all as some sort of stupid joke.

“Alright,” he says. “I'll give you one last chance to deliver the money. And because you're being such an ass, Johnny, make it quadruple.” He takes a threatening step forward, to which he goons follow.

Crane and his guys don't move an inch.

“Otherwise, I'm afraid it will have to get a little messy.” His hand comes to rest on his gun, where it sits on his hip.

“Well,” he sighs, rubbing his hands together, “that's too bad. Because, you see, Benji, I don't do business with filthy men who don't keep to their word.”

Crane snaps his fingers and another man walks up to him, holding a briefcase that he opens. You brace yourself, unhooking one of the explosives from your weapons belt. You watch as he pulls out a pair of black gloves, slipping them onto his hands as he speaks, taking his own scarecrow mask into his grasp. “So I'm afraid it will have to get a little messy.” Behind him, you watch his few men put on masks of their own. You follow suit.

“And my name isn't Johnny…” he says as he gazes at Benjamin through the worn holes of his mask, “it's Dr. Crane.”

Bored with the stalling, Benjamin rolls his eyes and pulls his gun from his holster. Everyone braces, fully ready to start making bullets fly as the tension raises to meet a climax. Just as guns are clicking with the disabling of the safety, everyone pauses at the ominous sound of clink, clink, clink against the concrete ground.

It rolls, and all eyes watch it until it comes to an inevitable spot. At the sight of a giant red ‘RR’ painted on the front, they panic.

“It's Ruby Red!” Benjamin barks. We're compromised. Go!”

It’s too late to move as the bomb explodes, a loud boom! covering every inch of the dock as the sound echoes off the water. Smoke arises from the destruction, and everyone scrambles to their feet to run in different directions, disoriented from the blow.

You hear Crane’s voice over the commotion of coughs and grunts. “Get the cases!” he orders, and his men go to listen as they rush toward them. Benjamin's men follow suit, standing to rush toward them.

But you're quicker.

Another bomb explodes right on top of the cases. They burst open, a good deal of the contents destroyed. The men who are covering their ears to be rid of the ringing in their brains look around, conflicted on their next course of action.

Clearly, Benjamin is not amused. “Get what you fucking can!”

They listen, as if they haven't learned their lessons by now. They move, you bomb. And you do. Jumping down from where you'd been hiding this whole time, you land easily and toss another. It's perfectly nonlethal—you make sure of that—when that one goes off. It, at the very least, gets rid of a few insubordinates who run the other way after deeming three bombs a bit above their pay grades.

There's so much going on and not enough time for a lot of the people involved to process. When Crane and his men approach the cases after Benjamin and his men flee, he lays his eyes upon the bright red explosive and its green painted stem and is almost amused.

“Cherry bomb.”

“Take cover!” one of the men yells as he runs the other way, the others following in quick haste. Crane turns calmly, spying you standing just outside of the fray. He watches you reach for a trigger and leaps out of the way, ducking down to take cover as you set the bomb off.

The sound would have been deafening if you hadn't been standing as far as you were. There's smoke everywhere, some debris covers the ground. You walk past all the groaning men as they try to get their thoughts in order, checking the smoking cases and ensuring all the drugs have been properly destroyed—and they have, but just to be sure of it, you push the rest off the dock. Job well done, you'd say.

You turn on your heel, smiling underneath your mask. You think he's cute, standing like he is with a couple of his guys pointing guns at you. It's sweet.

When you toss the next bomb, they shoot it, honestly assisting you. It does what all bombs do: it explodes. Only this time, a bout of smoke covers the expanse of the air and it lingers. It sets over everyone and makes it easier for you to make your little get away as you hear boots stomping away as the rest of these “brave” souls escape.

“Long time no see.”

You turn, amusement coloring your face—though he can hardly see it between Bruce's mask and your masquerade-esc one of your own. You tilt your head as you take in the sight of him watching you closely. You walk nearer to him, but don't allow him too much pleasure of your up-close and personal company.

“You were behaving.”

He hums, shrugging a shoulder. “I wouldn't say all that.” He examines your little mask, and you can practically see his hidden smile. “Ooh,” he says, “smart girl.”

It’s your turn to shrug, “I know a thing or two.” You reach for your belt, unhooking the pair of cuffs resting there. “So are you gonna turn yourself in or do I have to do it myself?”

Crane hums. “I have other plans.”

“Alright then.” You sigh, playing with the cuffs as you peek at him through the mask. “I'll do it myself.”

He chuckles. You make the first move, stepping forward and pushing away his hand when he tries shooting you. You're hurt, honestly, as you disarm him and kick his gun away. With being so close, you have the advantage because you're faster than him. Every blow he makes is easily dodged by you.

When you turn on your heel and run, he follows after you as you climb on top of a few small crates, just to turn right back and jump onto him. It's easy for you to swing around his body until your legs wrap around his neck, taking another round before letting him slam into the ground with the strength of your throw. You land on your feet, allowing the cool night air to hit the skin of your bare arms and thighs. If only you hadn't had to wear so much protection, the breeze would have felt so nice.

