#there's a place for big trucks absolutely

[megamindsecretlair]

'Twas the Night

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FLUFF, SMUT. Cursing, teasing, PIV, oral (male and female receiving), fingering (female receiving), minor OC lore (sorry!) Use of pet name. Mentions of the n-word, all consensual. Bad jokes, a different side to Terry. Sorry if I missed some. (Some meta jokes and winks and self-indulgent asf)

Summary: Treating yourself to a winter writing getaway, you are startled when the homeowner forgot to mention the 6’3 handyman that came by to fix things around the house. You find an unlikely friendship with the man, opening up about your romance novel. But when you confess that you need some inspiration, Terry is all too happy to be of service. 

Word Count: 19,198k

AO3 Link

A/N: WHEW. Forgive me for being late, I was nervous about this one. It's self-indulgent like a MF. I love this Reader and Terry SOOOO bad. I had a hard time letting this one end. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Snow crunched under your tire as you pulled up to the quaint cabin at the top of the mountain. You leaned forward in your seat, looking up at the address to make sure it matched. It did. This was the place.

You were glad the outside matched the picture. You couldn’t count how many times you arrived at an Air B&B, just for the lister to pull some fuck shit. 

For now, it looked like it lived up the hype. And you made it in time to watch the sun set over North Carolina a little later. You gripped the steering wheel and squealed with delight. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

You rolled your truck up to the small, attached garage and got out of the car. You went up the wooden steps to the wide porch that looked ripped from a magazine. There was a hunter green swing set with a pillowed pad on top of the bench. It even had cute throw pillows to match. 

Per the owner’s instructions, you were able to easily find the key box disguised as a lantern. You unscrewed the false bottom, retrieved the key and garage door opener, and replaced the bottom. 

You headed back to the awaiting truck, looking back at the cabin. You still couldn’t believe that this was all yours for the next two months while you worked on your latest novel. Your family was sad about you missing Christmas and New Year’s with them, but you had all grown out of the traditions. There was no point to be around just to be around. 

By the end of this, you were going to have a rough draft to show your agent. That was a guarantee. You pulled your beanie down before getting back in your truck and pulled into the garage.

You entered and turned on lights as you went through the house, familiarizing yourself with the layout and decor. The owner went with a sage green theme, the cabinets in the kitchen painted to match the small fireplace in the living room adjacent to it. There was a throw blanket in the living room with the same color and you had a hunch that the bedroom would be much the same. 

The cabin held two distinct buildings with a short hallway to connect it. The bedroom was modest, room enough to not feel claustrophobic but it wasn’t huge either. You checked and true to form, the bedroom held nothing electrical in it. 

The king sized bed was almost too big for the room, but it really brought everything together. And yes, there was a sage green throw across the foot of the bed. The artwork on the walls were as non-offensive as possible, full of pictures of trees and animals. 

You pulled your phone from your jacket pocket and started recording. “Hey ya’ll, I made it safe and sound. And it’s like the pictures so it’s not a scam! I am loving all these windows but ugh, can these people do anything other than white curtains, white sheets, and pastels? Like damn, I don’t know if I feel safe around all this white!” 

You giggled as you went through the house, checking things out but mostly checking for anything weird or creepy. No cameras, no drilled holes, no false paintings. You showed a few things around the house and then flipped the camera towards you.

“I am signing off, my loves. I’ve got my inspection to do. Love you bunches, I hope to be two-hundred and seventy pages heavier after this!” You blew a kiss into the camera and then sent it to your friends and family. 

Almost immediately, your mom started in on the issue with you being out in the mountains by yourself. Your sister piped in to remind your mom that you were grown, still in the state, and it was pretty sexist to say a woman needed a man to protect her all the time. 

“Exactly,” you agreed out loud. You put up your phone and then really got to business. You took off your purple jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. You took off your purple hoodie and hung that up as well.  

You put on your headphones and your favorite cleaning playlist, full of hip hop and R&B oldies. Then, you retrieved cleaning supplies from your car and went through the house with a fine-tooth comb.

Some may call you…odd. And that was fair. You knew how annoying you could be about cleanliness, but you just really wanted to avoid getting sick. You turned into an entire baby when you got sick and considering no one was around to give you said princess treatment, it was best to remain healthy.

That and people were just plain fucking nasty. 

Luckily, it seemed like this cabin was professionally cleaned. You mostly sanitized every surface you could find, dancing and shaking your booty to the songs as they came on. “Never Too Much” by Luther Vandross came on while you were mopping the kitchen. 

You danced around the small kitchen in your mop slippers, singing into the mop handle as if it were a microphone. You sang along with Luther at the top of your lungs, badly, and let the song keep you energized. 

You headed to the bedroom with a black light to check over the sheets and mattress. There were a few specks of mysterious origins which was to be expected, but the mattress was fresh. The sheets were clean as well, but you weren’t going to hop in someone else’s sheets anyway. 

You hauled deep rose bedding into the room from your car and made up the bed how you liked. You brought your own pillows as well, fluffing it on top. Now the space was starting to feel comfortable. Your anxiety lowered inch by smooth inch. 

You looked around the bedroom, scanning for anything you might have missed. Your eyes caught on the window, on the mix of oranges and pinks. 

“Shit!” You screamed as you tore through the house, towards the kitchen, and made you a quick cup of tea. You doctored it how you liked and then added cold water. You took the mug and your own blanket outside to the back porch. 

The owner had built another world in the backyard. The patio was covered with an awning that connected to the house. There were egg chairs and a sofa set up around a stylish oak table. Plants sat in planters around the area and there was a rug underneath the table. Fairy lights were strewn about giving the space a warm glow.

“Oh fuck yessss,” you groaned, sitting down in the comfy egg chair and looked out over the open back yard. The grass was vividly green, swaying slightly with the light breeze. Woods encroached the perimeter, thick with leaves and underbrush. Anything could be out there, adding to the mystery and awe it inspired. 

You draped the throw around your shoulders and then sat in silence, watching the sunset. Soft blues were chased out of the sky by pinks, oranges, and the softest purples blending into the pitch black sky. 

Stars winked on as if there were tiny caretakers igniting each one. Your mind spun with idea after idea, but these you would let pass. Not everything had to be about writing. Some things just needed to be experienced. 

The tea kept you warm as the temperature dropped more and more. When your nose got too cold and you sniffed one too many times, you finally packed it in and went back to cleaning. Your playlist kept you upbeat as you cleaned out the bathroom.

Done with everything, you finally felt comfortable enough to shower. Scrubbing the day away with your favorite soap nearly made you ascend to another plane. You giggled to yourself as your mind spun once more, crafting a whole silly scenario just because. 

You sighed. You needed a man. Well, okay, ‘needed’ was a strong word. But you were giving up comedy gold over here. There should be someone around to witness it! Then again, did you really want to explain your quirks to someone? 

You shook your head. You were not here for all of that. You were here to get some much needed writing done away from your family and friends. You knew they meant well, but it was almost pathological with the way they relied so heavily on you. 

As much you knew that they loved you, you also wondered if they even saw you as a human being with your own interests. They knew you needed to write and yet they came bursting in anyway, calling, texting, bugging to no end. You were tired of explaining that you weren’t rejecting them, you just needed to focus on writing. 

Either they truly didn’t get it or they willfully ignored your needs. And you just didn’t have time for that. When your editor, Vanessa, suggested that you made enough money now that a writing retreat was well within your budget, it was like a wake up call. 

Of course. The solution was right there. You immediately hopped on Google to determine which place called to you more. You always wanted a winter writing escape and a few keystrokes later, you were on your way with your family scratching their heads. 

You dried yourself off in the bathroom and lotioned yourself up. You left the bathroom in a cloud of scented steam. You opted for a pair of panties and an oversized red T-shirt that reached down to your knees. The place had central heating but you didn’t want to turn it up too much. Just enough to warm the wooden flooring.

You spent the next hour making tacos, the heavenly aroma of meat and salsa making your mouth water. You cleaned as you went, not wanting to spend the next morning doing dishes. The cabinet below the sink squeaked and you debated telling Mr. Omar about it. It was something small but if you were going to be there for a while, you’d rather not deal with the inconvenience. Ehh, it was small. No need to bother the man for that. 

All done, you brought your plate to the living room and camped out, finding something to watch. You had been hearing so much about that show called Rivals on Hulu so you decided to watch it. When the first episode started, you screeched at the TV. It literally opened with someone joining the Mile High Club. 

For the rest of the night, you relaxed and zoned out. It was hard for you to truly relax, to truly turn your brain off and just enjoy something. But practice made perfect, so practice you will. 

When you yawned for the fifth time in two minutes, you finally gave up the ghost. You turned everything off and put up the food you made. Then you turned everything off as you headed down the short hallway to the bedroom. 

It was pitch black inside. Perfect. You only used your bedroom for sleeping and fucking. It signaled to your body that enough was truly enough. No distractions, no connections, nothing to prevent your body from sinking into sleep. And it worked every time. 

You crawled into the comfy bed, soothed by the familiar smell of your bedsheets. Your brain blissfully shut up and you fell into a lovely, dream-filled sleep. 

You woke up naturally early in the morning. The white curtains in this room were heavier than what was in the rest of the house, allowing limited lighting to reach the bed. Plus, the sun didn’t shine on this side so the added shade soothed your overworked eyes as soon as you got up. 

This…you sighed. This was what you needed. You felt so good having true silence for once. No one around, no one bugging you, no one bringing you into their drama, no one leaning on you, no one calling you. It got to the point where you were beginning to hate the sound of your name. Too many people used it to demand your attention, demand your time, and then curse you in the same breath when you retreated and wanted to recharge your mental batteries.

This would likely have to become a tradition. From now on, you would have to choose an Air B&B to get the first draft over with. At least after that, you had the idea out of your head and you could cobble it together among the noise of your demanding family. The brainstorming stage was the most crucial; you could not afford distractions.

You were itching to write but you knew that you needed to eat something first. You got up from bed, scratching beneath your bonnet as you picked your way down the short hallway to the other side of the house. 

A heavy boot clanged on something metal, drawing your attention to the kitchen where a tall man dug through your cabinets. You screamed, hopping in place from foot to foot. The man turned around with a jump revealing…a pretty face.

You ran towards the fireplace and grabbed a poker, brandishing it like a spear. “Who the fuck are you?!” You demanded, pulling your shirt down. Fuck. You should’ve worn pants. Well, no, fuck that, he shouldn’t be in your place! 

The man lifted his hands and revealed a screwdriver in his hand. “Wait, hol’ on,” he said. His deep voice was unexpected, sounding like a crack of fire on a cold, wintery night. 

You moved the poker around in the air, looking around for any other men that may be lurking. The cabin was small enough, the kitchen not too far from the living room. But, besides the bathroom, you could see everything at a glance. You looked out of the windows anyway, searching for any other cars or trucks outside. 

“I’m Mr. Omar’s handyman. He asked me to fix the cabinet,” the man said. His scruffy facial hair framed his symmetrical face and hid his lush lips. His eyes were intense, the color of a storm right as it kissed the ocean, and his eyebrows arched severely. He was unreal. But hot or not, he was still a stranger.

His eyes drew down to your legs and you tugged on your shirt as if you could conjure more material. “You think I’m going to buy that? What are you really doing here? You read his mail?” You asked.

You hadn’t seen any mail laying around the place when you cleaned the day before, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he dug through the trash or hacked Mr. Omar’s emails.

The man sighed and shook his head. “You watch too much TV,” he said. 

“And you need to answer my questions. Who the hell are you?” You asked. 

The man kept his hands up but lowered his elbows. “I’m the handyman,” he said, putting emphasis on the word as if that helped. “Terry.” 

You squinted at him as you looked around the living room for your phone. You had plugged it in before you went to sleep, but it was hard to look for it and keep an eye on the man. 

He watched you and tilted his head. You scowled. Was he just humoring you? If that motherfucker tried anything, he’d lose one of those perfectly sculpted eyes. 

You snatched your phone from the end table besides the couch. You held the poker up as a deterrent but the man - “Terry” - didn’t move. He watched you, hands up, calm as a cucumber. If he was a thief or a rapist, he was the worst one you’d ever seen. Or maybe he was the smartest. 

You sized him up as you dialed the homeowner’s phone number. “We’re gonna see about you, nigga,” you said. You brought the phone to your ear as Terry smirked. 

“I’d believe that more if your voice wasn’t so squeaky,” he said.

“I do not have a squeaky voice!” You yelled.

Terry smirked again, tilting his head as if you just proved his point. “Can I put my hands down?” 

“No,” you said. Mr. Omar didn’t answer on the first ring so you tried again. 

“Just like a chipmunk,” Terry said. Terry sighed and then leaned against the nearest sink, making you look at the full length of him. He wore dark wash jeans, heavy tan boots, and a black hoodie. He also wore a cream colored beanie pulled low over his head. It ought to be a damn sin to be so fine.

“Hello?” Mr. Omar’s accented voice came on the line. The subtle African pronunciations made you curious about where he was from but you were too chicken to ask. 

“Mr. Omar! There is a man in the rental claiming to be your ‘handyman’,” you said, managing to give Terry air quotes around the poker. 

Terry smirked and licked his lips, drawing attention to them. They were so pink and big. The more you paid attention to his features, the more striking he became. He looked like a painting made real. Or like one of those artist renditions of Egyptian royalty. 

“Ah yes, Terry-Terry. Good man,” Mr. Omar said. 

You sighed and turned your head. “What does he look like then?” You asked. 

The poker grew heavier now that Mr. Omar vouched for the man. However, you weren’t ready to lower it just yet. 

“Tall and like Mufasa,” Mr. Omar said. 

You snapped your eyes to Terry, comparing him to a lion. Nah, he was more like a Scar to be honest. But still, the image wouldn’t leave your mind and your thighs responded, tingling with awareness. 

You scowled at Terry who pressed his lips together. “Can I lower them now?” He asked, amusement written all over his face.

“Where’s your ID?” You asked. 

Terry sighed. “I’m not handing over my ID to a chipmunk,” he said.

You squeaked with an indignant huff and Terry shrugged his shoulders. “Is that all you need?” Mr. Omar asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?” You asked. You lowered the poker down by your waist, business end sticking out in case this Terry character wanted to try you. 

“Forgive me, my memory. I’m an old man,” he said. You rolled your eyes. He was far from an old man, in his early fifties and looked young enough to be a senior at college. The man kept himself fit and in shape, telling you all about his fitness journey during the many conversations you had about the property. 

“Right. Thanks, Mr. Omar,” you grumbled and hung up with him. Okay, so the man was legit. But that didn’t explain why he didn’t ring the doorbell. 

“I didn’t know anyone was here, I’m sorry. Just let me fix a few things on my list and I’ll be out your hair,” he said.

“Can’t you come back when I’m…” you trailed off and clicked your mouth shut. You were going to tell him to come back when your getaway was over but he didn’t need to know your timeline. He could swing back around and murk your ass. 

“When you’re done gathering nuts to hibernate?” He asked.

“Fuck you, I’m not a chipmunk,” you said, smiling despite yourself. 

Terry lowered his arms and then made a show of putting the screwdriver down. “Do I get to know your name?” He asked. 

You debated giving him even that much, but the manners that were drilled into you refused to let you be rude. You tugged on your shirt and his eyes followed the motion. His focus was…unnerving. You cleared your throat and told him your name. He repeated it one more time and you nodded, a tingle going up your spine at the way he rolled the syllables around with that slight Carolina accent. 

“Nice to meet you. Now that we’re good, can you point that somewhere else?” He asked.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Like you were even scared of it,” you said. You placed the poker down on the coffee table. The metal clinked against the glass top but your eyes were glued to Terry’s.

Terry chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “You and your mouseketeers are s’posed to be good at fencing,” he said.

“You know what! You get on my damn nerves!” You said and laughed, giving in to his bad jokes. 

“Can I do my job?” He asked. 

You were still wary about him being in the house while you were practically naked. You glanced away from him, looking at how far the bedroom was. “How many things do you have to do?” You asked.

“Mr. Omar left me a honey-do,” he said. 

You sighed. You didn’t like this one bit. You hadn’t planned on having a visitor while you got into the rhythm of things. But you also didn’t want this man to come back. Though…that wouldn’t totally be the worst thing. 

You licked your lips and looked between him and the bedroom. You didn’t want to linger on him but fuck, it was like one look wasn’t enough. Every time you looked at him, you noticed something different about him. 

“Tell you what. I’ll spread it out. I’ll only do a few things at a time. Deal?” He asked. He held out his hand, beckoning you to come closer. That was how all horror movies started. The devil himself smirked at you and you scowled, understanding exactly how Eve broke. Had you been her, you wouldn’t have stopped at just the apple. 

“Deal, I guess,” you said. 

Terry lowered his hand and nodded. “Deal. You won’t even know I’m here,” he said.

Riiiiight. “Just…stay out here. I hear a boot coming down the hall and it’s game over,” you said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, making his accent thicker. The mischief in his eyes made you scowl harder. But his eyes dropped lower and lower and you pulled on your shirt. 

You made a beeline to your room, slammed the door shut, and sighed heavily. This was unreal. Absolutely unreal. 

You grabbed the nearest pair of sweatpants, yanked it on, and then took a few more deep breaths. You listened for any sense of movement, any creak of the floorboards, or sound of breathing. When there wasn’t any, you cracked open the door. 

You headed towards the kitchen to find Terry exactly where you left him, bent over the cabinet as he fixed the hinge. At your approach, he stopped and looked sideways at you. His side profile was lethal, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. 

Your belly flipped and you held it like it was a traitor. As if it could give you away. You breezed past him and grabbed your laptop off of the kitchen island, clutching it to your chest as you carried it to the living room and curled up in the corner of the couch. 

From this angle, Terry couldn’t sneak behind you and you had a full view of him as he worked. You opened your laptop and opened up your notes for your latest novel. You had the major plot ideas down but you needed to flesh in your characters.