You jangle the cuffs once more. “Last chance to settle down.”

Crane groans as he pulls himself up from the ground, his muscles sore already from the exertion of the fight. He pulls his mask off, revealing his pretty face as a deep sigh leaves him. He looks up at you with those cold blue eyes, examining your body from top to bottom as he does. His gaze lingers on your thighs, the supple flesh seemingly alluring to him.

“Actually, I was thinking something a little more…” you watch him reveal one of your cherry bombs to you, already lit as the sparks go down the stem of it, and he looks up at you and smiles, “...explosive.”

You already know that Jonathan Crane is mentally insane, but it's always interesting to see him prove it.

“Fuck,” you mutter, glancing at the missing space on your belt. “Well, bye.”

You grip a smoke bomb and set it off before his can blow, the both of you escaping just in time for the blow to take over. As Crane stands from his ducked position and he waves away the smoke to clear it up, his coughing subsides when he spies no sign of you anywhere.

But the memory of the cherry-shaped birthmark on the inside of your thigh is ingrained in his mind.

“Cherry.”

You turn slowly to keep from disturbing the tray of glasses in your hand. Spotting the origin of the call, he tosses you a key card.

“Room three.”

You sigh gently, passing the tray to another employee as you turn to make your way to the private rooms. You fix your hair on the way, renewing your lipstick as you come up on the hall.

You swipe the card, walking into the third room to set it up for your patron. You're waiting on the large sofa for all of two minutes before the door opens again. You smile at the sight of your customer.

“Why, hello, Cherry,” Crane smiles, closing the door softly behind him. He's not as fancy today, a button down that he has neglected to button all the way up and a pair of black slacks to match. It's a nice look on him, paired with his tousled hair and framed glasses.

“Hello, doctor,” you greet, your mood suddenly rising at the prospect of some alone time with your favorite criminal. “Do I have an appointment with you tonight?”

It’s been a couple of nights since you last saw him. He's been busy, you presume.

“You do,” he nods, walking into the room. You stand to meet him on the way. His eyes rake over your body, appreciating the sight of the dark red adoring your tiny skirt, your bralette, your lipstick. “I love that color on you.”

You hum gratefully. “That's kind of the point, isn't it?” It is your namesake, after all.

His hands land on your hips, grazing the bare skin they find with appreciative fingers. “What kind of red is it?” He hums, allowing his eyes to take you in. “Scarlet, rose…ruby, perhaps?”

You don't react, smiling at him as you ignore the heavy beating of your heart. Parting your lips, you let out a gentle chuckle. “Cherry.”

“Ah,” he nods, smirking. “That makes sense.”

Placing your hands on his chest, you begin to slowly walk him backwards toward the sofa. “What would you like, doctor?”

He falls onto the cushions with a little bounce, staring up at you with his piercing gaze. His hand cups the back of your thigh, caressing the skin thoughtfully as you stifle the shudder threatening to break. He smiles. “Dance for me.”

You nod gently, examining the expanse of his face. Jonathan Crane is a man of microexpression. He doesn't often let on what he's thinking, and he isn't partial to freely telling. You've always found yourself watching him too closely, waiting for a subtle change, anything to give away what he's really thinking. You take your bottom lip between your teeth, just the slightest nip before you let it free again.

“As you wish,” you whisper.

You break away from him, turning up the dial for the music to play, and walking toward the mini stage and its pole, just waiting for you to join it. You take hold of the cold steel, locking eyes with the man staring back at you, his gaze intense and unyielding. You like this little game between you, this game that pools so much heat within you.

He doesn't let a single movement go unnoticed as you dance for him. Every sway, every dip, every swivel is appreciated in his eyes, and you enjoy the attention at its fullest. He shakes his head, sighing to himself as he praises you.

“I love the way you move,” he says. “So smooth and graceful.”

You giggle lightly. “Why, thank you.”

“A beauty like you deserves to be praised,” he replies, leaning back with an arm thrown over the back of the sofa. He thinks to himself, nibbling his bottom lip and watching you closely.

“Well,” you turn back around, practically hugging the pole as you bend down low to your knees, “I'm feeling praised.”

You stand back up, slowly, sensually, never letting your gaze wander from his own. “Good.” His voice is nearly a purr.

There's a moment where he finds himself lost in the sight of you. He doesn't speak, he doesn't hum. His eyes stay glued to your figure, mesmerized by the spell of your hips swaying in the mood lighting.

He strokes his bottom lip, tilting his head up at you. “There was an explosion the other night at the dock,” he says. “Did you hear?”

You hum, “Here and there, the patrons talk.” You glance over your shoulder at him, “Which one?”

“Chesterport.” Again, you hum. “They say that Ruby Red crashed. Some of her bomb casings were left behind.”

That's one of the only downsides to your bombs. The casings. You don't flinch. “Was there something going on?”

He tilts his head, smirking. “This is Gotham, sweetheart. There's always something going on.”

You shrug. “Then it's probably not that bad.”

Your answers intrigues him. He furrows his brow, “I've never asked.” He sits up, leaning forward curiously. “What do you think about this vigilante, ‘Ruby Red’?”

You're treading on dangerous waters now. If you blow your cover to him, things could end really badly for you.

“You've never needed to ask. It's not really a topic of discussion here.” You turn to him, your dance never halting for a moment as you bend down, your hands on your knees as you roll back up to your full height. He never looks away, relishing in the intensity.

“But what do you think?”

You don't let any silence linger. You say the first thing on your mind and hope it's good enough to pass. You've always had a cunning tongue, you're sure you can get by well enough.

“I think that if she keeps busting the criminals of Gotham, then I'm going to run out of clients.” You chuckle lightly, “Same for the fucking Batman.”

His brows raise in surprise. “So you want her to stop.”

You shrug. “I want her to stay away from you.” You send a wink his way. “You pay me best.”

He sets a hand over his chest. “I thought we had a real connection, Miss Cherry.”

“We do,” you hum. You break away from the pole, stepping slowly over to him as you bend down to rest your hands on the back of the sofa, caging him in. Your faces are inches apart. You tip his chin up slightly with the very tip of your finger. “You, me, skin-to-skin, money-to-palm.”

He sighs gently when you let go of him, shifting your dance into his lap. “Naughty girl,” he tuts. “I thought I wasn't allowed to touch.” Just as he says it, he smooths a hand down your side.

“That's never stopped you before,” you chuckle. “You know you can touch, darling, you're just not allowed to fuck me.”

He hums regretfully. “Such a pity,” he says. There's another pause. “Have you ever been told you look like her?”

Shit.

“Like who?”

“Ruby Red.”

“No.” You look at him, raising an innocent brow. “Why, do I?”

He shrugs. “There's a resemblance.”

You turn it back on him, “So you've seen her before?”

He seems proud of that fact. He leans in slowly, catching your own chin this time. “Up close and personal.”

You love this little game of yours. You close more space, your voice low. “I thought she only got up close and personal with the bad boys.”

“Am I not?” he asks.

Your voice is a whisper. “A little bit.” You break away from him again.

He takes in a deep breath. Thinking. “Can I tell you something?”

You wink at him. “Anything you want, my darling doctor.”

“I was at that dock that night,” he confesses. “Chesterport?”

“Were you?” You feign surprise. “Were you misbehaving?”

He doesn't reply immediately, watching the expressions on your face as you continue on. He smiles, tilting his head. “Well, I wasn't behaving well.”

“Good. I find it boring when you do.”

“I saw her…” He grabs your arm, though not roughly. He takes your arm and pulls you back into him so you stand between his legs. He maneuvers your hands onto his shoulder, setting his own on your waist. You lean into him, wrapping your arms closer. “Up close and personal. I spoke to her, actually. You know what she told me?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“ ‘You were behaving.’ ” He smiles, staring at your face. “That's what she said.” You still don't flinch. You can't. Anything you do could tip him off, but you have a feeling that your efforts will prove to be futile. He is insistent. “You know,” he narrows his eyes, “you sound a lot like her, too.”

Well, it's too late to change that.

You raise a brow, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Oh, so you think I’m Ruby?”

“I think it'd be quite the reveal,” he shrugs. “You definitely picked a great work spot if you were her. You're surrounded by criminals of all kinds, you get good intel. Hell, you were here just the other night listening to my conversation with Mr. Liste. I mean, who else would have figured out when and where we were meeting?”

“Okay,” you laugh gently, licking your bottom lip, “even if I was Ruby, how would you figure it out? Because I sound like her?”

He licks his lip this time, sighing gently. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your thigh, loving the feeling of your skin under his palm.

“When I saw her,” he begins, “she did this thing where she put her legs around my neck—scandalous, I know. When she had me down, just for a moment, I saw something…” He hooks his hand behind your knee, lifting it up to his side. Your heart plummets to your stomach, but you ignore it in favor of being partial. “It was something…on her upper thigh, on the inside.” His hand smooths under your skirt, slowly, slowly pushing it up. “A birthmark.” He pushes it all the way up, the expanse of your flesh and the slip of your panties revealed to him. “Like a cherry.”

He looks down and pauses at the sight of your bare flesh, barren of any mark, any blemish—just smooth, clear skin. Stopped in his tracks, he hums as he looks back up at you.

You raise a brow, lifting his chin. “Are you done?” you wonder, letting your hand fall back to his shoulder. “A few inches more and you would be past the touching rule.”

He tilts his head, his other hand reaching toward your leg. You reach a hand down, forgetting yourself as you grab his wrist and drop the smile from your face. Your eyes lock, and he grins. You know he's won as you drop your hand.

He wipes the makeup from your skin, the cherry birthmark showing itself in all its splendor. His hand lingers as he stares up at you. His triumph is subtle. There isn't much he needs to say. He leans back, brushing your knee.

“Hello, Miss Ruby.”

You stare at him for a while, planning your next course of action. You could kill him, but then you'd have to face Bruce—and you don't want to do that at all. You could knock him out, claim he broke the “touching” rule, but he'd just let the cat out of the bag. Then you'd be dead.