As you researched, adding pins on Pinterest for inspiration, you couldn’t forget that Terry was there no matter what else you did. 

He moved with grace like he was completely in tune with his body. The delicate way he held and used the tools drew your attention to his long, thick fingers. Every so often, his tongue stuck out of his mouth as he worked, screwing the bolt down or digging for another screw. He was a distraction and a half. 

“You need a picture?” 

You gasped as you blinked, coming back to reality. Terry looked sideways at you, his eyes low and sleepy-like. 

Wow, your thoughts were not holy. You mentally slapped some sense into yourself. This man was a stranger. A very fine, gorgeous stranger, but an hour ago, you thought he was going to kill you. Be so real right now.

“What?” You asked.

“You were staring,” he said.

“Was not,” you said and sat back on the couch.

“Was to,” he said, testing the cabinet by swinging it back and forth. It didn’t squeak so Terry dropped into a squat to investigate the cabinet below the sink. The stretch of the squat revealed a gorgeous ass to match.

That was it. The man wasn’t real. He had to be conjured from God’s own imagination. God was just showing out when he made Terry and it wasn’t fair. All that fine piece of meat…

Speaking of, you added “piece of meat” under your male character’s profile in your notes. “For your nosy information, staring off into the distance is part of my process. If you happen to step into my line of sight, that’s on you,” you said. 

“That right?” He asked and you could hear the humor in his deep voice.

“Uh-huh,” you said. You typed a few more notes, taking in tiny details about Terry. The slope of his shoulders. The curve of his brow. His high cheekbones. Your male character came together more quickly in your mind now that you had a model to work off of. 

The cabinet squeaked, breaking you of your thoughts. “It’s singing the song of your people, you know,” Terry said. 

You sucked your teeth and Terry chuckled. “Me and you are going to fight,” you said. 

“I got a ladder if you want to use it,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes and pinched your lips together. He was really going to make you scream. “Are you always this annoying?” You asked.

“I can be worse,” he said. 

You stared off into an invisible camera. You could hear the laugh track now. You shook your head and decided to ignore his shenanigans. You fell into a comfortable silence somehow, typing away as more and more ideas came to you. It was no longer weird that there was a strange man in the cabin. Despite being so big, he had an uncanny ability to take up as little space as possible. 

“What are you working on? You a writer or somethin’?” He asked. 

“Yeah, what gave me away?” You asked.

“The laptop,” he said.

You sucked your teeth and hid your smile behind your hands, pretending like you were suffering the sting of a thousand cuts. Terry chuckled. “I know you want to laugh,” he said.

“Do not,” you said and moved your hands, settling on a smile. That was all his fine ass deserved. 

“You write anything I may have read?” He asked. The hinge on the cabinet knocked against the wood as Terry pried it off with the screwdriver. His hands really were huge and you briefly wondered what it’d feel like wrapped around your ass. 

You pressed your thighs together and adjusted yourself on the couch. This man was proving dangerous afterall. One meeting with him and you were picturing disgusting scenarios to write. 

“Umm, no, my books wouldn’t be your speed,” you said. 

“I like nature though. I’m sure a chipmunk survival guide would be right up my alley,” he said.

“The door is right there,” you said, chuckling. He truly got on your damn nerves. But you wanted to hear more. His voice was smooth and deep, a weakness for sure. Your voice kink was in hyperdrive, teasing out every way he sounded out words and syllables to be replayed later in your mind. 

“C’mon, what do you write?” He asked. He glanced at you briefly before returning to replacing the hinge. He dropped to his knees as he worked, putting him in a position to arch his back. 

Mm, mm, mm. You eye-fucked him as he leaned forward, holding the hinge in place while he screwed in the first screw. He leaned back to dig into the tool box by his feet and you looked away, heat flashing over your skin. 

You did not know this man. You did not know this man. You did not –

“Not gon’ tell me?” He asked. 

“What happened to not knowing you were even there?” You asked. He was worse than your folks at home. If you wanted to be harassed, you would have saved yourself the money. 

“You’re the one staring,” he said.

You took a deep breath to keep from cussing. Maybe it was his face. Maybe he was too pretty to yell at. Or maybe he was so pretty it spurned you to want to hit him. Because as much as you wanted to smack him, you wanted to smack his ass even more. 

Sweet fuck you needed to get laid. Maybe you’d redownload that dating app your friends made you download after your last book. You deleted it because apparently, guys took offense when all you wanted was sex from them.

“I write books,” you said, chickening out at the last minute. It wasn’t exactly easy to tell people that you wrote explicit shifter romances. Urban fantasy settings let you have the best of both worlds. Modern technology combined with fantasy and magic, blended together, and created something that scratched all of your itches. 

“What kind of books?” He asked.

“Paperbacks,” you said.

Terry chuckled and shook his head. “If you don’t say, I’m going to start guessing,” he said. 

You groaned and Terry chuckled at your theatrics. You held up your hand. “Please, spare me. If you must know, I write romance novels,” you said. 

“Romance novels…like the ones where the guys have a forty inch dick, eight feet tall, and long flowing red hair?” Terry asked.

You howled with mirth as that image was now seared into your brain. “Ew, yuck! Why! Why would you make me picture that?” You asked when you had enough air in your lungs to breathe. 

“I’m just shooting the shit. That’s wassup though,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you said slowly, full suspicion. Terry chuckled but didn’t say anything further as he continued working on the cabinets. 

You went back to your brainstorming, filling in details about your female main character. You searched for her fatal flaw, the lie she told herself in order to survive before the meet cute with the main male character. 

You sighed. You ought to give them names. But you were not prepared to deal with the ads on Nameberry or clicking endlessly on name generators. But you couldn’t very well keep calling them ‘female main character’ and ‘male main character’. 

You brought up Nameberry first in the hopes that you’d find something quicker using the alphabet lists. A Q name would be cute. Qianna? Ugh, there weren’t many cute Q names. 

“I didn’t know writing could be so hard core,” Terry said.

You looked at him over the top of your laptop with a scowl. “Are you almost done? You’re stinking up the place,” you said.

Terry chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll finish out the cabinets and come by tomorrow for the shower and air filters,” he said.

“What’s wrong with the shower?” You asked. The way he said it…he could make even the most innocent words sound naughty. Because now, you were thinking of the shower. And him in the shower. And all those suds dripping down his naked body…

“Water bill is going up. So Mr. Omar wants me to check for a leak,” he said. 

You hadn’t noticed anything but you weren’t a professional handyman either. “How’d you come to be here, Terry?” You asked.

Terry slanted his eyes towards you. “Curious about me?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “I could go back to ignoring you,” you said. 

“I’d believe that if you weren’t staring so much.” 

You took a deep breath and Terry waved you off. “I’ll stop. I got into some deep shit a year back. I wanted to take my mind off it by being as busy as possible. Working with my hands relaxes my mind,” he said.

You nodded. You could respect that. “You live around here?” 

“Mr. Omar has another spot up the ways. I work on his properties and I get to stay for free,” he responded. 

You sighed wistfully. The things you would do to be able to have an arrangement like that. Only without the handyman part, because fuuuuuck that. “Your family doesn’t miss you?” You asked.

Terry took a measured breath and paused briefly inworking. He then screwed in the final screw and tested the cabinet door, no squeak to be found. “Naw. Not really,” he said quietly. 

Duly noted. Shutting up. This was why you weren’t that social. You had a particular knack for picking up on shit people didn’t want to discuss. You hid behind your laptop screen, hunting for more names for your main characters. 

Gabrielle was always a cute girl name to you. Now for the perfect boy name…Rashad…Theo…Wesley? Wesley and Gabrielle? That sounded kind of cute together. You put it on the list of maybes and continued hunting for different pairs just in case. Though each one you found didn’t spark as much interest as Wesley and Gabrielle. 

“I’m done for the day. In case you had a change of heart,” Terry said.

“Nice try. I didn’t get any work done because of you,” you said. 

Terry smirked, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then my job’s really done,” he said. 

You groaned playfully and put your laptop down on the coffee table. You had pants on now but you still felt exposed. Like you were still standing there half-naked. Terry’s eyes tracked down your body as if he recalled your bare legs as well. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew he had a passing interest. But what man wouldn’t after living up in the mountains of North Carolina? You doubted he was starving for female attention and you had a book to finish, come hell or high water. Pretty distractions like him did you no justice.

You’d just have to pull out ole reliable, Laz Alonso. Thinking of that man already had you hot and bothered and the vibrator you brought with you would have to be more than sufficient to get you through the winter. 

You approached Terry cautiously as he packed away his tools. You openly stared at his backside as he closed the tool box and stood up to his full height. He was so damn tall. Guys like him just didn’t exist in real life. It wasn’t fair.

Terry walked to the front door ahead of you. You kept some distance, not wanting to give him a chance to get too close. Your alarms were still on high alert though he did a good job of putting you at ease.

As he crossed the threshold, your stomach rumbled. Loudly. In all the excitement and hubbub, you forgot to grab food. Terry turned to the sound, stopping a few feet from the front door. 

“There’s a bar down the mountain if you ever want to get out the house,” he said. 

You pinched your lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But maybe not today,” you said and leaned against the door jam. The cold air blew into the warm house, instantly raising goosebumps on your arms. 

Terry nodded. “You change your mind, let me know,” he said. “And if you notice anything that needs fixing, definitely let me know.”

You smiled. The thoughts he conjured…”Thanks, I truly appreciate it. But how would I let you know?”

Terry chuckled. He nodded towards the kitchen. “I left my number on the fridge. Need anything, just call.”

You glanced back towards the fridge and saw a few sticky notes on it. You turned to him and nodded. “I’m glad you turned out to not be a creep.” 

Terry nodded. “I’m glad you take your safety seriously. Most people don’t. Lock up after me,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, deepening your voice. 

Terry huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Can’t hide that voice, sorry,” he said. 

“Shut up! And get home safely, Terry,” you said. 

Terry took the steps down fast and then spun around to walk backwards. “Worried about me, chipmunk?” 

You rolled your eyes. “No, I’d rather not explain to Mr. Omar why his handyman couldn’t finish around the house,” you called out to him, raising your voice the further away he walked. 

He waved to you, making it to his truck parked a ways in front of the front door. It was a big blue truck with a larger bed than most you’ve seen. It suited him though. And his rugged appearance. He didn’t strike you as the type to drive a luxury SUV and complain about his shoes getting soaked through from the snow.

You went back into the warm house, shut the door, and locked it behind you. You tapped on it once, turning away with a smile. Now…down to real business.

True to his word, Terry came over nearly every day for the next two weeks fixing things around the house. He managed to find a way to annoy the ever loving hell out of you, but he also made you laugh so hard, you nearly snorted tea out of your nose. 

You found inspiration with the little things he did or said. Until “Wesley”, your male main character, started to move and sound like Terry in your mind. You would feel bad, except there was no chance in hell Terry would ever read this book. Ever. 

The beginning came together smoothly in your mind. Wesley, the too-serious wolf shifter investigator, was married to his work, only going home long enough to eat, shower, and sleep. Gabrielle, the famous tech genius by day, was also a major thief by night. And as a surprise to no one, Wesley didn’t know he was investigating Gabrielle’s latest crime, the theft of a magic orb from a private collection. 

Now…where could they bump into each other… a blind date sounded interesting to you but nothing too easy. Nothing too cliche. Hmm…grocery store? She stumbles upon him after shift? Maybe it’s a full moon and he protects her? 

You groaned and backspaced. You were thinking too hard on this one. This one wasn’t coming together in your mind. You looked back over your character descriptions; maybe there was something there to spark interest. 

Heavy boots stomped down the hallway from the bedroom as Terry had taken a look at the closet door. So many broken hinges. What were people renting this house for? Parties where they pretended to be animals, swinging from the ceiling? 

You snorted at your own joke just as Terry entered the living room. You looked at him and stopped laughing but Terry raised an eyebrow. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said. 

He chose a dark gray hoodie this time, the same cream colored beanie, and dark jeans. His toolbox was held loosely in his big hands, and your body flushed with heat. Lost in the brainstorming fog, you hadn’t had a chance to play with Laz and your body reminded you of that. Painfully. 

“All done in the bedroom?” You asked.

Terry eyed you and you blinked innocently at him. Even as his eyes made your pussy flutter. Down girl, down girl, DOWN girl…

“Done. Unless you found something I need to fix?” He asked. 

You squinted at him but for once, his face was unreadable. You couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a double entendre or not. Maybe you were just a horny mess. You’d have to look at your period tracker to see if you were ovulating. Because at the moment, you were one step away from asking that man to fix your dripping pussy.

“No, no, no, no. All good,” you muttered. If you couldn’t get some, then at least you could write the filthiest things for Wesley and Gabrielle. As soon as you figured out how they meet. 

Terry moved into the kitchen, setting his toolbox down. “I’ll check the windows. There’s a storm moving up here in a week or so. You good on firewood?” He asked.

“I can’t just use the heater?” You asked. 

“What if the power goes out?” He asked.

“That really happens? Or are you trying to scare me?” You asked. Well damn. You didn’t have the power going out on your list of tragedies that could happen while you were out here. You knew it could happen but it was rare that you experienced it. One of the pitfalls of staying in someone else’s place. You didn’t have all of your emergency kits. 

There was one in your rental car but that was inadequate as hell. You sighed. Fuck. You were going to have to venture into town anyway. You glanced at your laptop. You had the major story beats fleshed out, but filling in the rest was giving you a headache behind your eye. 

Still, you itched to keep going after it with a hammer. You wanted to keep pushing yourself and see if you couldn’t solve your problem. It was like you just weren’t feeling this one for some reason, despite being overjoyed at the sexy idea.

“Not trying to scare you,” he promised.

You pouted. “I haven’t tried lighting a fire yet. So I don’t know about the firewood,” you said, feeling like you were five years old for not checking something so crucial. But! You would give yourself grace. You didn’t know before but now you’d make it a point to check everything before venturing off to la la land in your head. 

Terry nodded. “I’ll check then,” he said. 

“Thank you. Really,” you said.

“My pleasure, chipmunk,” he said with a chuckle.

“You get on my damn nerves!” You yelled after him as he left the house with a booming chuckle. You shook your head as you waited for him to return. 

Though this was meant to be a retreat for you, to explore on your own without the watchful eye of your family, you kind of liked having Terry around. He managed to pull you from your spiraling about your writing in the nick of time. You were able to return to your novel with a second wave of inspiration. 

But this meet cute was kicking your Black ass. Like this should have been the easiest part. But it was often the easiest parts that tripped you up the most. 

Terry reentered the house, kicking his shoes on the mat before stepping inside. The door banged shut behind him, a strong wind passing over you before dispersing in the warm house. 

“Firewood’s low. After it thaws a bit, I’ll chop more,” he said.

Mmm, Terry…chopping wood…mm, mm, mm. You had to go on a date with Laz tonight. Maybe a little post nut clarity would work in your favor. 

“Thanks. Is there anything I can get you from the store? I’ll need to head down the mountain after all,” you said.

“Road may be slippery right now. You’d be better off going tomorrow,” he said. He pulled his toolbox closer and flipped it open. 

You placed your laptop on the coffee table in front of you and then stood up, letting your inside throw blanket slip from your shoulders. You stretched, your limbs and back popping in some areas as you twisted one way and then another. 

You crossed closer to him, going towards the kitchen for a cup of tea. If you were going to brave the outside world, you’d need a little help. As the kettle warmed up on the counter, you faced Terry and leaned against the edge. 

How to put this without sounding batshit crazy? “It’s important for me to go today,” you said. “Preferably before the sun goes down.”

Terry scrunched up his face. “Is there a special vampire version of chipmunks I don’t know about?” 

“You get on my nerves!” You said and giggled. Terry smirked with you as you giggled and you slowly quieted down. You cleared your throat. “No, it’s just important. I do take my safety seriously. Maybe more so than most.” 

Terry eyed you with those beautiful eyes of his before nodding. “Alright, I’ll take you,” he said.

“Wait, what? No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. I can get down myself,” you said. 

“No one said you couldn’t. But the roads really can get slippery if you don’t know where to look. The snow doesn’t stick to the ground like it used to and it can make driving those twisting roads more dangerous.” 

You put your hands on your hips and stepped closer, nothing but the narrow corner of the kitchen island between you. “I don’t need a babysitter, Terry,” you said. 

Terry held up his hands. “I’m not a babysitter. I’m a handyman,” he said.

You pinched your lips together to keep from smiling. He was truly going to make you put him through the wall. 

“I wouldn’t feel right letting you go down the mountain by yourself. Not that you’re not capable. But because the roads really are that dangerous. And I’d rather not have to come dig your ass out of a ditch,” he said.

“Ouch,” you said, picturing just that scenario. The roads seemed like a twisty maze, full of sharp corners and narrow lanes. Driving up when the roads were clear in the morning hadn’t been that much of a hassle but you weren’t too sure about going back down. It was why you tried to bring as much stuff with you as you could, to avoid that exact circumstance.

“Go get dressed,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. 

You prickled. “Don’t tell me what to do,” you said. Did he hear the breathiness in your voice? Because holy hell. That voice needed to boss you around more often.

Terry lifted his sleeve to look at his watch. “Daylight’s wasting,” he said.

You scowled. “I’m getting dressed because I decided to and because I concede that I don’t know these roads that well. Not because you told me to,” you said. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, eyes dancing with mischief. Ugh. You bet he ran his mama ragged growing up. 

The kettle clicked as it was done, the boiling water settling down. You poured a mug full and took it with you to the bedroom and sipped it while you got dressed. 

You opted for a simple pair of jeans, boots, and your favorite purple hoodie. You didn’t know how Terry didn’t walk around with a jacket as well. Every bite of air you felt outside chilled you down to the bone. 