So instead…you smile. You smile at him and show how impressed you are by his investigation. “Smart boy,” you praise, mirroring his words from a few nights before. “The one time I don't cover it, you find me out.”

He shrugs. “I know a thing or two.” He sighs, examining you from head to toe. He taps his fingers on your thigh. “Now what is to be done about you?”

You let out a long sigh as you lower yourself into his lap, moving closer so that your bodies are practically pressed together. You keep your arms around his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

“You keep quiet,” you smile, “or I put you behind bars? Maybe I'll even throw you in one of your little cells at Arkham.”

His own hand smooths along your thigh, coming up higher so it strokes the round of your ass. “Sweetheart, you are in the middle of a nightclub run by one of the biggest bosses in the city.” He cradles the side of your neck like he'll kiss you. “Do you really think you’ll have the upper hand when they learn that one of their favorite dancers is also one of the city's pesky avengers?”

Your face doesn't change, but your heart is beating so quickly. You think he can feel it with the way he holds you, his hand right over your pulse. The danger you would be in if anyone ever found out is dire…

“All I would have to do is offer to take you in, ensure you never cause problems again. They would release you to me, and I could do…” you swear you can see his eyes rolling back, feel his body shuddering at the idea of such a thing, “...whatever I wanted.”

You refuse to admit the things his words are doing to you.

“I could make you crazy. I could make you…absolutely deranged,” he suggests. “I could visit you every single day, turn your mind to mush, have my way with you as long as I wanted.” He breathes in deeply as he removes his glasses, resting the tip of it between his lips as he sighs heavily through a grin. “You would beg me to do things to you that would make a good girl blush.”

You could almost feel your thighs shaking. The anticipation of his threat—his promise—is sent straight to your core as you try not to clench around nothing. He'd surely feel it with the way you sit atop him. The very idea has your heart beating even quicker, but you don't show it. Not even for a moment. You can't show such a weakness to him, he'd never let you live it down.

So you simply hum and shrug a nonchalant shoulder. “But you won't.”

“Won't I?” He sets his glasses down and leans in, so close to your lips yet so, so far all at the same time. His eyes pierce your soul, they dig deep until you can't control the slightest shiver rushing up your spine. “You'd be ruined. Even worse, I could give a heads up to the cops. You'd be on the run from both sides of the fight.” He chuckles, “I could make things…extremely difficult for you.”

He licks his bottom lip between his teeth. Just thinking about it makes his blood sing. With a sigh, he seems to calm himself. “Or…I could make things rather easy. Beneficial, even. It would be nice having someone like you in my pocket to get rid of my competition when I need it. And it'd be nice for you to have someone like me to deliver information to you when you need it.” He pinches your chin lightly. “This could be a very mutually benefiting relationship.”

When he stops, you raise a brow at him. “But?”

“But,” he agrees, “if we decide on this, I require some assurance.” He shrugs. “Attention, if you will.”

Your lip rises in a smirk. “You want me to fuck you?”

He hums. “Decisions, decisions.”

You roll your eyes to keep from clenching your thighs. Shaking your head, you glance away as you feign disgust. “Ugh,” you groan. “You're such a man.”

Completely unbelieving, he questions, “And you don't want me?” You turn back to him. “You're telling me that you don't wish we could do more than just…touch?” He raises a hand to your cheek, hovering his lips over yours as he teases you. You try not to react, but it's hard. “Do I not attract you?”

You steady your breath. “And what makes you think that I do?”

There's a moment of silence where he just…watches you. The amusement glints in his eyes and you know you've screwed up…again.

“Do you know why a cat's eyes expand so much when they look at their owners?” he asks. “Like little dimes.”

You chuckle. “Because they love their owners. This is not that.”

He disregards your answer. “Well, some of the science is a little more practical. In the dark, pupils will expand to let in more light in order to allow our brains to take in more information. When looking at someone you find attractive, your eyes will expand in the same manner—to take in more of them, to gain more information.” He strokes your cheek. “Every time you look at me, sweetheart, your eyes grow ever so slightly. Right now…” he smiles, “dimes.”

You don't want to hear this. “Listen, Jon–”

“You lick your lips a lot in order to draw my attention to them, to raise my attraction for you.” He tilts his head, and you have to fight the urge to lick your lips as you do the same, forgetting your smile as you stare darkly at him. You don't appreciate the way he picks you apart like this, things so hard for you to change. Mental, psychological things.

“You mirror me.” You straighten your head as soon as he says it, which only makes his smile grow. He's so proud of himself. You want to prove him wrong but you keep proving him right. “You adopt my mannerisms in order to create a bond between us. When you look at me, your body–”

“I think I get it,” you interrupt quickly. You've heard enough.

“Oh…” he pretends to pout. “Don't feel bad. You did try so hard to hide it. But you forget, I've dedicated my life to studying these kinds of things.”