Leaving your bedroom, Terry eyed you up and down before jerking his head for you to follow. You locked the door behind you and then followed Terry to his truck. Your combined footsteps crunched on the snow underfoot, leaving footprints that quickly disappeared in the gentle snowfall. 

You looked up towards the sky, grinning at the overcast sky. Flurries floated down, landing on your cheeks, eyelashes, and lips. You licked away a snowflake that landed on you and looked towards Terry, smiling softly at you.

“You must think I’m silly,” you said.

“Not what I’m thinking,” he said. You stared but he didn’t say anything more. He just smirked and held open the passenger door for you. The truck was bigger up close and you had a hard time holding onto the door and climbing in.

“Here,” Terry said, gently sliding his hands around your waist. You looked over your shoulder at him. He was close enough to see how pretty and long his eyelashes were. It wasn’t fair that he was pretty down to the individual hairs on his lashes. 

His big hands felt like heaven on your hips as he helped you lift into his truck. His hands slid from your waist and you missed the heat of it instantly. Terry cleared his throat and then closed the door. 

You eyed him as he rounded the front of his truck, climbed in, and started the car. He turned the heater on full blast and before long, you were headed down the mountain. The type of road you were on was paved and everything, but every so often, you’d hit a patch of woods on the side of the road and there were guard rails to prevent you from toppling over.

Terry took the turns slowly, but expertly. Your eyes were drawn to his hands every time the steering wheel slipped through his fingers while he turned. He kept his nails trimmed and clean, causing you to bite your lip, thinking of him fingering you. 

No, you stop that, you chastised yourself. He was not a piece of meat. But sweet fuck, the packaging was pretty.

“How’s the writing going?” Terry asked.

“Huh?” You asked. You heard him, you just needed more time to let your brain get off nasty mode. Though, who were you kidding? It stayed nasty. 

Terry repeated his question. He took a long turn that caused you to lean against your seatbelt. It dug across your chest and you moved it to a more comfortable spot. 

“Good. I think. I can never tell. But I’m still trying to figure out how the characters meet,” you said.

“It’s that important?” He asked. 

You nodded, though he didn’t see because he was being a good driver. He kept his eyes faced forward, driving carefully down the road. Every so often, the woods would break and there would be someone’s property, full of horses or cows. You marveled at a large brown cow hanging out just because. 

“The meet cute is one of the most important parts of the book. It sets the tone for the relationship,” you said.

“Yeah? How so?” He asked.

“Are you sure you want to hear about all this? You don’t have to be polite,” you said, giving him an easy out. 

“I like listening to you,” he said.

Oh. You smiled, looking down at your hands in your lap. You launched into the nitty gritty of romance writing. The less glamorous side of it. It took you a long time to learn when to linger, when to skip ahead, and when to let the characters give into the chemistry. You weren’t always sure you pulled it off, but your sales were steady so you’d take it. 

Terry listened the entire time, asking more and more questions to feed his curiosity. He still threw in teases about your voice, the subject matter, and your little smut buddies, your writing group that talked about sex all day long. 

He pulled the truck into a plaza with a few different stores spread out. “You’re gonna tell me guys don’t talk about sex all day? Why’s it a problem when women do it?” 

Terry pulled into an available parking spot and turned the car off. The chill from outside immediately crept in, forcing the warm air to evaporate. “Sure, but we don’t write it down or send porn to each other,” he said.

“We do not send porn!” You said. Liar, liar. You had sent a porn link to your group chat earlier to discuss the inspo for Wesley. 

Terry gave you an incredulous look before getting out of the truck. Your heartbeat sped up as he walked around to your side. His hands would be on you again. You liked it. Perhaps too much, because when he opened the door, you jumped. 

“You good?” He asked.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Terry steadied you by the waist as you climbed out of his massive truck. When he set you on the ground, your hands lingered on his forearms. Realizing you were holding on, you hummed and stepped away with a smile.

You went shopping, picking up essentials for a quick emergency kit. Flashlight with extra batteries, bottled water, granola bars with a long shelf life, back up portable chargers for your phone, extra over the counter meds, first aid kit, whistle, Lysol wipes, hand sanitizer, paper soap, and matches. 

Terry’s eyebrows rose with each new item you picked up, working off your memory of your home and work kits. So you liked to be prepared, so what. You were only mildly embarrassed as he walked with you down each aisle, adding in things you hadn’t thought of for snow weather. Extra thick socks, thermals, extra scarf and beanie. Just in case. 

“Thank you, Terry, really,” you said as Terry helped put the items in the bed of his truck. 

“You can thank me by swinging by the bar with me. I’m pretty hungry. You?” He asked. 

You grinned. “Was this your plan all along?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he said and smirked. Ugh. He was too fucking pretty. It made you sick really. Sick with fucking lust. Maybe a drink was just what the doctor ordered. 

“Fine. But you could have just asked, you know,” you said.

“I know.” After he helped you in the car, he made the short trip to the bar he told you about.

The parking lot was large but mostly empty. It was nearing the evening and the temperature dropped bit by bit, your breath escaping in clouds. Terry escorted you up the long wooden stairs towards the earthy bar.

Inside, the place was bigger than you expected with two distinct sections. On the right, there were dining tables set up for bigger groups. Some of those tables were filled up and there were TVs stationed around turned to various games. 

Terry said hello to the staff as he escorted you to the left, where the main bar was set up. The tables on this side sat higher off the ground and it had bar stools pushed close to the table. There was a door that led out onto a patio for outside dining but no one sat outside at the moment. 

Terry pulled out a bar stool for you and helped you climb on. He effortlessly sat, his long legs having no trouble touching the ground. Bastard. 

The bartender, introduced as Adam, came around to take your drink orders. “I am a cider girlie. What’s good?” You asked Adam.

Adam stroked his silky salt and pepper beard and looked behind him. “We got a few things. How you feel about blueberry?” 

“Blueberry cider?” You asked.

Adam grinned. “If you don’t like it, it’s on the house,” he said. Adam leaned forward on the bar top and you smiled back. Oh, he was adorable. 

Terry cleared his throat. “How’s Melissa?” Terry asked, bringing a beer to his lips and sipping. 

Adam’s smile didn’t waver. “She left me. I’m all alone in my modest, but spacious house,” Adam said, never taking his eyes from you.

You giggled and waved him off. “Oh stop!” You said. 

“With a beautiful woman like you, how can I?” Adam asked. 

Terry made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl. You side eyed him as he shared a glance with Adam. Adam knocked on the bar top with a grin and then moved away to grab you a blueberry cider. He popped the top for you and waited for you to take a sip.

It was…actually delicious. You nodded. “Okay, not bad, Adam,” you said.

Adam’s permanent grin spread wider. “I aim to please,” he said. 

You hid your giggle behind your hand and shook your head. “Did Melissa really leave you?” You asked. 

Adam groaned and looked at Terry. “Thanks, T. Yes, she really did. But only to visit her parents. I still needed to work,” Adam said. 

“Aw, why’d you get stuck with holiday duty? You piss off the boss?” 

“He is the boss,” Terry grumbled. 

You smiled at him. These two. “I bet ya’ll get into so much trouble together,” you said.

“Too much. And it was always Terry’s idea,” Adam said. 

“Fuck outta here,” Terry said and chuckled. Adam launched into a story about growing up with Terry, running around like the latch key kids they were. Adam had dared Terry to jump off a rock formation near a creek which got both their asses handed to them by Terry’s mama. 

You laughed through the story, Adam an amazing storyteller. Terry filled in details grudgingly, pulled from him the more Adam kept going. 

Your food arrived in the middle of Adam speaking. You ordered tiger sauce wings and the chicken was huge. It came with fries and you immediately dug in, your hunger taking over something vicious. 

Adam finally left you two alone as Adam had to tend to more and more people as the night dragged on. 

“Your friend is funny,” you said. 

Terry grunted. “But he doesn’t get on your nerves?” He asked. 

“Nope. Guess you bring it out of me,” you said. 

Terry rolled his eyes but dug into his own steak and potatoes. You both lobbed questions back and forth, learning more about each other now than over the two weeks he fixed minor things around the rental. 

You downed cider after cider, getting lost in the way Terry told stories. He had a slower approach than Adam, but he was no less engaging. With that voice of his, he set the scene perfectly as a narrator. 

The cider warmed you from the inside out, making your face flush with heat. But it was Terry’s voice that had something else flushing as well. Your pussy fluttered every time he licked the corner of his mouth while he spoke. 

It ached every time you spoke and his focus was completely on you. He didn’t blink away, he didn’t look down, he didn’t interrupt. It only highlighted how much you craved that. Your family and friends only had so much patience for you before they were off, dominating the conversation in ways you couldn’t actively participate in. It felt more like they just wanted someone to talk at, not with.

Not the case with Terry. He included you in the conversation, stretching it, and flowed effortlessly from one topic to the next. There was rarely a lull in your conversation and your heads dipped closer and closer together the more you spoke. 

The crisp apple and blueberry taste coated your tongue but also loosened your lips. “I see it all so clearly in my head, but then I get too much in my head, and it all comes crashing down. I can’t connect with this one for some reason,” you said. 

Terry had asked you more about novel writing, the concept completely foreign to him. He confessed that he didn’t think that much effort went into it. Maybe not for others. But for you, it felt like you agonized over every single word. Were you true to the characters? Did anything make sense? Would it hit for others like it hit for you? 

“Why’s it not connecting for you?” Terry sipped his second beer, as sober as a judge. While you felt too relaxed. 

You sighed and looked away from him, peeling the label off of the bottle with your nail. “No offense, but men. I usually have a man to play with while writing to keep the inspiration going but sex-only arrangements only work if the guy initiates it. If I tell them I don’t want anything more, that’s when they get in their feelings,” you said with a shiver. 

Terry’s grin spread slowly across his lips, revealing a neat row of teeth. Oh, my. He was damn delicious. “So you treat them like a ho and they get mad?” 

“Yes!” You tapped his shoulder. Finally, a man who got you. “Like ugh, I know what I want and it’s not these dudes I find. I won’t settle for anything less than what I write about on the daily. So no, I don’t want to date, a girl just wants to get fucked, you know? No talking, no giggling, just work me over like a screen door in a hurricane and then get the fuck out,” you said. You nodded your head to emphasize your point. 

You sighed deeply and smiled at Terry, your eyes drooping. You were a little tipsy. Terry lifted an eyebrow and then your words echoed in your mind. Your jaw dropped. Oh god. You were mortified. 

“I-I am so sorry. That was so rude,” you said.

Terry lifted his fingers in a small wave. “Naw, you’re good,” he said.

“No, wow. That was inappropriate. I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. We should go, please,” you said. 

Terry turned towards you on the bar stool. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one that asked, chipmunk,” he said. 

Your cheeks were still on fire. It was one thing to talk like this with your girlfriends or your sister, or even your writing group. That was normal. But you talked with Terry as if you’d known him forever. It took you one business year to make friends, putting them through the gauntlet to see if they’d actually stick around. More than that to let your freak flag fly. 

“If you truly want to go, we will. But I promise, we’re cool. You don’t have to censor yourself around me,” he said.

And somehow, that permission made your shoulders droop from around your ears. You nodded, taking a sip of water. You didn’t have to apologize for being true to yourself. And it was like you crossed some invisible social boundary with Terry. Conversation flowed more smoothly, your heads dipped closer together, and your shoulders brushed against each other.

“So what are you looking for then? If not these dudes you meet,” he said. 

You spent the rest of the night diving into past dating history and what you looked for in a partner. Terry shared what he liked as well. Someone that laughed at his world-stopping jokes, someone kind, and someone goofy.

Instantly, you compared yourself to the small list of women he’d been with. The traits he looked for. Did you fit the bill? Were you someone he could shove through the mattress? 

It seemed wild to think about that even though you already swore him off. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested. You were too interested. Too aware. Too conscious of him. Of the way he moved, talked, or laughed. You anticipated what would make him smile, what would make him groan, or what would make him roll his eyes. 

He was hands down the only man that could make you lose your marbles and you hadn’t even taken him to bed. The thought filled you with so much dread and fear, that you had to push him away to stay sane. You had to keep him firmly on the other side of the brain before your inner romantic started planning your wedding in your mind.

You could easily fall for Terry Richmond. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to survive if he couldn’t. Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way you craved. Not in the way you wrote about, book after book, story after story, chasing a phantom man in your mind that loved you in the way you hungered for. 

Adam called last call and gave Terry the sober vibe check. Which consisted of Terry holding his middle finger to nose while standing on one leg for a minute. You laughed at the sight, instantly taking a picture because there was no chance in hell you wanted to forget the look on his face. 

He flipped you the bird while he settled with Adam and then escorted you outside. The wind was bitter, biting through your jacket and hoodie. Terry stepped closer to you, taking the brunt of it as the wind came from his direction.

You joked on the way to his truck, nudging him every so often as you walked. The liquor loosened you both up, navigating the newfound familiarity together. Whether it was by intention or by accident, the touches were not unwelcome.

At his car, you leaned against the truck. You nudged your chin towards the bar. “It’s a great place. I see why you wanted to show it to me,” you said.

He leaned a hand against the car, blocking most of the wind. But it had the added benefit of bringing him warmth closer. He smelled delicious like the outside air he belonged to. Like pine needles and cinnamon. 

“Figured you might. Did it help with your book?” He asked.

You gasped. “Was that the goal?” You asked.

He shrugged. “A little. I figured you were too in your head,” he said.

“You think you know me, Terry Richmond,” you said and tapped his chest. He rocked back on his heels as if it actually hurt him and you rolled your eyes.

“No. But I’m learning to,” he said.

You giggled nervously as you blinked up at him. Light from the signs on the bar barely reached, but it highlighted him from behind. Light cut across his jaw and cheek and made his lashes glow at the tip.

Terry stepped closer, giving you all the room to step away or block him. But that was the last thing your body wanted. You stayed put, sliding your hands against his broad chest. Your fingers curled around the fabric and he sighed. 

He brought his face closer to yours and inhaled. You hummed just as his lips pressed against yours. There was nothing hurried about it. Nothing filthy or salacious. But it warmed you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. 

Terry drew back and looked you in the eyes. You didn’t need to say anything. Didn’t need to share anything. You supposed kissing him was inevitable. Fated. 

Terry tucked you into his truck and his hands lingered, reluctantly letting you go only because you were seated and there was nothing to help with anymore. You smiled at him and he finally closed the door. It gave you enough time to let loose the breath you held as he walked around.

He drove carefully back up the mountain. Snow had stuck to the road in some areas, so Terry went extra slow to be careful. If it weren’t for his huge lights, you wouldn’t be able to see a got damn thing.

It was pitch black outside, as if the world had disappeared during your ascent. As soon as the headlights passed on to something else, the darkness encroached and gobbled it back up. It was trippy. Yet strangely called to your inner emo. 

The ride was mostly silent, soft music playing on the radio too low for you to pick up words. Terry found your rental without a hitch and came around to let you out of his truck. He walked with you to the front door and hovered outside of it while you stepped in.

You put your head on the door, swinging back and forth. In a minute, Terry would have to fix that one too. You giggled at your joke and Terry smirked.

“What’s so funny, chipmunk?” He asked. 

You told him and Terry groaned and shook his head. “That was a terrible joke,” he said.

“What! No it wasn’t!” You squeaked with your outrage, sputtering for the right words to defend yourself. You could call your jokes bad, he couldn’t. You didn’t know why just yet, but he couldn’t. 

“Was to,” he said and stepped closer. Terry’s eyes drooped as he leaned his shoulder against the door frame. He took up the majority of it, so large and imposing. Yet his energy was nothing but peaceful and quiet, setting you at ease in a way only a thorough cleaning could achieve.

“Was not,” you said, holding your ground. You wanted to invite him in. Wanted to go ahead and explore what he started.

Terry sighed and dug his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Goodnight, chipmunk,” he said. 

Oh. You matched his sigh and rolled your eyes. “Good night, Terry,” you said. You’d have to think of a good nickname for him. Like Big Bird…Clifford…whenever it came to you, you were gonna hit him with it. 

Terry stepped back and waited while you closed and locked the door. You heard his boots travel down the steps and into his awaiting truck. 

You leaned your back against the cold door and sighed once more. If you were a chipmunk, then the only tree you wanted to climb was him.

“Girl,” you said, drawing the word out.

“Girl, what?” Your best friend, Whitley, asked. 

“This motherfucker out here chopping wood on Christmas Eve,” you said. Terry stopped by a week later, finally coming around to chop more wood for the fireplace. You had forgotten all about it, feeling better now that you had an upgraded emergency kit.

But then Terry took off his hoodie, revealing a silver blue T-shirt that really brought out the blue in his eyes. He blamed the storm, criticizing you for not paying more attention to the weather channel.

Um, and miss bingeing Alex Cross for the umpteenth time? Yeah, no thanks. You called him an old man while he grinned and went outside, round to the side. There was a tree stump there and a small pile of chopped firewood. 

Terry took the larger, whole pieces and went to work. Some he cracked in one go, his powerful muscles bunching and contracting with the effort. The axe was decisive, snapping and echoing in the surrounding woods. 

Terry used the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow and you got a front row seat to his abs. 

You moaned into the phone and Whitley grunted. “Girl, uh uh. Put me on video or something. You can’t be moaning like that and I don’t get to see too.”

Fair, she was right. You hurried and put her on video, tilting the phone to look at him through the window. Though he faced forward, he rarely looked up while he worked on the firewood as if it stole something from him.

You bit your lip, needing that same focus while he fucked you stupid. You wanted to be fucked so hard that you forgot your ABCs.

“Oh damn,” Whitley said, moaning with you. 

Lord, he was fine. This so wasn’t fair. Not even in the slightest. “And you ain’t rode that big dawg yet?” Whitley asked.

“Girl, no. Look at him. He would snap my ass in half and then eat my heart on his way out,” you said. 

Terry took a break, lodging the axe in the tree stump. He wiped his forehead with his shirt once more and you and Whitley sighed in appreciation. Wisps of his breath clouded in the air, sunlight shining brightly on Terry. 

“I say this with all the love in my heart. You stupid ho, go ride that man!” Whitley yelled into the phone. Since she was on speaker, you ducked in case Terry looked towards you. He didn’t need to see you being a creeper. 

When you deemed it safe, you slowly stood back up. Terry stretched his thick biceps, causing his shirt to ride up. His belly peeked from underneath, giving you a glimpse of his belly button. You felt no better than an 18th century man but your core was in full agreement. Your clit throbbed, painfully. His tattoos poked out from beneath his short sleeves and you wondered what the story was behind each one. 

“Now what if he looked over here? Now we both looking stupid ‘cause you don’t know how to shut up,” you said. 

Whitley giggled and sighed. Terry picked up the axe and continued chopping. He leaned forward, grabbing a whole piece, and then placed it on the stump. He hefted the axe above his head and let it fall with force behind it, splitting it in two. 

“Got damn. Maybe I need to visit you up there, friend,” Whitley teased.

“Um, no,” you said.

Whitley giggled. “Then if that’s your man, go get him!” 

You grumbled to her, listing off reasons why you absolutely shouldn’t. But night after night, little Laz Alonso wasn’t cutting it. Ever since the bar, ever since the kiss, you hadn’t been able to keep him from your mind.

It was his face that you stroked yourself too. His voice that you moaned to. His eyes that set you off but it was empty. Sure it felt good, but you needed more. You needed the heft of a man on top of you, splitting you open, talking nasty in ya ear.

Spicy audios and a vibrator just didn’t have the same effect. Not when you wanted some body heat. When you wanted the rough scratch of a beard on your skin. Fingers buried to the knuckle. 

“What am I gonna do when he get me addicted to that monster in his pants and I can’t have no more? You really want me out here like a crackhead, begging for dick? You wanna come bail me out of jail because I was banging on his door at 3am?” You asked.

Whitley howled with laughter as you kept going, describing all the ways Terry would have you acting out of character. And you wouldn’t feel a lick of shame about it. You’d stand outside buck ass nekkid in the cold, brutal winter if it meant you’d get to hop on it again. 

“Stop, my stomach hurt! Stop it!” Whitley yelled in between pulls of air. 

You finally giggled with her, eyes still on Terry. The pile of wood next to him grew more and more and you wondered how long he expected this storm to last? Or if he had that little faith in the central heating. 

Terry glanced towards the house and you ducked, heart in your throat. “I think he saw me,” you whispered. 

Whitley giggled and shook her head. “How you gonna explain that one?” She asked. 

“I’ll tell if you if works,” you said. You hung up with her and then grabbed two bottles of water from the pantry. 

You threw on your hoodie and jacket, leaving the house. You slid-walked towards the side of the house, the snow giving way and making you earn it. You huffed as you made it around the side.

Terry stopped chopping and watched you struggle. He lodged the axe into the stump and then placed his hands on his narrow hips. The silver blue T-shirt clung to his body with sweat. If he were to wring it out, you’d bet it’d fill a bucket. 

When you got closer, Terry lifted an eyebrow. “You know chipmunks s’posed to hibernate in the winter,” he said. 

“Oh shut up,” you said, shaking your head. “I saw you struggling so I decided to come give you the break you needed.”

You handed him the bottle of water and then unscrewed your own. “Saw me struggling, huh,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. Or were you imagining it? Fuck. You were losing touch with reality now. 

His eyes slanted towards you as he tilted his head back and gulped down the bottle of water. He didn’t stop for a breath. He kept going, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. His bicep could probably crush steel. Veins ran down the length of his arm and saliva pooled in your mouth. 

“That’s a lot of firewood,” you said, your voice unnaturally rough. You cleared your throat and drank your own water. 

You finally figured out how Wesley and Gabrielle meet so the rest of Act 1 flew from your fingers. You made it to the part where they have sex for the first time and Gabrielle would discover that Wesley was an investigator. 

You’d had sex on the brain all day. A little obsessively so considering it was Christmas Eve. So Terry being out here, looking like that and chopping wood like that... It was like a cosmic nudge in the pants to ride him ‘till the cows came home. Your resolve weakened the more you spent in his presence. This was why you needed to stop listening to Whitley’s ass. 

“Want to make sure you’re prepared,” he said, his accent seeping through his words. 

You drank more of your water, shivering as a brutal wind kicked up. “Oh, that’s cold,” you said. Was that the universe telling you to take your ass in the house? Surely, it would be on your side, telling you to keep your eye on the prize and not fuck the incredibly hot handyman. 

The wind blew again, the cold light of the sun disappearing all together. You looked upwards. Clouds rolled across the sky as the temperature dropped ten degrees. “Fuck,” you shivered, rubbing your arms. 

Terry scowled. “The storm’s early. Go get inside,” he said. 

Overhead, trees swayed violently with the gathering wind. “What about the firewood?” You asked.

“I got it,” he said. He waved for you to go ahead of him but you didn’t want to just leave him to do all the work. He moved carefully, heading to the side of the house and grabbed a blue tarp. He jogged to the stump and loaded the tarp with firewood. “Go get inside!” 

“It’ll be faster if I help,” you called back over the wind. 

You ran towards the stack, helping him load it with the firewood he chopped. He scowled but he couldn’t argue with you once you started. In no time, you had it loaded with as much firewood as he could move. 

He pushed you towards the house, pulling on the tarp and dragged it across the snow. Snow flurries kicked up and swirled around you as you ran-slid towards the front door. Terry was hot on your heels, huffing, clouds of breath in front of him. 

You held onto the railing as you jogged up the steps, already knowing Terry wouldn’t want you to help with the wood. He gathered up all four corners and lifted with his knees, carrying the tarp up the stairs like it was nothing. 

You opened the door, the wind doing most of the work. The door banged against the wall and Terry stomped in after and dropped the firewood. “Close the door,” he said and went back outside.

“Wait!” You called after him. He kept walking so you did as he said, closing the door behind him. You had to push against the wind but you finally managed to close it. You looked outside of the window beside the door. 

The snow blew around hard and fast, obscuring visibility minute by minute. You could barely make out Terry’s outline as he ran to his truck and opened the bed. He pulled out a bag and then closed the bed of the truck, locking it behind him. He jogged towards the front door, holding his bare arm up as he did so. 

A second later, he opened the door, entered, and then closed it behind him. He shook himself out, flinging snow across the entrance. “I’ll clean that up,” he said. Water clung to his scruffy beard and plastered his shirt to his body. His nipples poked out and you dragged your eyes away. 

“You need to get in the shower, now,” you said.

“What?” Terry asked and his eyes went wide. 

“The last thing you want to do is get sick. Go warm your body up in the shower. I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer,” you said. Your words sunk in a second later and then you giggled. “I mean, leave your clothes outside the door, obviously.”

Terry smirked, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said. He nodded towards the fireplace. “You know how to start that? We should conserve power tonight, just in case.” 

“I agree. But no, still haven’t learned how to start it. You go get in the shower, the heater will be fine for now,” you said. 

Terry looked like he wanted to argue, pinching his lips together. But then he shook his head and took off towards the bathroom. He peeled off his shirt as he went and you bit your lip. 

Sweet fuck, that was not what you meant! Got damn. Your eyes widened as you looked at the dip in his back. The expanse of shoulders. The tattoo on the back of his right arm. Sweet fuck, almighty. 

Terry looked back at you as he went into the bathroom. He ducked to enter and then shut the door behind him. He caught you staring. He so, so caught you staring. A beat later, he opened the door and tossed out his shirt, jeans, and socks. Not his underwear though. Bastard.

You put the items in the dryer and let it run for a cycle. You closed the closet doors on the other side of the kitchen and then started up a kettle. Your fingers tapped on the countertop waiting for the water to finish.

All the while, the shower was loud through the walls. On the other side of it, Terry was showering. He was naked. He was running soap all over that massive, long body. Your panties grew so damp, you wondered if you had enough time to dry them before he got out of the shower.

You needed all the strength you could muster. Because right now, you couldn’t remember a single fucking reason why you couldn’t hop on Terry’s dick. Really, what was the price of heartbreak? A wild ride in the sack? It just may be worth it for Terry Richmond. 

The shower turned off just as the kettle clicked off beside you. You jumped and then closed your eyes. You were an adult. You could keep yourself in check. 

You poured some tea for yourself but you weren’t sure what he drank. You didn’t like beer so you didn’t have any in the house. You weren’t expecting any visitors. 

Wind blew against the window making you jump once more. You were too hyperaware. Too attune with every little noise or screech.

You retrieved his clothes from the dryer and then knocked on the door. Terry opened it a crack and you made sure to keep your eyes on his face. Nowhere south. “Clothes,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said. He opened the door wider and grabbed his clothes from you. His fingers grazed yours and you gasped. He was so soft and warm. Steam poured out the room, fanning across your face. He smelled like your soap and you bit back a moan.

“Yup,” you squeaked and then left him to it. Tea, tea, all you needed was some tea. Some sleepytime tea to do the trick. But you weren’t sure how you were going to sleep with a storm raging outside.

You hated to admit it but your winter getaway turned out to be anything but idyllic. And you had a teensy, smallish, not even worth mentioning fear of storms. It was the bigness of it. The fact that it made you feel so tiny, so insignificant, so aware of your mortality. That nature was the foremost authority and you lived and breathed by its good graces. 

It was an annoying feeling to you as a writer. You created entire worlds at whim. Played with characters like dolls. But you held no such power in real life. 

Terry left the bathroom, his footfalls softer now that he wasn’t wearing boots. Freshly dressed in his warm clothes, he looked younger without his beanie. He sported a mini, curled afro atop his head. It gave him a mountain man sort of look, like he would be at home out there in the woods. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

You nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you were into tea,” you said.

Terry waved you off. “Water is fine,” he said. He moved over towards the living room and opened the tarp on the floor. He knelt on one leg as he worked on stoking a fire to life. The flames gathered traction, flicking orange and yellow light across his features. 

You rolled the bag of tea around a spoon to squeeze excess water out. Then you doctored it how you liked, adding in cold water. You grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the living room as Terry finished with the fireplace.

Terry accepted the bottle, drinking down half of it while he turned off the main heater and sat on the other side of the couch. 

“Looks like we’re having a sleepover. Did you plan this too?” You asked.

“If I were powerful enough to control the weather, I’d use it for more nefarious purposes,” Terry said.

“Like what?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. 

Terry chuckled. “And give up my evil plan? Naw. I ain’t grow up on a chicken farm,” he said.

You laughed and shook your head. “What?” You asked, chuckling more. 

Terry laughed with you. “Chicken Run?” He asked.

“Shut up, you ain’t seen that movie,” you said.

Terry scoffed. “Bet,” he said.

“What’s the young rooster’s name?” You asked.

“Rocky, try again,” he said.

You squinted at him as you thought of your next question. Something only a true fan would know. “Who was the first chicken to go through Mrs. Tweedy’s chicken pie machine?” You asked.

Terry sucked in a breath and widened his eyes. “Okay, tough. But it was Ginger,” he said. 

You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, trying to cast doubt on his answer. He matched your stare, smirk on his lips, and didn’t fold. 

“Okay, fine, you’re right,” you huffed.

Terry laughed and drank the rest of his bottled water. You fell into a comfortable silence, both lost in your thoughts. “I haven’t seen Chicken Run in a while,” Terry said.

“Me neither. We should see if it’s streaming,” you said. You turned on the TV and snuggled under your inside throw blanket. With the heat blowing across your legs, you felt warmer than the heater could ever achieve. 

Before long, you were both laughing at the shenanigans of the claymation movie. You both tossed out quotes, going back and forth about things you noticed in the movie. 

One movie turned to two, throwing on How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It was among your favorite Christmas movies and a perfect distraction against the raging storm outside. The wind knocked harshly against the window every so often, causing your eyes to dart to it and your heart rate to speed up. You hated being such a baby sometimes. 

But, giving yourself grace, storms really could be scary. If it knocked the power out, it could also knock over trees into the house or onto someone’s car. Storms were devastating and of course you’d find them a bit scary. 

Terry scooted closer. “You afraid of storms?” He asked. His voice was like butter melting over a freshly baked biscuit. You hummed and decided to be honest. 

“There’s so many things that could happen in a storm,” you told him. 

He nodded. “I got something to help with that,” he said. 

You turned to him and hummed for him to respond. He scooted closer on the couch, close enough for your shoulder to lean on his. You giggled at his solution. “Stop hugging the throw too,” he murmured and you giggled. 

“This helps storms, huh?” 

Terry nodded. “Hell yeah. Feel better?” 

You pinched your lips together but went on and nodded. “It has its merits.”

As you worked on Wesley and Gabrielle’s relationship, you couldn’t help picturing how Terry would be in a relationship. Would he be the perfect boyfriend? Would he be as annoying as he usually was, always poking at you? 

“Before we get comfortable, we should grab some drinks. I only have tequila or wine,” you said. 

“I’ll take the tequila,” he said, making a face. You laughed and rolled your eyes at him. You got up and went to the kitchen, grabbing your favorite tequila and two shot glasses. You turned off the kitchen light on your way back, bathing the living room in darkness. The flames in the fireplace flickered across the wall, still pumping out delicious heat. 

You poured a shot for each of you, clinked the glasses, and then drank. During the movie, you talked and joked, also quoting this movie back and forth. Terry’s laugh was so adorable and infectious. Was there anything on this man that didn’t scramble your brain? 

He breathed and you were ready to drop your panties and beg for his dick. You were not above begging. But your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You wanted it too badly but you wrestled with your brain. You shouldn’t but you oh so wanted to.

“Can I confess something?” Terry asked. 

You turned your head to him. You had managed to curl into his side, soaking in the heat of his body. You felt every rise and fall of his chest. You licked your lips and Terry’s eyes drooped down. 

“What is it, Terry?” You asked. 

Terry licked his own lips and you couldn’t resist following the movement with your eyes. His lips were so big, so juicy. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss,” he said. His voice was so soft, so velvety, that your shoulders dropped and you leaned in. 

“Me neither,” you said. You shook your head. The kiss invaded all of your senses, leading to distraction even when Terry wasn’t there. All week, you caught yourself veering off to replay the kiss over and over again.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment you threatened me with a poker,” he said and smiled. 

Your chest rose and fell in waves, processing what he was saying. “Don’t play with me, Terry Richmond,” you said. You just couldn’t stand it if he were. 

“When you said what you said at the bar, I wondered what kind of man you’d take to bed. And then I started thinking that I wanted to be the only one in your bed,” he said.

Your mouth dropped open. It’s not that you didn’t know you were gorgeous. It’s not that you didn’t think you could pull someone like Terry. It was the fact that he said it so plainly. So openly. So clearly for your brain to not misinterpret his words. You didn’t have to guess with him. And that was one of the sexiest things ever. 

You blinked a few times. “I–”

“And then I started hoping that you’d let me audition,” he said.

“Audition?” You asked. What the hell was he on about? 

Terry grinned and then leaned closer, bringing his large hand to cup your face. His thumb stroked across your cheek. Your eyes slowly blinked closed, your skin tingling where he stroked. His warm breath fanned across your face, smelling faintly like tequila. 

He rubbed his lips against yours but it wasn’t a full kiss. And that made you want it more. You wanted his lips on yours. You would simply die without it. 

“Let me show off my skills. If I do well, you can use me as inspiration for your latest book,” he said.

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek. “And what do you get out of the arrangement?” You asked.

“You,” he said.

You gasped, staring into his eyes. The low light made his features stand out more. It made his expressions more severe, more striking. You were at a loss for words. This man handed over everything you wanted on a silver platter.

You were so nervous to accept. You had been let down in so many ways by so many men. You had reached a point where you weren’t actively looking for a relationship. You didn’t need some raggedy boy in your phone. 

But Terry was a man. A huge, perfect, wonderful man who got on your last fucking nerve. He always had something smart to say or some new quip to lob at you. But he was also thoughtful. Kind. Funny. Sexy as fucking sin. 

“Are you sure? What if you don’t pass?” You asked.

“Then I’d like to keep trying until you tell me to leave,” he said. He licked your lips and you sighed, ending on a moan. 

“Okay, what will you do for your audition?” You asked. The tequila traveled straight south, making your pussy throb. Your inner thighs tingled even as your breathing increased. 

Terry smirked. He finally crashed his lips to yours, kissing you harshly, brutally. Like he had merely been caged before and you finally set him free. You brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him closer. 

Your moans combined and danced as you leaned closer, pushed harder, kissed back just as fiercely as he did. 

His hands moved underneath your shirt, hands wrapped around your sides, gripping onto your meaty flesh. You moaned, arching your back into him. Terry pulled you closer, made you straddle him. 

An impressive bulge rubbed against your core and you moaned, closing your eyes. Fuck, you were overstimulated already and nothing even happened yet. You knew he had a monster in his pants. You just knew it. 

You made out with Terry like a horny teenager, clashing teeth and biting at each other’s lips. You grinded in his lap, rubbing yourself against him. He groaned, hands lowering to cup your ass. He took two big scoops and squeezed hard, causing you to squeak.

“O-Oh fuck,” you moaned. The pain hurt so good. He kneaded your ass and you dropped your forehead to his shoulder. You moaned low, breathing harshly through your nose. 

“You are so fucking beatiful,” he murmured against your temple. 

“Terry, fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad,” you moaned. 

“Why didn’t you say?” He asked. 

You shook your head. You couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to speak. Your body moved on its own accord, rubbing against his hot erection. 

Terry moved one of his hands to grip your chin and force you to look at him. “Why?” He demanded. 

“You could break me. And that scares me,” you whispered. 

“How do you think I feel?” He asked. “You could rip me apart.” 