You look away from him, thinking quietly to yourself as you contemple on your course of action. You really don't have much of a choice…

Bruce could protect you, you're sure, but you'd still be in a lot of danger. They would never stop looking for you, none of them, and you know that one day they would.

You sigh, “So I either fuck you or spend the rest of my life running from both the law and crime.”

He tuts to himself, too proud of himself to hide his grin. “Decisions, decisions.”

You really have no choice. On the bright side, you're getting laid.

You collect a big breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh as you release your inhibitions and give in. This should be fun, at least.

“I'm warning you,” you say, “I'm a scratcher.”

He smirks. “I'm a biter.”

Your lips crash together as you grip his hair between your fingers, pulling roughly as the both of you join in a fierce kind of passion that leads to flushed skin and heavy breaths and trembling limbs. It's the kind of passion that burns anything in its wake and leaves you questioning in the morning whether or not you regret the night before.

Immediately he lives up to his word as his teeth sink into your bottom lip. You moan into his mouth, moving his head back as you lift onto your knees to tower over him. The lust is fast, and the urge is strong. He grunts against your lips, pulling you closer to his body as you both devour each other in rough, carnal desire.

It sets a fire within you knowing that you’ve managed to turn the calm and composed Dr. Crane into just another man desperate to give into his lustful cravings. He’s no longer the esteemed doctor you know him to be…now he’s just Jonathan… and that’s a sweet reward you’ve already grown a tooth for.

You grind into his lap, sighing at the way his growing erection feels rubbing into you. A choked sound erupts from his throat as he grabs your waist, moving your hips against him. Your moans fall from your lips, a deep sound in your chest meant to encourage him.

You place a hand over his, gripping it to pull it away as you remove yourself from his lap. Sinking onto your knees, you look up at him through hooded eyes You undo his belt with quick fingers, caught in the heat of the moment. He watches you with kiss-swollen lips, his breath unsteady as you look up at him through hooded eyes. Your hand strokes his lap, moving closer and closer to his crotch before the palm of your hand is massaging him.

He groans, and you can feel his cock twitching in his pants. Eager to set him free, you release him from the confines of his slacks and take him in your hand. A breath escapes you at the sight. Half-hard, he’s well-endowed, and the tiniest part of you feels guilty at the way you feel your need for him rising within you. That part of you is quickly squashed by that same need as you massage the head of his cock with your thumb and he lets out the most delicious sound.

You inhale the heady scent of him, there’s something so expensive and male about him. As you dip your head down, you drag your tongue along the underside of his cock and listen to his quick breath. The dribble of precum that lands on your tongue is a welcomed taste that you immediately endorse as you wrap your lips around the head of him. When you suck, Jonathan’s a goner, reduced to little grunts and tiny puffs through his lips. You’re guessing he doesn’t get laid much.

But a man of his temperament? You suppose he doesn't need to.

He’s hard by the time you’ve taken him down to your throat, your lips brushing his pelvic bone as the slightest gag tickles your throat. You moan as you come up, suckling around him before letting him slip out with a pop. Through grunts, Jonathan shakes his head as he looks down at you. “Come now, sweet girl,” he says. “You shouldn’t play with your food.”

It amuses you that he refers to himself as food. You were pretty sure this whole time he depicted himself the predator and you the prey, but you’re sure there’s an insinuation in there that still leaves him in charge. Either way, you just let a deep chuckle bubble in your chest as you take him again. His hand tangles in your hair, flexing there as he holds you with no real intent to guide you. Yet.

You bob your head up and down his length, keeping your rhythm slow and measured to tease him without actually teasing. And he lets you for a while, watching you with blinking eyes as you suck around him. When he’s fed up, his grip in your hair tightens. “You can do better than that, Cherry.”

You take his words for what they are and suck harder. His jaw clenches as he inhales sharply through his teeth. His gasping hand urges you on, guiding you up and down the length of him to feel his rising pleasure. You move faster, forgetting your teasing for the sake of the heat between your thighs. It grows as you listen to his irregular breaths, as you feel him twitch in your mouth. Your hand snakes between your thighs and teases your clit through the fabric of your cherry red panties.

Between your laving tongue and his tightened grasp, you make quick work of building him up. When you swear he’s on the verge of losing the remainder of his control, he pulls you off of him with the same sultry pop as earlier. He leans his head back and catches his breath, licking his chapped lips as his hand flexes in your hair.

A grin spreads over his lips as he lolls his head to take you in once again. “You’re something special. I knew you would be,” he says. “I wonder if your little cunt is as tight as your throat.”

His words send shivers down your spine, but you’re good at pretending they don’t. Or, at least, if he notices it, he doesn’t say anything. You slowly rise to your feet once more, crawling back into his lap in an attempt to kiss him again. As you lean in, his hand meets your throat as he keeps you away from him. He eyes you, a predatory gaze in his eyes watching your bated breath, your dark eyes, your fluttering lashes.

Without a word, he maneuvers you to lay on your back, his hand still wrapped securely around your throat as he spreads your legs wide. You bring a hand up to his arm, gripping it as you allow your nails to dig into the skin. He smirks, bringing a hand between your thighs and teasing the fabric covering your pussy.