You crashed your lips to his, scratched at the nape of his neck. He returned his hand to your ass to squeeze, knead, and mold with his large hands. You moaned into his mouth, needing more friction. 

Terry grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off of him. He made quick work of your jeans, pulled them down your legs, and off in one quick snap. You squealed with laughter, at the physicality of him, yet he still remained sweet and gentle. 

Terry peeled your panties from your body and he groaned. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispered, his voice one of awe. He slipped your panties off as well, biting your thighs as he pulled, and tossed it over his shoulder. 

Your pussy throbbed looking at the way he stared at the heart of you. The smell of your arousal permeated the air and you moaned, smelling how turned on you were. He pushed at your thighs until they rested against your stomach. 

He blew his breath across your pussy gently. “Oh, shit,” you twitched, hand reaching down to cling to his afro.

Terry groaned and blew once more, lowering his face until he was close enough to lick you from entrance to clit and back again. Your back bucked off of the couch, grinding into his face. 

Terry moaned and wrapped his thick lips around your clit. He suckled sloppily, licking you like a dog with its favorite toy. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you moaned, your stomach caving in and your eyes rolling back. 

His tongue was the sweetest torture of pleasure against your pussy. His drool mixed with your essence, causing his sloppy eating to echo in the living room. “Fuck, that pussy good,” he sputtered against your sopping wet pussy. 

“Oh fuck!” You screamed, your orgasm tearing through you too fast for you to comprehend. You flopped on the couch as your body shook and twisted with pleasure. Terry kept eating, slurping up the latest wave of essence on his tongue.

His beard grew more wet, sliding against your skin. It tickled and you wiggled, trying to move. Terry locked his arms around your thighs, shoving his face further into your pussy. His nose tickled the top of your mound and you groaned and moaned, loving the attention but unable to stand the tickling. 

“Hmmmm,” he moaned, shaking his head. His tongue flicked across your clit without mercy, suckling on the swollen nub. 

“Shit! Shit! Wait! Fuck!” You panted. You were out of breath, hardly able to make any sounds as Terry continued to eat you like a starving man to bread. Your stomach caved in once more, your lungs refusing to work any longer. 

You pushed at his forehead but he kept going. Your eyes rolled backwards, your thighs clenched around his head as another orgasm tore through you, yanking your soul around like a ping pong ball. 

Your pussy clenched and unclenched, wanting attention too. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you begged. You loved that he was a munch, Loved, loved it. But fuck you needed to be filled up. You needed to feel him deep in it. 

“Not done yet,” Terry said. He came up for air, his face shiny with your juices. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, savoring it. When he opened it again, he narrowed his eyes. “Show me those pretty chocolate nipples.” 

Your belly flipped painfully. Pussy throbbed. You lifted your shirt slowly, giving him a slight tease. Your overheated skin tingled with awareness as the cotton shifted across your body. 

You revealed your titties and Terry groaned and rolled his hips into the bed. He winked at you. “Play with them while I eat,” he said. He returned to lapping at your pussy and your thighs squeezed around his face. 

You were too sensitive. You jerked with every flick, every suck, and every glide of his lips. Your thighs shook with passion, tingled, and tensed. But you managed to pinch and roll your nipples, squeezing in time with his licks. “Please, please, Terry, fuck! I can’t!” 

He pushed two fingers inside to pump in and out of your entrance. He wrapped his lips around your clit and used some kind of devil, voodoo magic to create a sucking vortex that had you seeing an entire galaxy behind your eyelids. Your mind flashed with dense clouds of pinks, violets, fiery oranges, and the softest greens. 

You lost all ability to speak as another orgasm was wrung from you. You bowed forward, pushing his head into your clit as you came and came with howls and screams loud enough to wake the dead. 

White and black spots danced in your vision as you suffered through aftershocks, ribbons of pleasure causing your nerves to go haywire. “Fuck, fuck,” you twitched. 

You didn’t have the words nor the presence of mind to process what the hell just happened. You were spent. Put out. Dangle you on the clothesline to air out because you were out of it. 

Terry came up for air with a growl, kissing your inner thighs, then your stomach, then climbed up your body to capture your lips with his own. He smeared your essence all over your face and you locked tongues with him eagerly. 

You tasted too good on his tongue. Smelled too good on his lips. “Did I pass? I get the job?” Terry asked in between kissing you stupid. 

You nodded and licked your lips, tasting more of yourself. “You got it, you got it,” you panted. 

“I don’t have a condom, but–”

“I’m clean and on the pill,” you said. You kept up with that shit religiously, setting an alarm and everything. You were too chicken to try any other methods. 

“I swear I’m clean,” he said, going back to kissing your lips. You moaned, and rubbed against his body. 

“Fuck me,” you whined. 

Terry chuckled. “Keep begging, chipmunk,” he groaned. He managed to continue kissing you while he ditched his jeans and underwear. His jeans dropped to the floor with a loud flop. His shirt went next, his muscles bunching as he lifted it off of him. 

He removed your shirt as well, hands coming around to grab your titties. He pushed them together, lowering his mouth to suck on both nipples at the same time. You jerked and whined, grinding on the couch. 

“Please, Terry, fuck me. Fuck me, I need it. I need your big dick to split me open,” you begged.

Terry groaned and moved his right hand between you. He rubbed his dick up and down your folds, gathering up all the slick he could to coat his dick. He pushed into your entrance and your pussy started talking. 

“Mmm, growl at me,” he moaned. “Fuck.” 

He dipped the head of his dick in and out of you, slowly, your pussy doing more than growling as he toyed with your aching hole. You cried every time his tip stretched you. He was easily the biggest you’d ever taken. 

Terry put his left hand on your chest and moved his right hand up to your clit. This thumb pressed on your clit and a strangled noise burst from your throat. “I need you inside me,” you whined. “Please, please.” Your eyes watered.

You were going to lose your mind in a minute. You would dissolve into a puddle of goo or start barking like a dog if he teased you any more. 

Terry moved his thumb in circles around your clit, causing you to sputter and moan, completely lost to the sensation. “Eyes on me,” he commanded.

Your eyes snapped open to him. To the softest gray and darkest blue of his eyes. His eyebrows curved in a severe arch. The same focus he had while chopping wood, he brought to killing you slowly from the inside out. 

His thumb made your pussy relax enough for him to sink in deeper, further, aided by the fresh slick leaking out of you. If it weren’t for the throw blanket, you were sure you’d have to buy Mr. Omar a brand new couch. 

“So wet. Fuck, you’re gripping my shit tough,” he moaned. He flicked his thumb harder.

You sniffled, tears running down your cheeks. “Please, I can’t. I can’t no more!” You yelled. 

Terry leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You moaned and played with his thick tongue, licked his juicy lips, and gently bit his bottom lip. He moaned. “I say when you’re done,” he said.

“Oh fuck,” you said as you lost all control over your body. Terry pushed all the way down to the hilt with a guttural groan. Veins popped out of his neck as he used you to hold some of his weight. 

His dick throbbed, pulsed in time with his own heartbeat inside you. His dick pushed up against your sweet spot and before long, you were cumming on his dick. 

“Yes, yes, cream this dick. Show me you need that shit,” he moaned. He pulled back until he was almost out and then he shoved back in. He increased his strokes the more he did it, your pussy growling on his dick, while he rolled his hips. 

Your nails scratched at his chest as he moved his hands to either side of your stomach. The couch dipped with his weight as he pounded your pussy, punished her for whatever perceived slight against him. 

“Terry!” You screamed. 

“Scream it, baby,” he moaned. He pounded faster, nothing but wet, nasty smacks echoing in the room. Your pussy welcomed him in easily. He glided and fucked you to within an inch of your life. 

“Why you fucking me like this?” You panted. Your thighs were weak against his hips. He pounded so fast that the hair on his thighs created a slight burn on yours. The burn only seeped into your skin, driving your pleasure through the roof. The next one was gonna kill you. 

“Because you cum so pretty. Give me another,” he demanded. How many was his limit? How many would he pull from you? You were scared to find out. 

Tears ran in tiny rivers down your cheeks. The pleasure was too much. Too big. Too wild. Too uncontrollable and fuck, you greedily wanted more. Your head flopped from side to side. You didn’t have another one in you. You couldn’t give him what wasn’t there.

His head dipped to nip at your chin, your neck, and your breast. He suckled your nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. Like a wilted flower with fresh water, you came back to life. 

Electricity buzzed beneath your skin. Terry slipped out and then slapped his dick against your clit. Your pussy juices squelched and droplets bounced off. “Keep taking this dick like a good girl,” Terry moaned.

“Fuck, yes, Terry. Terry, Terry,” you moaned. 

“Cream that shit, fuck,” Terry moaned.

He fucked another orgasm from you. Your nails dug in hard enough to draw blood as you screamed with pleasure, your voice drowning out the roaring wind outside. Terry stroked three more times before finally releasing his nut.

He bathed your insides with hot, throbbing splashes of his cum. He jerked above you, head lolling from side to side as he rode out his climax. 

You both breathed heavily, bodies slick with sweat from the sex and from the still lit fire. You kissed each other with little pecks, needing air too much to lock lips. “Let me taste,” you said.

“Fuck,” Terry groaned. He slipped out of you carefully. You hissed as his glorious pipe slid out of you completely. His cum gushed out, pushed out by your pussy. You couldn’t stop clenching as you got onto your stomach.

You opened your mouth and looked at Terry. He stood up with one foot on the ground and one knee planted on the couch cushion. You gripped onto his waist and pulled him closer. Without hands, he made his dick jerk to attention, still fully hard. You took him in your mouth and hummed at the mix of your flavors. 

You relaxed your jaw and took him in as far as he wanted to go. You controlled your breathing as he gripped your head. He pushed you onto his dick, making you suckle the full length of him. Not all of it fit, so his dick started to poke against your cheek. 

“Lick it all up for me,” he said. His voice. His voice. He could command you to walk through burning flames and you would if it meant that he slutted you out like this every day from now on. 

You suckled him deep, your eyes never leaving his. You communicated without words that the final chink was in place. You were his. Locked in. Mind to mind. Body to body. Soul to soul. You were his to toy with, play with, his to do whatever he fucking wanted. Because you knew down to your bones that no one else would do it for you. No one else would be able to redefine the meaning of sex for you. 

His stare pulled you deeper and deeper into the pool of his eyes. Your eyes drooped as you let yourself get used. He thrust into your mouth, pulling your throat down on his dick. You gagged a bit and he moaned and jerked his hips. He lessened his strokes but kept up the pace. 

Saliva and his pre-cum mixed in your mouth and dribbled down your chin. Your gawking was loud and disgusting as you sucked him down. 

“You’re fucking perfect. Fucking perfect. Fuck, I’m finna bust,” he groaned, his chest rumbling with a growl.

His entire shaft throbbed as he held your head in place while he spilled down your throat. You swallowed his delicious cum, moaning at his taste. His eyes rolled back and you whined at the image. 

You suckled on his tip like candy and he stuttered with a chuckle. “Okay, okay, okay,” he tapped out, gently pushing at your shoulders. 

You giggled and then sat back and wiped your mouth. “Fuck. What the fuck was that?” You asked. 

Terry grinned. He leaned over, kissed you, and then sat next to you. He pulled you into his side, running his hand up and down your back. Your body felt more than relaxed. Floating on cloud nine in a way that you didn’t know was possible. 

“Ever since we met, I’ve been imagining what I’d do to you,” he said. 

“I love the way your mind works,” you huffed.

Terry chuckled and kissed your temple. “I’m just happy to be of service,” he said.

You tapped his chest. “I can’t stand you,” you said.

Terry rained kisses down the side of your face until he could nibble on your ear. “That wasn’t what you said earlier.”

“I cannot be held accountable for the shit I say while you’re balls deep,” you said, holding up your hand. 

Terry gripped your hand with a chuckle and brought it to his chest. He stared into your eyes and then kissed your hand. Then he moved your hand lower and lower, a grin spreading across his face. Your hand wrapped around his thickening dick. 

“Already?!” You asked. 

He shrugged. “Everything about you turns me the fuck on,” he said. 

Terry made quick work of putting out the fire. Then, he brought you into the shower to ‘clean off’. All he managed to do was haul you against the shower wall and dig into your guts once more, filling you to the brim with his searing hot cum. 

You dried each other off on the way to the bedroom before falling asleep as soon as your face hit the pillow. You smiled as you drifted off, the later half of your book filling in from your imagination. With Terry as inspiration, you had enough material to fill three books. 

The next morning, you were on fire. Well, not literally, but Terry’s body heat ensured you never needed a heater or a throw blanket again.

Feeling you move, Terry woke up and kissed your neck. He was curled behind you, his large arm dropped across your stomach. He was too cute when he first woke up. Eyes blinking open. Licking his lips. Face fussy and scrunched up.

“Hm, good morning to you too,” you said, wiggling your ass against his morning wood. 

Terry chuckled and moved his hand to your waist to still your movements. “Don’t play with me,” he said.

You continued to wiggle your ass. “Well, it is Christmas morning. Don’t I get a present?” You asked.

Terry hummed in your ear. “What kind of present?” He asked.

“You,” you said. 

“It’s my pleasure to serve,” he whispered in your ear before lowering himself in the bed, beneath the covers. Your legs fell open as he adjusted himself in between and went to work, licking and suckling and nibbling around your clit and entrance until you were a ball of putty in his hands.

Incoherent nonsense spilled from your lips as he made you glimpse heaven two times before coming up for air. He kissed you, face shiny once more with your essence. You licked it off of him, licked the corners of his mouth, and suckled his bottom lip. 

Terry groaned, sliding into you with ease. “Nasty ass,” he moaned.

But fuck, he was still so big. So nasty. He pounded into you, giving you long deep strokes. He lowered himself closer to your body so that your nipples rubbed against his chest. 

“You fucking me too good!” You screamed.

Terry moaned and closed his eyes. He placed kisses all over your chest, neck, and lips, keeping pace. He carved a Terry shaped hole in your pussy and in your heart, one that he would only be able to fill. 

“Cum on this dick. Let me feel it,” he begged.

Your moans increased. Like his words were just what you needed. You clenched around his dick and he groaned, hips jerking forward, before you finally gave in and gave him what he wanted. 

“Shit, fuck,” he moaned as he came with you, dick twitching and pulsing. You would never get sick of that feeling. Never, ever, ever. 

“Merry Christmas, chipmunk,” he said, panting for air.

“Merry Christmas, Terry.”

Terry spent the remainder of your stay fucking you into oblivion. Every morning, you woke up with new ideas, new tweaks to make the story better and improve on it. The sex scenes, in your very humble opinion, were the spiciest things you’d ever written. Filthy.

When you shared some snippets with your writing community, they about fell out with gleeful gifs and unhinged keyboard smashing. 

Every night, Terry fulfilled his promise of giving you plenty to work with for your books. He twisted you in more ways than one. Folded you like a pretzel. Moved you in positions you’d never heard of. And each session left you so spent, your brain unplugged for the night. 

On your last day there, you spent it wrapped up in the bed with Terry only coming up for air long enough to snack. And then he’d call you chipmunk or give you The Look. The one where he dipped his chin and his eyes lured you in. 

Then you were kissing, touching, and exploring. Then your hand was wrapped around his dick and his fingers were buried in your pussy to the knuckle. You made it a game on who would cum first. You should’ve known you’d lose that battle. Especially when he commanded that you cum on his fingers with that deep voice and Carolina accent.

He would shove his wet fingers into your mouth so you could taste yourself while he fucked you from behind. Or from the front. Or from the side. 

The side was becoming a favorite because you could look at him while still giving him access to your ass. He would smack it and squeeze it. Then you would hold your ass cheeks apart so he could watch his dick disappear inside you. 

Then he’d make a show of licking his thumb and swirling it around your clit to set you off like a bottle rocket. Then you’d scream and scream his name and beg and beg for him to fill you to the brim one last time. 

Just one last time. You just needed to feel it soaking your walls one last time. Really, the last time. Because you did have to get on the road soon. 

You promised to find a way to spend time together. You weren’t that far from the rental and since he had his own cabin, it wouldn’t be so bad to arrange dates and fuck sessions.

You didn’t know what kind of Christmas miracle this was or who upstairs was looking out for you, but Terry Richmond was the best present ever.

Merry Christmas, my loves! Love ya'll so bad!

The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[huntingingoodwill]

civil. (j.m.)

masterlist

desc: you can’t stand joel miller, and he can’t stand you.

pairing: enemies to lovers! joel miller x gn! reader

a/n: this is my gift for the pedrostories secret santa 2024 event!!! i had so much fun writing this for my giftee, @adora-but-ginger. thanks so much for introducing me to the absolute bop which is never let me down by depeche mode which inspired this lil fic. i really hope you enjoy it babes <3 happy holidays!

“You’re an idiot. A big, hulking idiot.” 

“You think I’m big and hulking?”

You could hear the smirk in Joel’s voice, which made equal parts of anger and embarrassment flare up inside of you. You could admit he was… well-built. Sickeningly, disgustingly so. And right now, you wanted to snap his well-built body in two. 

“I’m going to kill you.”  

“I’d like to see you try, but we’re a little tied up at the moment,” his tone was sardonic, his meaning literal - the two of you were in the bed of some raiders’ truck, tied up and blindfolded, being driven to who-knows-where. It was probably for the best, as the restraints around your wrists were the only things stopping you two from choking each other out. 

“And whose fault is that?” you hissed. 

“I’m glad you asked. Yours.” 

“Mine?!” you exclaimed, the anger pulsing through you growing stronger by the minute. “I told you we should avoid the cabin and you still dragged us right into this mess.” 

Joel had insisted the abandoned cabin would be a safe place to rest. The raiders had the same idea, and were quick to pounce on the both of you after coming across your horses outside. They had ambushed the two of you, deciding to bring you back to their camp to figure out what to do with you later - probably nothing too pleasant. They had left your horses behind, and you had overheard them saying they’d come back for them later. 

“Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep when you were supposed to be on lookout, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Joel muttered. 

You sighed, a dull knot of ache forming behind your eyes. It was true. You had fucked up. But he had fucked up too. If it were anybody else with you, the two of you may have been able to admit that, kiss and make up. But you and Joel never got along. You bickered and fought on every patrol you were forced on together, and this was your last straw. You were livid, and he was too. 

“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you didn’t-“ 

“Enough with the goddamn lover’s quarrel!” one of the raiders yelled out from the cab. 

That shut you and Joel up sufficiently, but that word tinged the silence with a shy awkwardness. 

“Lover’s quarrel,” Joel scoffed. 

“Yeah. ‘Lovers’,” you mimic his veneer of nonchalance, poorly veiling the flustered tone in both your voices, “in your dreams.” 

“In yours,” he shot back, immediately rolling his eyes at himself. 

He was too old for this shit. Everytime he was around you, he acted like a petty teenager. You just ignited a flame within him, one that he mistook for the bitter burn of loathing, not knowing it was something else entirely. 

“So, how are we getting out of this one?” you whispered. 

“Why are you asking me? I thought I was an idiot?”

“I wish you could see the look I’m giving you right now, Miller.” 

He lowered his voice to a whisper, unheard by the raiders up front over the rumble of the engine. 

“Admit I’m not an idiot, and I’ll get us out of here.” 

“Oh, come on-“ you started, gritting your teeth with exasperation.

“Or, you can always spend the rest of the day with our new friends here.”

“...You’re not an idiot.” 

“And, who’s in charge?” 

“Oh, fuck y-” 

“I can always let you hitch a ride with these guys and see how you fare on your own,” his voice took on an annoyingly laissez-faire quality. You hated him.

“You’re in charge,” you assented.

“Correct. I hid my knife in my pocket. They missed it when they took away our weapons.” 

Maybe you didn’t hate him.

“Maybe you’re not as big of an idiot as I thought,” you smiled.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Get it out of my pocket, then cut my ropes. Then I’ll cut yours.” 

You shimmied close to him, trying to ignore how the proximity made the heat rise in your collar. You tried to convince yourself it’s a physical reaction to your hatred for him. Like an allergy. 

You managed to slide the knife out, only almost stabbing him in the ass once on a bumpy stretch of road. 

“Hands!” He had grit through his teeth.

“Please, there’s nothing back there to cut. You’re as flat as a board,” you had whispered, immediately blushing and following your words up with a quick: “Not that I’ve been looking or anything.” (You had looked. A couple times. But you’d die before telling him that.) 

Unable to see, you fumbled around a little, careful not to cut him as you sliced through the ropes binding his wrists together. Once free, he lifted his blindfold with careful, quick movements, sure to not let the men in the cab see him, before cutting off the remaining ropes keeping his legs tied together then doing the same for you. 

With the ropes loosened in heaps around your wrists and ankles, you whispered: “What now?” 

His voice was determined, but grim. “We pray.” 

“I gotta take a leak.” One of the raiders mumbled a mere 5 minutes later, after you both had replaced your blindfolds and were acting like two good kidnapees in the back of the truck, in hopes that the men wouldn’t look too closely at the both of you and discover you had freed yourselves. 

“Let’s hope our prayers have been answered. Do you trust me?” Joel asked.

“No.” 

“You’re gonna have to. 3…2…1.” 

The two of you ripped off your blindfolds. 

The scuffle was over in a few minutes. Joel’s chest heaved from the exertion of the fight as he cleaned the bloody knife off on his shirt. He had subdued one of the men pretty quickly, which gave you enough time to grab your gun from the cab and deal with the other. 

He had done a pretty good job, you had to admit, with hiding his knife and handling the raiders. Without him, you would have been royally fucked. You felt a twinge of gratefulness, and a pang of something else as you watched him, the slope of his nose and hardness of his jaw as he wicked the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He had saved you. 

Then, you looked down at the two dead raiders, and what glimmer of heroism that you saw in Joel’s figure distorted into frustration. 

You aimed your gun at Joel. 

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?!” he yelled, the bullet whizzing past his head. 

“Cool it, Texas,” you huffed, “Now, hold still this time.” You aimed again. 

“I just saved your ass, and you try to shoot me because of it?!” 

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the cabin-” 

“Look who’s talking, sleepyhead!” 

You started to walk. 

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he called after you, his voice already receding into the distance. 

“Jackson. Back to the village of which you are the idiot of!” you screamed over your shoulder. 

“A bit of a convoluted way to put it, darlin’.” 

You refused to dignify that with an answer. 

You had only made it a few metres down the road when you heard the roar of the raiders’ truck, and the heat of the thrumming engine as it pulled up beside you. 

You stared straight ahead, feeling Joel’s gaze rove over you from the driver’s window as he cruised alongside you. 

“Get in,” Joel called out to you.  

“No.” 

“D’you know where you’re going? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.” 

“I do. I think. I tried to memorise the turns they took while we were tied up.” 

“Well, you aren’t getting back to Jackson anytime soon on foot.” 

You ignored him, marching forward. The next few moments were clouded in silence as you stormed down the road, Joel driving slowly beside you all this while. 

“C’mon, get in. Please?” Joel’s voice was startlingly soft, a flash of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected that stopped you in your tracks. He said his words slowly, like it was difficult for him to articulate. It definitely wasn’t easy for someone as stubborn as him to seek help from you. “I can’t leave you out here alone, and I need your help to navigate.”

You turned to look at him, not expecting to find the sincerity scrawled over his face. It softened you. But you liked to make him suffer. 

“Who’s in charge?” you said. 

“Oh, c’mon…” 

“Miller. Answer me. Who is in charge?” 

“You are. Now get in.” 

You smiled in satisfaction, clambering into the passenger seat. 

“You’re in charge of navigation, I’m in charge of driving,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 

You chuckled at his comment. Suddenly his snarkiness, though annoying, seemed like a harmless dig after the events of the day. That laugh was utter release, a reprieve from the loathing for him that had been boiling your blood all day. 

Peeking over at you, you watched his confused face turn into one that mirrored yours. One of cathartic happiness. He let out a laugh, unable to help it. You had never noticed his laugh, his smile. Like a silver lining. You liked it. 

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, save for your directions, though the air between you was different. Still electric in its energy, but not because of anger, or frustration. It was strangely warm.

The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and with a satisfying click, he flicked on the headlights, making a turn. The lights illuminated the cabin and your horses. Your heart soared. 

“Well, shit. You did it,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and more laughter bubbled from his lips. Laughing with Joel seemed so foreign after spending every patrol together arguing or in heated silence. It was pleasant.

From here, the two of you would be able to find your way back to Jackson, no question. The two of you mounted your horses and started your way back. He turned to watch you, the delicate turn of your head as you gazed up at the vast sky, drinking it all in. He felt that same pang he always felt around you, what he always thought was annoyance. It hit him with that same ferocity, but it was charged with a different energy. It felt kind of nice. 

You turned to lock eyes with him. 

“I’m sorry,” the both of you said in unison. 

You both dissolved into laughter. 

“Well, I’ll go first,” Joel chuckled, “I’m sorry. I really am. I should have listened to you-”

“No, I’m sorry!” you said. “If it wasn’t for me falling asleep… and I guess trying to shoot you wasn’t very nice.” 

“Wasn’t polite, was it?” he snorted, his smile reflecting your sheepish one. “Still, I fucked up. And the way you helped us find our way back… you saved our asses.” 

“I fucked up too. And if anyone saved us it was you. There was no way we would have gotten out of there without you thinking ahead and hiding the knife.” 

“I guess we make a pretty alright team, huh?” he said, the smile he shot you so hopeful and sweet you felt that hot, molten feeling in your gut again, though it definitely was not hate. 

“Yeah, we do,” you sighed. “I guess if your brother’s gonna keep insisting on putting us on patrol together, we could at least be civil to each other. I think we work together better that way. Deal?” 

“Deal,” he said. “You still drive me a little crazy though.” 

“Ditto,” you smiled at him, and the smile he flashed back made you feel strange and floaty, a similar sort of light-headedness from when you used to get so mad at him on patrols you wanted to scream. You were starting to realise that feeling may have been motivated by a different emotion entirely. He was definitely driving you a little crazy. 

“Where the hell were you guys? You missed the bonfire,” Tommy called out to Joel as the both of you arrived at the centre of Jackson, a dying bonfire crackling behind him. 

“That’s the least of our problems,” Joel huffed, dismounting from his horse as you followed suit, thrusting the reins into his brother’s hands. “You deal with that.” 

Tommy shrugged, leading the horses back to the stable. 

The two of you stood side by side, staring into what little was left of the bonfire, now a flame that licked up to around Joel’s knee-height. The crowd that was surrounding it earlier that night had fully dispersed, leaving just you and Joel alone before the fire. He turned to look at you, the fire glazing your eyes with orange and red hues, setting your gaze alight.

“I have an idea,” you said. Your smile meant trouble. “Let’s jump over it.” 

“What?” Joel asked, eyebrows shooting up incredulously. 

“I read it somewhere. It’s an old tradition, supposed to bring about good luck and new beginnings,” you smile at him, a smile that instantly wins him over. “We need all the luck we can get. C’mon Miller, indulge me. Be civil.” 

His laugh was hesitant, but when you reached for his hand he knew he could do it. 

“Do you trust me?” you grinned. 

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to. 3…2…1!” 

There was a moment there, with his hand in yours, at the very top of where the flames swirled, where it felt like the two of you were flying, suspended against the dark sky. 

Then, you hit the ground. 

You were lying beside each other in the dirt, panting in between gasps of laughter, the cuffs of your pants and the soles of your shoes singed. That electric warmth fired through the air, boiling your blood - definitely not anger. Something else. Passion and anger possess that same fiery quality. 

It burned so brightly within the both of you that he couldn’t help it. He leaned over to kiss you. The fire was warm by your side, the sky dark and electric above you as a storm gathered. The two of you were definitely going to be more than civil.

[spacexgrl]

Bittersweet ! 💋

mdni <3 you’re here pt 8

series masterlist 🍒

~ in which Ellie breaks up with you and you go a little crazy ~

ex! ellie williams x fem! reader , abby anderson x fem! reader

college au!

warnings: SMUT!!! angst, break up, cheating,cursing, toxic behavior, smut in future chapters, sexual themes<3 feminine and girly reader ,not proof read!!

taglist: pls comment if you want to be added! <3 @elliessweetheart @lonelyfooryouonly @vamp1reg1rrrl @autisticintr0vert @amsxdoll @addthespaghetti @hemmo01 @elliecoochieeater @to-the-stray-dogs @teenagemoonharmony @velvetcakegirlie @kl1q @cirrusdoll @icedsimpsayo @softrosekisses @bbnbhm @5sos @hopelesssheaven

The short drive to the restaurant was so fucking shitty already oh and don’t get her started on the fight that ellie had with dina while getting ready. She recalled that annoying voice of her girlfriend screaming and nagging at her for her outfit even though it was the most formal thing she owned…it had a meaning also but dina absolutely hated it ellie are you serious? you can’t wear that it’s like 40 years old what will my family think?! Ellie rolled her eyes and ignored her comments, she didn’t give a flying fuck it was a perfectly fine outfit and she looked so good in her newest pair of black pants, a white button up shirt and Joel’s old jacket that he gifted Ellie because it didn’t fit him anymore..(it was from his young years he saved it for her!)

she remembered when you surprised her with sewing it tighter so it fit her properly! She can’t stop looking at the small detail you also left for her..your initials sewed on the inside of her right sleeve by her wrist..in a delicate baby blue color..she let out a heavy sigh on the passenger seat of dina’s car, her head glued on the window not daring to take a look at her girlfriend..she insisted on driving not wanting her family to see her get into Joel’s beat up truck ellie please i’ll drive..not planning to drink anyway..my family can’t see me get into your old ass truck at this point ellie just accepted that she’ll never meet the expectations of her girlfriends family..thank god dina’s driving because ellie would’ve driven into a tree on full speed wouldn’t survive without a drink or two..

that’s when her mind wandered to her first meeting with your parents it was a hot summer night you and ellie spent the entire day outside got some ice cream and forced ellie to tan with you..which resulted in a big sunburn on her back..it was painful as fuck but she didn’t care because she just had so much fun with you besides you took care of her sunburn for the next few days so she didn’t complain…later that day you invited her for dinner with your family it was a barbecue in your backyard your dad busy with everything that was on the grill he always placed extra meat on ellie’s plate so she can get big and strong as she commented that she just started working out..your mom giggled don’t eat too much from the grill i still have dessert in the fridge! and it was the best tiramisu she’s ever eaten in her entire life

..that night she also stayed at your house..you stayed up until you could see the beautiful sunrise from your balcony..your eyes were glued to the beautiful scenery in front of you but ellie’s eyes never left you..the way the sunlight kissed your nose and spread all over your face making you look like the angel you were and still are today..if the sun was a person it would always be you. ellie look the sunrise is so pretty! your smile almost blinded her because it was so beautiful and bright under the golden light..yeah it’s pretty..but you’re prettier…

Ellie woke up from her daydream as dina parked the car, heart heavy in her chest as she replayed the memories of you in her head..rethinking about what she could’ve had if she hadn’t been a total asshole..in moments like these she’d smoke a blunt or/and ‘pop’ an edible as she’d always say..(depending on how horrible she’s feeling) ever since you broke up her consumption habits have increased..she couldn’t even remember the last day that she was fully sober..but she wanted to make a good first impression today right? she regretted staying sober so bad

Ellie and Dina got into the restaurant silently, the friendly waiter walked them to their table with freshly baked bread, olive oil and red wine vinegar..ellie munched mindlessly on a piece of bread and burned her tongue while they waited for her family to arrive, still in complete silence…as she was about to give some lame ass excuse to go outside to smoke an emergency cigarette she had in her pockets (just in case she needed to calm herself down) Dina’s family arrived , not noticing you and abby right behind them.

here goes nothing

💫

you were blown away by the restaurant, you couldn’t even believe that it was a real place..it was on the highest floor of a tall building surrounded by big windows allowing you to see your city from above..you could see every single light and movement of the night it was really beautiful.

“ahh yes miss anderson! It’s a pleasure to have you and your beautiful lady here, please follow me i’ll lead you to your table.”

you and abby thanked him and took a seat.

“would you like a bottle of our finest vino tinto? i can also get you champagne or something from our variation of cocktails?”

both of you looked through the menu and decided that you wanted to share an appetizer, then you moved on to the main course, convincing abby to choose something you wanted to try too so you can share.

“i’m the driver today so i’ll take a sparkling water with lemon please and no dessert for me”

the waiter nodded as he selected her choices on his electronic device then he turned in your direction.

“i’ll take a frozen strawberry daiquiri and a matcha crème brûlée for dessert please”

he thanked you two and moved on to the other tables.

Ellie’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets by her starstruck expression as she spotted you and anderson. The way you held onto her bicep as you walked to your table made her blood boil, the fake smile she put on her face fell almost immediately. The fact that you looked like a model in your pretty dress and obviously new designer shoes didn’t make it any better. You looked like someone out of a movie..you looked like abby’s trophy wife and it hurt so fucking bad how perfect you looked together.

Ellie’s sadness quickly turned into pure disgusting jealousy as abby pulled her sleeves up to her elbows, exposing her obnoxiously shiny rolex and her stupid toned and veiny underarms. She observed how you drooled over her, biting your lip and giving her those bedroom eyes Ellie used to receive…as if you’d fuck her right there and then and she hated it she hated every second of it..

or did she?

Ellie started losing herself in her thoughts again..the voices of dina and her family slowly fading away as her mind wandered while her eyes were focused on you..suddenly you stood up and climbed onto the table, now you were on all fours moving towards abby until you were eye to eye with your noses touching..abby was already unbuttoning her shirt, exposing her chest.. the way you arched your back made her head spin it only got worse as you proceeded to crash your lips on abby‘s, devouring her mouth with your wet tongue while biting and sucking on her lower lip..

you let go of her and got on the ground again, you slipped your dress right off of your shoulders..red fabric pooling right by your ankles leaving you in nothing but your expensive designer heels. Ellie was a drooling mess she could cum from the sight alone..jesus fuck she cursed under her breath as you undressed abby, revealing her big navy strap on underneath her slacks..she took a seat on the table with you on top of her facing your backside..her rough hands grabbed onto your waist and picked you up..hovering your asshole on top of her lubed up cock..giving ellie a perfect view of your fucked out face while spreading your legs open..your dripping pussy on perfect display.

“abby fuck my ass please! yesyes fuck just like that-ah!” you begged for abby as she lowered your body down on her length..your tight walls swallowing her whole as she moved you up and down..Ellie’s eyes almost missed the way you mouthed ‘come here’ as she ogled your bouncing tits…your pornographic moans filled the entire room but the other guests acted like you weren’t there..Ellie didn’t give a fuck she needed to be inside you now..she hurriedly got up from her chair and undressed immediately on her short way to your table where you were being fucked in the ass by abby..as she unbuttoned her pants she revealed the strap she was suddenly wearing herself..it’s so thick and your favorite shade of pink..god she remembered how much you loved it when she fucked you with that one..ellie positioned herself in between yours and abby’s spread legs..she teased your drooling hole with her tip and grabbed your jaw “beg for me slut” your eyes proceed to water yes you loved the way abby split your ass open but you needed ellie you needed more “ellie baby please fuck my pussy! a-ah i’ll do anything just stuff me daddy!”

your breath hitched when ellie held both of your legs open as she slammed her hips into your cunt..every time her fat tip dragged across your sweet spot you could see stars the sensation of your holes being abused and filled at the same time sent you into an entire different dimension you were about to squirt everywhere if they kept going like this!!

“god ellie just like that! so fucking good baby! gonna cum so hard oh-!”

she loved when you screamed her name

“ellie! ellie!”

you sneaked your arms around her neck and pulled her into a heated kiss, teeth colliding as you tried to kiss her harder and harder while the familiar sensation of an orgasm approached

“ellie ‘m gonna-“

snap!

“earth to ellie? your food’s getting cold”

Ellie woke up from her second daydream of the day with uncomfortably drenched boxers as dina snapped her fingers in her face, seemingly disappointed in her girlfriend’s inattentive and distracted behavior..she quickly figured that it had to do with you..of fucking course it’s always your fault for appearing in the same places as ellie all the damn time..dina rolled her eyes as she looked in your direction nausea creeping up from her stomach as she studied how flawlessly perfect you looked..there’s no way ellie could get over you..the sting of jealousy that appeared on her heart was starting to turn into defeat..not knowing how long she can put up with ellie anymore ..she loved her she truly did but there’s just no way that ellie could love her the way she loves you..and deep down she knows that you’re not one to blame..dina wants to despise you so fucking bad but she can’t..she was the reason why your relationship with ellie fell apart after all and she’s developing feelings of pure guilt..she wished she could apologize to you but she’ll never have the guts to do so..and to be completely honest? you don’t want to hear shit out of her fucking mouth because it’s not her job to clean up after ellie’s mistakes..you’re not having any of that.

“yeah sorry needed to let it cool down for a bit”

ellie said quietly while taking a bite of her cold ass food..following with an extremely awkward silence until talia picked up a conversation with her again..eager to know all about her sister’s new lover girl..praying that she could be the one for her..

if she only knew..

💫

you and abby had a fantastic night..your meals were absolutely delicious but the cocktails were definitely your favorites! you were on number three by now abby noticed that you got more chatty the more alcohol you consumed and she found it really cute..she could stare at you and listen to your random rambling for hours to no end..right now you were telling her about you dream designer bags she had her phone by her lap and put them into her shopping cart to surprise you with two or three bags soon..she prayed to god that her dad wasn’t checking her bank account history..

“wanna head back home, baby? i’m craving some dessert right now..”

🎀

to be continued!!

[chocoloom]

Adding onto my last post, Imma make an Eden’s Garden prediction on who I think may survive or die, or at least seems to be more likely to die to ME.

Spoilers Ahead for Project Eden’s Garden btw! If you haven’t played it, please do, it’s FREE RN

If you’re still here, here we go!

Damon Maitsu - Survives (Protagonist clause, he’s gonna be hella traumatized though). Dude still has a whole character arc to go through, he still has trust issues to get rid of.

Ingrid Grimwall - Probably Dead. Look I love this lady with my whole chest. Her passion and charm hit me like a train and as a southern woman myself, I love her accent. But. Her death would hit like a truck and that is exactly what Danganronpa thrives in doing. Especially considering her death would cause the group to lose a pillar of emotional support, and would devastate a certain little matchmaker. Speaking of which.

Toshiko Kayura - Survives. She’s gonna get some character development related to Diana or Ingrid, especially if one of them dies (looking at Ingrid specifically). Ingrid dying would fuck this girl UP, which is why I think it’s going to happen. They have been setting up these two having a mother daughter relationship early on. I don’t see this girl as a murderer, but I can see her filling a similar role to Aoi’s. Specifically how Aoi was acting during the Sakura trial, hiding evidence cause she blames other people and herself for the death of someone she cares about. I can’t see her dying though, she’s too young. That’s a baby. Then again, this isn’t the main Danganronpa world, so I could be wrong. Absolutely off topic, but I think there’s a reason she’s hiding her face. Not a bad one mind you, she strikes me as someone who would try to hide things she doesn’t like about herself in an attempt to seem more mature or lady like. Maybe she still has braces and is embarrassed about it.

Jean DeLamer - Solid fifty fifty. I straight up don’t know, I could see this going one of two ways. One, he survives to the end (in which case, awesome, he’s honestly one of my favorites in this game). Two he dies in a sacrificial manner to save the rest of the group, as they have become his new crew in a sense. In which case, I’m sad and my heart is in tatters. He gives off big Nekomaru or Gundham vibes in his role in the group. Regardless, I see him as a big source of reliability and moral support for the group going forward. I can also see him taking up more of a leadership role going forward. Maybe he helps out Diana in her attempts to unite the students.

Ulysses Wilhelm - Dead. That bit about him not being able to smell strikes me as a Chekhov’s gun that has yet to be fired. I can practically taste the metal. I could see him being either a murder victim or a murderer. Regardless of which, it will likely involve Wenona in some way, as those two have been maintaining a positive relationship. I can see them conspiring with each other, or betraying each other. Either way, dramaaaa~

Jett Dawson - Dead. 100%. I do not see his ass surviving. Sorry Jett enjoyers. The fact that we don’t know what his face looks like also feels like a Chekhov’s gun. Maybe it’s connected to Tozu and Mara, or maybe it’s connected to another student (looking at Mark). Maybe someone impersonates him, or the other way around.

Mark “Mayhem” Berskii - Dead. I could see him being a murder victim or murderer tbh. I think it may depend on what happens with Jett, as those two have been linked together, much to Mark’s initial chagrin (The shippers are gonna sob I just know it). There’s a darkness in that boy’s soul, and it specifically mentioned that Mark specializes in remixing songs and voices. I could see a scenario where he takes the recorded voices of his fellow students and uses them to create confusion, maybe make people think that a person is in a specific place when they are not, or cause confusion as to whether or not a person is alive or dead at a specific time. Maybe he kills Jett, would that be fucked up or what :D?

Desmond Hall - Fifty fifty, but I think he Survives. He’s more likely to in my head, but if he does die, he’s the murder victim. From what we know about his personality, I think he’s less likely to try and kill anybody in comparison to some of the other characters. He’s got a very low key personality, and even though his talent is the most connected to killing out of the whole cast, I actually think he is probably one of the people who is least likely to do so. Dude is a killer shot, but he’s no killer.

Wenona - Fifty fifty, leaning more towards 25-75 in favor of death. She COULD survive, but I think it’s more likely for her to die tbh. She’s been one of the people who has been the most vocal about waiting for rescue, but she’s also a billionaire. And you don’t get that much money without being willing to take advantage of, manipulate, and hurt people. She’s definitely going to be an antagonist in a future chapter, aided by Ulysses. She’s also going to have some sort of conflict with Cassidy, as they have been setting up this bad blood between the two since Cassidy’s intro. She strikes me as someone who could play a similar role to Byakuya or Celestia, especially if she finds out that help might not be coming. Or if her company is on the line. Cuz we still don’t know what the situation is like outside of the Academy. Also, murder is just as much of a girlboss move as it is an immoral one.

Eloise Taulner - Dead. I don’t know enough about her to say for sure, but I think she could be the murder victim or murderer. If it’s the latter, good for her ig. Girl slays, or I guess stabs would be more applicable.

Cassidy Amber - Survives. I think she’s more likely to survive than die. Girl is feisty, and the survivor groups usually have some upbeat and optimistic. If she dies however, she dies mid game. I could see her plotting to murder Wenona, or getting into a confrontation with her due to her status as a morally bankrupt billionaire. I don’t want her to die, I like her dynamics with a lot of the other characters, but I could see it happening.

Grace Madison - Dead. I would wager she might die within the next chapter or two. Her primary connection as a character was to Wolfgang, and he’s gone, soooo, yeah. Something is definitely up with her that’s going to get addressed next chapter regardless. For one, we still don’t know why she was so adamant about nobody going into Wolfgang’s room at the time of his death. It could be because she was just embarrassed about people discovering and questioning her about her relationship with Wolfgang, but I think there could be more to the story. There’s secrets in each students room, but we don’t know what secrets could be contained in Wolfgang’s room. But Grace might. What’s more, her behavior after Eva’s execution peaked my interest. She’s uncharacteristically silent, not saying anything, even when someone says something that would typically elicit a violent reaction from her. I think she’s conflicted about Eva now, cause Grace definitely despised Eva, but after watching her death, in all its horror? I think even she feels like it was too cruel. She might act a bit more toned down and less angry going forward. Additionally, during Diana’s speech, she doesn’t insult Diana or say anything. Wenona is the only one to really insult Diana, while the rest of the group just kinda try not to acknowledge it. Either Grace is still in shock, or maybe she was actually kinda moved by Diana’s gesture to try to honor Wolfgang’s memory? Maybe she’ll help her, who knows. Would be interesting to say the least.

Okay, these last two are really hard. Figures, they have the most interesting relationships and dynamics with Damon, our protagonist. I can see this going in a lot of different ways, and they are all interesting.

Kai Monteago - Okay, hear me out. Kai strikes me as someone with confidence issues in spite of being an influencer. He underestimates himself, and that lack of confidence combined with his cowardice leads to him wanting to leave stuff like the investigations and the trials to other people. But I also think he wants people around him. The guy craves genuine connection, and he seems to have found the beginnings of that in Damon. He latched onto him like a butterfly to a flower, and I can’t see him letting go anytime soon.

Because of that, I see Kai filling the role that people initially thought Eva was going to fill. Kai will be Damon’s Assistant character, his support. The role of an influencer is one that involves the manipulation of people, be it to follow them on instagram, to buy their products, or simply to listen to them. Damon can argue and debate all day, and he’s good at it, but Kai I think will aid in getting people to listen to his points, and could even manipulate people to uncover lies or get them to confess. This will increase his confidence in his own abilities as a result. Kai is not as dumb as he seems to think he is, and I think he’ll learn that in the arcs going forward. He may also kiss Damon on the mouth, but only time will tell. I hope they do tbh.

Because of this, Kai is mostly safe. If he dies, he dies late game and it mentally destroys Damon, or helps further his character development. Otherwise he survives until the end. And honestly, I think there’s a pretty good chance that the latter option will occur. Regardless, Kai is going to play a crucial role in Damon’s arc. I could see him being one of the catalysts for Damon actually trusting people in this game, after his trust was so broken up by Eva’s murder plot.

Diana Venicia - First of all, she is not gonna be a murderer. Girly was framed last trial, they aren’t gonna pull that shit twice. Plus it was established that she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger on Wolfgang, even though her life was actively in danger and he ATTACKED her. If, IF, she becomes a blackened, it is purely by accident or she didn’t intend to kill (maybe smth similar to Chiaki where her actions led to the murder unintentionally, but she never intended to kill). Even then, I think the chances of that situation happening are veryyy low.

I think she is going to serve as a foil to Damon in the trials to come, kinda like an antagonist. As an antagonist isn’t someone who is necessarily evil. They either serve as foils to the protagonist or prevent them from reaching their goals. She won’t obstruct or prevent Damon from reaching his goals, as they both want to go home and get out of the killing game. Rather, she’ll be an antagonist in the moral or metaphorical sense, and I think she’ll be more vocal and try to take a leader position in an attempt to emulate Wolfgang. Her trusting and open nature clashes with Damon’s closed off and suspicious demeanor, and that’s going to play a role in the trials going forward. I can also see her finding allies in her attempting to unite the students in Toshiko, Jean, and possibly Jett, Cassidy, and maybe Grace.

I’ve seen some people saying she will die come Chapter 2. While I see the reasoning behind that. I don’t think that will be the case. If she dies, it’ll be late into the game, maybe come Trial 4 or 5. I could also see her surviving, but it’s too soon to tell. She either dies late game or survives the whole thing, like Kai. That’s my take anyway. Still, the poor bubblegum girl. The horrors are just beginning for her I think.

Wolfgang and Eva: lol they dead as hell. Rigor mortis is already setting in. They’re extra crispy.

In Summary:

Potential Survivors (most to least likely in my head) - Damon, Kai, Diana, Toshiko, Desmond, Cassidy, Jean

As for who may be next to die in chapter two, my money’s on Grace, Ulysses, or Eloise.

[slimybeth69]

Que Será, Será: Part 6

Rating: Explicit- Smut, violence, drinking/drug use. MDNI!! Summary: It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that...Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult.What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss?

Warnings/Tags: DaddyDom!Joel/ you. no use of y/n. No physical description of the reader besides one tattoo. Reader has a background story. Drinking/drug use. Slow burn. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Graphic depictions of violence. Eventual loss of virginity. Use of nicknames/pet names (lil girl, baby girl.) DD/lg dynamics. BDSM play. Unbeta'ed. WIP. Cross-posting from my Ao3. chapter warnings/ tags: embarrassing situations, porn, thigh fucking, teasing, Joel snoring.

“Hey! I’m so fuckin’ sorry! Jeeeeesus, I feel like such an asshole.” Joel is speaking fast and with apologies all tethered to his words. “I’m real sorry. I left my phone n’ keys in my brothers truck after he dropped me off from the bar last night. Feel like a dick. Didn’t get my shit back ‘till just now when he dropped ‘em off t’me.” Joel sighs loudly. “I’m sorry. Hope yer’ not mad at me.” He sounds fretful. Worried.

“No. Not at all. I get it. Shit like that happens.” That does come out of you very casually. 

“I got worried as hell when you didn’t text or call. Nothin’. I thought fer’ sure you were gonna think the worst, block my number. Never talk t’me again.” Joel chuckles nervously. 

“Nah. I was hanging out–”

“Readin’ yer’ spooky stories?” Joel asks before you can finish and now… you might be in love with him. Fuck. 

“Yeah… I was actually.” You smirk against the phone like an idiot. 

“You wanna… come read ‘em here? I just watch football on Sunday… but, I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to just come, I dunno, sit in my lap and hang out. Could smoke, drink a lil.” Joel speaks quietly and almost bashfully. You dunno.

You’ve done worse things in your life behind the wheel of a car, okay? You’re not even drunk. Not even a little. Nope. Feel bad for driving under the influence? Absolutely. But, you’re fine. You took your time packing your lil spend the night bag with your stuff for work tomorrow because he said you should stay the night. Okay. You’re calm and cool. Not overly excited. You brought your laptop so you could comfortably read your ‘spooky stories’ aka real life murders that have taken place. Joel is so cute. Fuck.

When you get to Joel’s house it’s almost two in the afternoon. You guys still have most of the day to spend together and hang out before you have to really go to bed. No more all nighters. Neither of you were children. He’s sitting on his front porch in one of those nice wooden rocking chairs. He has two of them. They’re big and sturdy and look kinda cozy, actually. He is at your door, opening it for you before the truck is even off. He doesn’t let you get out, he runs his hands along your thighs as you turn to face him in an attempt to jump down. 

“Sorry.” Joel smiles up at you apologetically and continues moving his hands up and down your legs softly. 

“Should be.” You tease him but lean in and give him a small, fast kiss. He hums happily in response and holds his hand out. You go to put your hand in his but he pulls it away with a sucking noise on his teeth. You pinch your brows together at him and he holds his hand out again, saying nothing. You look and he wants the two bags you have in your hand. 

“Lemme carry ‘em.” He says after a second you you hesitating. You eye him up and down. 

“Why?” You’re not suspicious or anything. You know he’s being a gentleman… you just… dunno. It’s weird. 

“Y’serious? Really?” Joel grabs the bags and the gentleman leaves him as he abandons you in the truck and starts towards the house. You roll your eyes and follow him inside. He’s walking upstairs already and you’re chasing him up, touching the backs for his thighs and his ass and he’s swatting your hands away. 

“S’no fun, is it?” You tease him and squeeze his ass playfully through his jeans. He jumps and glares at you over his shoulder. 

“S’fun when I do it to you.” he grins as you get to the top of the stairs. “Real fun.” 

“Oh, I bet it is.” You grin back at him as he walks into his bedroom. He sets your bags on his bed and turns to you. 

“Football’s on. Wanna come sit n’ smoke with me while I don’t pay attention?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

“Why wouldn’t you be payin’ attention?” You bat your eyelashes at him and smirk. 

“‘Cause my team sucks— what do you mean?” Joel gives you his goofy, dumb smile and wraps an arm around your waist. “I am real sorry. Feel bad y’probably waited up fer’ me n’ I didn’t call. I sat here all night just feelin’ bad.” Joel whispers before he kisses you softly. “Don’t wanna make y’sad.” 

“I wasn’t sad.” You lie. You lie so hard because you’re not gonna let him know you were sad. You don’t get sad over boys. You already cried once because you thought he went home after he ate you out. No. He won’t know it. 

“Well good. I’m glad y’weren’t cryin’ in bed. I don’t want ya doin’ that over me.” He kisses you again softly. You kiss him back but are thinking about a casual way to ask if he’s interested in marrying you really quick. You just wanna know what it feels like to be married to him and then everything can just, go back to normal. 

“I was a lil disappointed but, I didn’t let it ruin my night.” You lie again.  Joel smiles and kisses your forehead now. 

“Good.” Is all he says. “Get yer’ spooky stories n’ lets go smoke n’ I have a bottle of somethin’ downstairs.” He smirks as he walks towards the door but he waits for you. You grab your laptop and follow him down into the living room. He has a nice big, brown suede couch and a matching recliner. An ottoman to put your feet on. A table on either side of the couch. You set your laptop down and follow him into the kitchen just so happy to be here and be with him. You weren’t expecting to see him ever again. So, this is exciting. You’re not trying to hide that. You want him to know you’re happy to see him. 

“Did you have a good day yesterday after you dropped me off?” You ask as he grabs a cup and a decently priced bottle of whiskey and sets them next to each other. 

“I did. Groceries n’ normal bullshit. Had to get my laundry from the cleaners.” He explains. 

“You don’t do your own laundry?” You are slightly entertained by this for some reason. 

“Hell no.” Joel shakes his head and grabs ice from the freezer. “Haven’t done laundry since Sarah moved out.” He’s chuckling now as he puts the ice in the glass. 

“Did you… make her do your laundry before that?” You squint your eyes at him. 

“Hell no.” Joel says again but he laughs now. “I did mine n’ she did her own when she got old enough.” He laughs and pours whiskey into your glass half way and looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do you need… a coke or somethin’?” He says it with a wrinkled nose. You laugh at him. 