He groans deep in his throat, chuckling to himself. “You’re so fucking wet. All from sucking my cock.” He presses his finger against your clothed clit and a tiny gasp leaves you. It’s a delicious sight. “You’ll do perfectly,” he says mostly to himself.

Another shudder runs down your spine, but this one is more perceptible. A dark chuckle arises from his chest as you watch him smooth his hands over your body, slowly, slowly stripping you of your clothes. Your tiny skirt being pulled down your legs, your decorative bra in all its lace being unhooked from your chest. He sighs contently at the sight of your bare breasts, one hand reaching up to cup you before he kneads the doughy flesh in his palms.

You moan at the feeling, your eyes fluttering closed as you arch your back against him. His finger flicks and circles your nipple, shooting an election shock straight to your core. Your clit pulses, needing him so badly to pay attention to it as he does your hardening nipples. His other hand brushes down your skin and dips beneath your panties, if not to give you what you want, then to remove them from your body. And he does, very, very slowly as he distracts you with his hot tongue on your sensitive nipple, his mouth latched on like he's starving.

What you're doing is dangerous. If anyone were to catch you, you would both end up in a lot of trouble—you probably more than him.

You could say he made you do it—technically he did; although considering your willingness, it probably doesn't matter. You could say he forced you down and ripped your clothes off, told you he would hurt you if you screamed. That would mean he broke the rules, he would be punished according to Gotham fashion.

But he could just as easily spill your secret on the table. He could tell everyone who you were, and that's more dangerous than being fired for having sex with a patron.

There are so few decisions, all with terrible outcomes that could lead to a very difficult life for you.

But you don't have the time to think about that when his mouth latches onto your pussy. Your back arches and your eyes squeeze shut as he licks into you. Your parted lips gasp for breath as his tongue plunges deep inside of your hot cunt. A deep groan shudders within you, and you bury your hands in his hair in an attempt at pulling him even closer.

He mumbles something against your soaked folds, pulling back with a sigh. “Fucking delicious,” he praises, diving back in with the drive of a starved man.

His fingers prod at your opening, pushing inside of you and filling you with the thickness of them. They curl and you curl with them.

You wrap your legs around his head and dig your heels into his back. When he sucks on your clit, you're a goner. Every lick and suck only grows your need for him, for this awful man who you cannot allow to cloud your judgment. But it's far too late for that. You roll your hips against his face, needing more but only receiving what he gives you—the deep coaxing of his fingers, the insistent licking of his tongue, the cruel sucking of his lips.

Your legs twitch as you near that desperate release. It's becoming too much. You need it so badly, you can almost taste it–

You whine when he pulls away from you, licking his lips as he pulls away. “You're so needy,” he chuckles. “As much as a needy whore as I thought you'd be. You know, this job suits you almost as much as plain prostitution would.”

You ignore him because he's annoying. You unhook your legs from his shoulders, moving to sit up with a hand on his chest. For the moment, he lets you lay him back against the arm of the sofa.

“I think it's unfair that I'm naked and you're still fully clothed,” you say, reaching for his buttons.

He hums. “Then you should fix that…”

You straddle his hips as you undo his buttons, taking your time in unlooping each individual one as more and more of his skin is revealed to you. You smooth your hands over the expanse of his chest, leaning forward to take his lips between your own. You sigh against him, your hands grasping his sides, and you can't help the way your nails dig into his skin and drag.

A strangled moan erupts from his throat, his head knocks back at the feeling. He reaches up to grab your arms, cupping your elbows as he grinds his teeth. A heavy breath escapes you, and you reach your hands down to undo his belt. “And you call me the whore,” you quip, a devilish smirk curving your lips.

Jonathan chuckles when you unzip his pants, lifting his hips to help you pull them down until he's completely bare, save for his shirt hanging off his shoulders.

You smirk, leaning down to ghost your lips over his. “I think I should make you beg.”

He raises an amused brow. “Do you now?” He leans forward as you shift away from his face. “And what makes you think I'd beg you for anything?”

“I just want to hear you say it.” Your lips barely brush his, pulling back when he pushes forward, pushing forward when he pulls back. “It's not a big deal. I just want you…to beg me…to fuck you.”

The pauses are where kisses should be. But you don't give them to him. You stare at him, your eyes taunting and your lips swollen from the abusive kisses they'd been granted earlier.

The more time you spend staring at him, the more intrigued he becomes by you. He could not have come across a better business partner…

“Fine,” he shrugs nonchalantly. You feel his cock twitch at the lips of your pussy, wanting so badly to be inside of you. He licks his lips, taking in the smallest breath, “Please, Miss Ruby…” he says as his hands find your waist. “Please fuck me. Please wrap that pretty little pussy around my cock and ride me like the good girl you are.”

You smirk as you shudder, his dominance over you mixing with his—albeit weak—begging for you creating such a sweet cocktail on your tongue.

“See?” you whisper, finally bending down to close the gap as you wrap your lips up in his. Pulling away, his teeth hold onto your lip before he lets it slap gently against your bottom teeth. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

He grabs your hips and pulls you down, his perfectly aligned cock thrusting all the way into you in one fluid motion. Your moan is sudden, a trembling thing that makes your eyes flutter and your lips part so prettily. He grunts as he leans his head back. You can see the veins in his neck, his clenching jaw. You curl your fingers around his shoulders as you hold on tightly to them.

A quiet curse drops from your lips as you roll your hips on top of him. It's a deep roll, one of those movements that require your whole body to complete. He fills you with himself, and you can't help the shudder that comes from the way he encourages your hips.

Lifting up just barely to the tip of his cock, you drop yourself back down and allow a louder moan to fall out of you. Already drunk on the feeling, you chase it in quick succession, rising and falling and rising and falling until you create a steady rhythm full of the sounds of slapping skin, the slickness of your arousal mixing with his. It's easy to become addicted, it's easy to succumb to the feeling that is only this forbidden kind of pleasure.

You're a hero (of sorts), and he's a villain. You're not supposed to be riding his cock in the middle of a nightclub, moaning his name as he moans yours.

Your hands grasp eagerly at skin, each sudden spike of pleasure forces your nails to dig into his awaiting flesh. The groan he gives is nearly a whimper as he twitches inside of you.

When you look up, your eyes are caught in the reflection of a mirror across the room. The sight of your bodies moving together, the grinding, the thrusting, the grasping—your head is swirling with intoxication.

“Your thighs are shaking so much,” he huffs, his hands tightening on the meat of your thighs. He pushes you further down, and you nearly choke on your own breath.

Your eyes flutter at the mirror, stuck to the sight. “That's good, baby, keep doing that,” you moan, spurring on his desperation.

You actually whimper when he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit. In tight, quick circles, he builds you up as you continue to ride him. Your moans rise, high and breathy and way more pathetic than you intended for them to be.

“Jonathan,” you gasp. The roll of your hips becomes more demanding, short and quick. You're not going to last long like this. You squeeze your eyes shut, “Just a little harder.”

“You're so,” he huffs, “good for me.”

You know he hates it, but you're so blissed out that you can't bring yourself to care when you moan out to him. “Jon, I'm gonna cum.” You drop your head, gripping on tight and thrusting your hips. “Fuck, you're gonna make me cum.”

He doesn't seem to care either, his fingers still going on your clit. “I'm not going to let you cum until you beg me, sweetheart.”

It doesn't matter if it's supposed to be an indignity. Blissed out or not, you couldn't care less about begging him for anything. Your job was the pleasing of (usually) men. Even though you're not really supposed to be fucking them, there are other ways for them to take their pleasure without touching you.

So the words tumble effortlessly from your lips as you continue to grind. “Please, baby. Please let me cum, I need it,” you gasp, your words urgent and full of the need that's driving you.

His thumb rubs faster, rougher, keen on making you fall apart above him. That's all he wants right now, to feel you fall apart from the pleasure he gives to you.

When you do, it's with a muffled shout. Yes, the walls are thick, and yes, it's unlikely someone would hear you, but you don't want to take that chance as the pleasure raids your body. It soaks into your bones and leaves you trembling. You tighten around his cock as he groans, watching your eyes glaze over with the intensity of your release.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your lips part as you gasp for breath. Your hips stutter in their quest to draw out your orgasm for as long as you can as your thighs shake.

“Fuck.” The sound is nearly a sob, still struggling to come down from your high as you let out a couple more rolls. As you look down at him, your mind slowly coming back to you, you can't help your smirk as you stroke your hand over his chest. “You did so good. I'm so proud of you.”

Jonathan ignores the tiny swell of pride at your praise, sitting up to kiss you in that hungry way he seems to love. He pulls out of you as he continues to sit up, moving you backward until he's got you laying on your back. You look up at him, your hands playing with the hair at the base of his neck. Your limbs are heavy, your legs still twitching with the aftershocks of your release.

“Now that you've had your fun…” he says, as though he didn't enjoy watching you above him, riding his cock and telling him good he was making you feel. His teeth graze your jaw, nipping you as he does, “...it's my turn.”

You're still sensitive from your fresh release ,but you don't think he cares. It doesn't matter much anyway. You've concluded that this man is as good with manipulating bodies as he is with manipulating minds.

He takes your leg, spreading you wide to open you up as he pushes his cock back inside of you. You both sigh when he buries himself to the hilt, but you don't have time to relish the delicious stretch because he's already fucking into you, thrusting into you fast and rough, like this is his last chance to do it.

Your eyes squeeze shut, the oversensitivity pickling at you before it melds into the white hot pleasure of his cock. He fists the arm of the couch by your head, his knuckles white and his jaw clenched.

His hair falls over his forehead, sticking to the sheen of sweating coating his skin as his erratic breaths pass through his plump lips. A rough thrust has you whining his name, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and finding purchase at his back. He ruts into you like there’s no tomorrow, his grunts and groans fading in your mind as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunts. “I expected you to be well used, sweetheart, but this cunt feels fucking new.”

You know he's calling you a whore, but you really don't care. It brushes just right and sends tingles through your body, tingles that are drowned by the crashing waves of his desperation. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you still.

You feel Jonathan's tongue dart out to lick a slip of your skin, and your breath shudders when his teeth graze at your flesh. It feels nice, the way he uses his teeth to mark you. His breaths pass as moans in your ear, and you can't help but to hold him closer, your nails sitting idly in their burrowed spots at his back.

On a rough thrust, he slips up as he clamps his jaw around your shoulder, nearly growling as he loses against his need to sink his teeth into you. The sudden pain that spasms from his bite shoots through you, and you can't help but to moan at the feeling. One of your hands flies to his hair, tangling in his dark locks and pulling lightly. “Fuck, yeah,” you sigh. “God, that feels so good, baby.”

He pulls away from your neck, though his thrusts never let up. He pins you down as he fucks you, reaching a hand out and bringing it down hard on your ass. You gasp at the feeling of his harsh slap, but it only elevates your pleasure until you're seeing stars.

He smacks you again, but your little cry turns into a whine as his thumb meets your clit. He's close. You can feel it. He clenches his teeth and presses his forehead to yours as he continues to fuck into you. Your head swarms with the taunting of a release, your breaths mingling and your mixed arousal smearing all over your skin, dripping onto the couch beneath you.

“Fuck, Jon. Baby, I'm gonna cum again.” You can't stop the words from coming out of you. They're heavy and demanding, they crave attention just like the rest of you.

His nose nudges your neck, inhaling your scent and muffling his higher pitched grunts. “Gonna cum in you, Ruby,” he huffs. “I'm gonna fuck my cum into this tight little pussy.”

His sloppy thrusts support his claim, replacing the measured pumps of his cock into an erratic rhythm that takes you too long to catch up to. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. “Please,” you gasp. “I'm so close.”

His hips continue to snap into your own, shoving in hard and rough, reaching so deep that you think you'll be feeling him for days. The pad of his thumb on your clit continues to build you up, bringing you higher and higher until you can no longer control yourself. The coil in your gut snaps and sends you spiraling, your vision blurry and white as you gasp until you can no longer breathe. Jonathan's grunt is more of a whimper as you rake your nails down his back, certain that you're leaving your mark on him as he'd left his mark on you, trading his purple bruises in for angry red lines in his flesh.

A whiny kind of moan tears from your throat as you grind your hips into him, urging on your release. Jonathan moans as your walls spasm around him, clenching so tight. Your cry gets caught in your throat, the blunt head of his cock still pounding inside of you as you fall apart.

He uses you to his own end, his blinding release catching up just to spill inside of you, painting you in white. With a growl, his teeth sink into your shoulder again and they don't let up. The sharp pain mixes with the pleasure until it's all a blur behind glazed eyes.

It takes a while before the pleasure wanes enough for him to loosen up. “Good girl,” he coaxes, lost in the aftershocks of a powerful orgasm. Your legs shake and your jaw ticks as you continue to milk every last drop of his cum, ensuring none of it goes to waste.

Your breaths sound loud in your ears, both of your heavy sighs mixing together as you settle. He pets your hair, pulling away from your neck and watching you through lust-blown eyes. With as much strength as you can muster, you lean forward and push your lips against his. The kiss is just as demanding as the first few, but not as focused, your exertion adding to the laze of it.

With one last rough thrust—and a surprised cry from you—he pulls out of your full pussy. You whine at the empty feeling he leaves you with, especially when he lifts his weight off of you to stand. When he does, his eyes shut as he winces at the pain he finds in his back. Nevertheless, he stands to his feet and stretches his back, sighing at the few pops he finds in the process.

You lay lazily on the couch, an arm draped over your eyes as the other hangs off the cushion. You feel good, after a lazy stretch of your own (also accompanied by a few satisfying pops), you feel loose and limber.

Jonathan leaves you laying there as he redresses himself, taking time in buckling his belt, in buttoning his shirt, in adjusting his hair. You lounge on the couch, shifting onto your stomach and watching him through hooded eyes. You're dripping between your thighs, the air smells like sex, and you're going to have to take a very long shower after this, but you honestly couldn't care less.

You're going to have to figure out how to weasel out of this (temporary, if you can help it) deal of yours, but that's a thought for later. Right now…you're content.

He comes to stand in front of you, looking down as he reaches for his glasses. Placing them on the bridge of his nose, he smiles at you. “I look forward to seeing what we will be desecrating next, Miss Cherry.”

There's an insinuation in his words that alludes to the world outside of this club, ie…he knows where you live and he has no problem showing up to renew your deal. It's an issue and it erupts goosebumps all over your skin, but you feel too good to think about it.

You reach an arm out, wrapping it around his waist and pulling him forward. You open a button near his waist on his shirt, pressing your lips to the bare skin underneath. Then you look him in the eyes as you button it once more. “I will be seeing you, Dr. Crane.”

He chuckles, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. You look after him and hope you're not totally fucked.

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