“Are you a whiskey snob? If y’are… I got a good story for ya… it’ll piss ya right off.” You smirk and lean against his counter. “I do want a coke.” You grin. Joel groans loudly and goes back to the fridge. 

“Let’s hear this good story, lil girl.” Joel rolls his eyes and doesn’t sound amused already. 

“You ever heard of The Reach—” You start but Mr. Miller finishes. 

“81? I sure have. Why? Y’know ‘bout it?” He pulls his head back from the fridge and stares at you with heightened eyebrows. 

“I do. Have you ever had it?” You ask curiously. Joel shakes his head no but stays quiet. “There is some back at my house– Cody is a huuuuuuge whiskey guy. I had no idea. None. Just thought it was like… expensive, ya know?” You nod at him and he nods back and then frowns before you can finish. 

“You put that into a Coke?!” Joel is so upset with you. So hurt, and so disappointed. 

“I didn’t know how much it cost!!” You exclaim.

“Almost more than my house!!” Joel almost shouts at you but it’s funny. “Jeeeeesus.” He shakes his head in disappoint again and pours Coke into his semi-expenisve whiskey and groans. 

“Oh god. Guys and their shitting on things girls like.” You sip your drink as he rolls his eyes. 

“I’d shit on anyone who did that.” Joel grumbles at you but is pulling you into the living room. He sits right beside you on the couch and hands you your laptop. “Let’s see these scary stories you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He sighs and puts his feet up on the couch. He says it like you ran in here trying to show him this blog. So excited about it. You smirk and open the laptop. 

As the screen resumes the last internet browser page you were on… you snap the computer shut and do absolutely nothing else. Nothing. You freeze but you know what he saw. You were looking right at it… with him. So. You both know what you saw. He’s silent. It’s just very quiet minus the TV in the background. Finally, after so long of no talking and not even looking at him or moving, even… the man speaks. 

“What…what was that?” He asks very curiously. You’d be curious too, if you were him. You are dead on this couch. The first person to ever die of real embarrassment, honestly. You forgot what you did before you cried yourself to sleep in bed last night. What you used this computer for… You’re going to pass away right now. This is…not happening. No. Can’t be. 

There is no way that the last browser you had open on your computer was a fucking porn website. And… porn is so normal, Joel probably would have laughed about it with you but what you had in the search bar… and what you had pulled up on the screen wasn’t alarming or even unnatural. No, not at all. So natural. Two natural bodies. A man and a woman… 

The man… might look like Joel… a little bit. And the girl… might look like you… a little bit. The search bar definitely didn’t have the words ‘hot gray fifties man younger girl’ in there. No. It fucking can’t. You are trembling. He’s not going to see the search bar. No. Only you know what you typed in last night but the resemblance between those two actors and yourself and Joel are… uncanny. Honestly. You were… so excited when you found it– kind of nervous because for two seconds you thought Joel made a porn with you while you were sleeping. The two people were not you guys. Looked a lot like you guys though. Just enough differences and also too many fucking similarities for it to not do what you wanted it to do. So, that’s even more annoying. It didn’t even work. You were too upset about being not ghosted. So. You’re dumb and embarrassed. 

“Hey, what was that?” Joel asks after what feels like an hour of you just looking at your closed laptop. 

“N–”

“Don’t say nothin’.” Joel barely lets you even start. So. He knows. 

“What did it look like?” You ask, snapping your head to him now. He has the smallest smile on his face, leaned in trying to see the screen you snapped shut. You wonder right now if Cody would buy you a new laptop if you smashed this one. No. He wouldn’t. He’ll buy himself $125,000 scotch though. So. Cool. You swallow hard.

“Uh… it kinda looked like me?” Joel flicks his eyes between your closed computer and your almost tearful eyes. You’re not crying. Just haven’t blinked in eight minutes. 

“That’s crazy you think that.” Is all you can come up with because you’re stunned that this is happening to you right now. Joel shakes his head in bewilderment. 

“I know what I saw.” He points to the computer. “Open it.” 

“No.” 

It’s a standoff… a staring contest… a who can hold their breath the longest competition. You lose and blink first and when you do— Joel takes the computer from you, so quickly. You didn’t think that’s what he was going to do. You freeze and Joel freezes too, his hands are about to open it. 

“Do y’wanna show me yer’self or… do I need t’look?” Joel is smirking over at you. It might be less worse if the computer is in his lap and not right in front of you. You can at least not look then, feeling less shame for a moment until he shames you himself. 

“Do it.” You whisper, shielding your eyes from the monstrosity that is about to unfold. Nothing bad is going to happen. Nothing. You know this. It’s just going to fucking make him way to happy. Way too happy. Like when you told him your sex toys didn’t do what he did to you. UGH. 

“Y’sure?” Joel raises one brow at you. 

“I’ll… never open that computer myself.” You speak with no emotion because he’s already doing it. It takes three seconds for the screen to come to life. 

There it is. Joel’s fucking body double… railing some fucking twenty five year old. Hard. You turn away. You can’t look and see what he thinks of this. It’s too much. You hear the computer keys click and then the video starts to fucking play. Loudly. It’s…porn sounds. Moaning and skin slapping together. This guy is talking dirty. The girl is calling him daddy… You feel like you could throw up. 

“Damn.” Joel whistles after. “I don’t really watch porn but…this is good.” He speaks to the computer, apparently, because you’re facing the complete opposite direction now. You’re thinking about putting your hands over your ears, but Joel wraps his arm around your waist and pulls your back into his chest a little. “Watch it with me.” He whisper.

“I’m too embarrassed to be turned on.” You groan and close your eyes. 

“So… we’re not gon’ do nothin’ today. I have self-control. I can teach y’some if y’need me to.” Joel isn’t teasing when he says this. He’s so serious. It for some reasons calms your nerves and also offends you a little bit. 

“I have self control.” You roll your eyes but lean into him and put your head on his shoulder and reluctantly watch the screen of your laptop with him. 

“Ok.” Joel snorts at you but holds you against him when you try and move away. “Tell me what you like ‘bout the way he fucks her.” Joel whispers into your ear quietly. You snap your head up to him with wide, questioning eyes. “I know why y’picked it… wanna know why y’kept watchin’...” Joel whispers again and his breath in your ear gives you goosebumps. You swallow hard again and watch the screen. 

Joel’s twin has your look-a-like on her knees with her chest pressed into the mattress. Her back is arched so dramatically that it looks like it might hurt, regardless, the guy in the video is…hammering into her and she is begging him to make her come and he keeps telling her no. He’s spanking her with some fucking sex thing. You dunno. It honestly looks like something that would come on the handle of a child’s bike. Buncha lil tassles! But!!! This one is leather and all black and he is… spanking her. 

“I like all of it.” You shrug your shoulders not wanting to say thing specific because you don’t wanna sound silly or inexperienced. Your answer isn’t enough for him. 

“You like how she’s layin’ on the bed?” He asks, holding his hand up to her like you cannot see. 

“Yeah, sure.” You nod and shrug your shoulder closest to him. He respires through his nose quickly and then points to how he’s holding on to her hips and slamming into her from behind. 

“Do you like that?” He sounds so curious to know if you really did like it, and almost like he knows you didn’t. But you did. 

“Yeah. He’s really givin’ it to her.” You whisper this now, because saying it in a regular volume feels dirty. When Joel speaks, he also whispers. 

“Do you like how he’s tellin’ her not t’ come?” Joel isn’t looking at the computer anymore, he’s looking right at you and you’re trying not to look at him. You shrug your shoulders and say nothing because that sounds horrible. Being denied a come??? No thanks. You’re good with coming freely whenever you want. “Why dontchya know, lil girl, tell me?” He coos to you softly and sweetly. 

“I dunno. Do you like being told not to come?” You do look up at him now and he’s already nodding.”

“Yeah.” Joel smirks a little. “Not always n’ not forever… but yeah.” He speaks in his normal tone again and looks back at the screen. He points with his finger to what the porn star has in his hand. “Do you like that ?” Joel looks back at you now. Emotionless. He doesn’t want you to know if he likes it or not. What a fucking ass. 

“I dunno. I’ve never… been spanked befo—” You’re casually explaining your inexperience to him when he cuts you off. 

“No one’s ever spanked you? Not even foolin’ around or nothin’?” Joel sounds shocked. You shake your head. 

“No, I just… I dunno.” You avoid his eyes. 

“S’wrong?” He closes the laptop and suddenly this has turned into a serious conversation. 

“Nothin’.” You’re just being shy. This is weird. You hate that he’s probably slept with thousands of women and you… are you. So. You’re feeling intimidated. 

“Tell me.” Joel pushes but not angrily or aggressively. He’s trying to figure you out. 

“I don’t even know what’s wrong! I’m just embarrassed.” You sink into his couch and rest your head back on his shoulder. 

“Of what!?” Joel points to the computer “That? Don’t be. That’s fuckin’ normal. Hot. Guy kinda looked like me, huh?” He says this like it’s supposed to comfort you. “You watch that last night? Missin’ me?” Joel whispers now and still speaks too comfortingly…almost condescendingly, but not quite there. It’s making your lower stomach flutter though. You nod silently. “Awhh ain’t the lil girl real sweet, you come?” He is grinning but whispering and still talking so nice.

“No.” You whisper. 

“S’how you wanna get fucked? Or y’watchin’ it ‘cause I told ya I liked it like that?” He asks softly, turning to speak against your forehead. 

“Lil of both.” You mewl quietly. Joel lets his head fall back against the couch and he sighs softly. “What’s wrong?” You pull your head off his shoulder and look at him. 

“Not one single fuckin’ thing.” Joel chirps happily and pulls you into him tighter. “Go n’ read yer’ scary st— or finish yer’ lil video if ya want.” Joel lifts his head and is grinning at you playfully. “Dirty Bird.” He pinches your side, puts your laptop on the couch beside him and stands up. 

“Where ya going?” You watch as he walks towards the kitchen. He holds up his empty beer bottle and then disappears. 

Holy fucking shit. You open your laptop and close out of that shit so quickly and open your blog. Oh god. That wasn’t too bad though. Pretty good actually. Kinda hot. You wonder if that’s a normal thing to do. Watch porn with the guy you wanna fuck. You don’t really want him looking at another naked woman… so… you dunno. Might not do it again.

Joel comes back with a joint behind his ear. He’s so fucking hot. Fuck. His jeans and his t-shirt. Shit. He said nothing’s happening tonight… why? You don’t ask. No. Enjoy this. Live in the moment. He sits down practically on top of you and looks at your laptop to see what you’re doing. 

“Okay… these are the spooky stories..” He nods his head and reads a couple words and then pulls his head back and looks at you. “That’s– uh.. That’s not spooky, babe. That’s a graphic description of someone bein’ murdered… it looks like.” Joel checks the screen again and then looks back at you. “Yeah.”

“It’s a true crime thing.” You explain. “It tells you al the horrible details of crimes that they normally leave out of the podcasts…” You nod sadly.  “I like reading though…so it’s not too bad.” You shrug. Joel is blinking at you. 

“Y’wanna know all this shit? It doesn’t make y’sad?” He is confused.

“I mean… sometimes ‘cause, yeah it is sad. It happened though– I dunno if that’s disrespectful but the lady who does this blog is always real nice. There are certain cases she won’t talk about ‘cause the families had said they don’t like when people do stuff like that.” You explain but Joel isn’t swayed. 

“Yeah… that’s kinda weird t’exploit someone’s murder.” Joel shrugs his shoulder. 

“She doesn’t make money. Those weird podcasters do. Not her though– at least I don’t thin. She’s never gotten a red cent from me. Never asks.” You shrug. 

“Eh, I don’t give a shit enough to argue with you ‘bout it.” He shrugs, kisses your cheek and watches the TV. You have to sit with that statement for about three minutes before you decide you also do not give a shit enough to care and don’t fight with him. 

Football is… fun? You dunno. Not a real fan. Some of the guys on his TV though are CUTE! What!? Jeeeesus and they’re just running around hitting each other? 

“Why don’t they do that all the time?” You ask, holding your hand to the TV. He doesn’t look away from the screen when he answers you. 

“Do what?” He is interested in the game. His team must be doing good or something. 

“Uhh– the sounds— the player sounds.” You nod and look over at him, ripping your eyes away from those men on the screen. 

“What’re y’talkin’ ‘bout? He still doesn’t look at you. 

“Okay, so they’re always talking. Blah blah blah– like we aren’t watching the fuckin’ game they’re talking about!? Stupid. Tony Romo’s voice is fucking annoying. I’d rather hear the players!!” You exclaim. 

“The players aren’t sayin’ nothing. They’re just gruntin’ n’ talkin’ shi-”Joel stops and looks over at your innocent face. 

“It’s better!! Better than Tony fucking Romo. Jesus.” You roll your eyes and go back to your blog. 

What a great time for Matt or as you put him in your phone as ‘matt cat cute tattoos’ decided to go ahead and text you. The message– as well as his name– pop up in the corner of your computer and you get a notification ding, a loud one. 

Looked cute yesterday. Wyd today?

As soon as you get it, Joel’s entire body stiffens besides you but he says nothing, doesn’t move. Nothing. You don’t know what to do. Bringing this computer into Joel’s home has been nothing but bad— just bad. It was bad at first..then kinda good again…now so bad. So, so bad again. Shit. Joel still doesn’t speak and you don’t know what to say so you just exit out of it– and then sit there. 

You watch the TV and the clock on the screen was at fifteen minutes when you looked and it stops so many times. So many times that clock stops and starts and they add time to it again once. It’s not until there are only two minutes left in the quarter that Joel speaks. 

“So… who is Matt?” He asks so casually. 

“Just a guy from the cat shelter.” You explain innocently. 

“Oh, gotchya.” He nods his yeah slowly, you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “He that cute?” 

“Oh god.” you put your head in your hands. “I gave him my number yesterday after you dropped me off because I didn’t know if you like– really wanted anything to do with me.. Like actually? Ya know.” You don’t look at Joel because you are too scared.  “Kinda the same reason you liked Ava’s picture before we hung out that night.” 

“Yeah…I see what yer’ sayin’...” Joel sighs but he sounds like he has more to say. He does. “We had hung out though…” Joel is not looking at you either. You both are just speaking facing the TV on the wall in front of you. 

“I know…” You’re shaking and you wonder if he can feel your trembling body literally touching his. 

“Did you go see him last night?” Joel asks emotionless and now you turn to look at him because no you didn’t. Didn’t even think to text him because you had already forgotten about Matt. If you had even fucking remembered in your sadness… you might have gone to see him. 

“No. I didn’t.” You say so confidently and now he looks at you. “I swear I didn’t.” Your eyes scan all across his face and he stays emotionless, doesn’t smile…nothing. 

“Why?” He is still so calm. 

“What do you mean?” You’re stunned to say the least. What the fuck? Did he want you to? Is this a trick? You’re so confused and wanna know what the fuck is going on. 

“Why didn’t you go see him? I blew you off last night n’ you still didn’t go see him?” Joel asks, now a little curious.

“Blew me off?” You wrinkle your brow at him and he panics for half a second in his eyes and then goes back to being calm. 

“Didn’t call or text you.” He defines being blown off to you like you don’t know what the fuck it meant. 

“No. I know that… but I don’t think that’s what you meant to say. What happened last night?” You turn it around on him and wait for his response. 

“Tell me why you didn’t go see that guy and I will.” He pulls away from you a little and you do it too at the same time and read his face. You dunno. It’s just handsome Fucker. 

“No. Did you really forget your keys and phone in your brothers truck last night?” You ask quietly and Joel groans.  

Doesn’t matter. You’re off the couch and running up the stairs to get your stuff. He lied to you. Lied right to your fucking face and then continued to fucking lie. Are you kidding!? He’s chasing you, faster and with more desperation this time. You’re flying up the stairs and into his room. You cannot slam the door in his face because its his house and his bedroom so you run in and grab your stuff off the bed but he’s in the doorway when you turn around. Panting. 

“Move.” You snap at him but he shakes his head. “Then I think I’m officially being kidnapped or being held hostage and I will fight you off. I will fight you so hard.” You point at him but you will not fight him. He could kidnap you and you’d be fine with it. Unless he was with Ava. Then you’ll just kill him. Skip the fighting part. 

“No.” Joel shakes his head again. “Not fuckin’ kidnappin’ you. Grow up.” he snaps at you and is still panting. You roll your eyes. 

“Old!” You snap back at him. “Fuckin’--- just old! Fuck!” You are so pissed and do not know what you’re saying. 

“Stop it.” Joel waves his hand at you and pinches his brows together. 

“No. Tell me what happened.” You bobble your head from side to side and cross your arms over your chest with your bags still in your hand. You purse your lips together tightly. 

“Got more drunk at the bar with Tommy than I usually do, n’ he dropped me off. I just fell asleep ‘fore I could call you. Got in bed and had the phone right there in my hand…just passed out.” He sounds ashamed of himself. 

"That's same shit excuses the thirty year old's I stopped talking to would use. Awesome.” You roll your eyes and think about what Patti said. You’re not asking him shit and don’t care anymore. 

“We had just’ finished a big job the day before– bunch’a guys from work were there.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Why not just tell me that?” You press your lips together again. 

“‘Cause of what you just said. I don’t want you thinkin’ that’s the kinda guy I am.” Joel sighs. "We were just celebratin'. Made good money on that job. Drank more than normal."

“Well… now I think you’re a liar. So, that sucks. You could have just said that to me last night when we were texting. Could have just sent me 'At Bar'... I would have figured it out." You sigh loudly and work up the courage to try and leave even though you don't really wanna. You're gonna though. You’re leaving. Lyin’ aint your flavor baby! You don’t play that shit. No. You can deal with emotionally unavailable. You can deal with distant– love that apparently… but you won’t be lied to. 

“I’m not a liar– look.” Joel pulls his phone out and shows you the screen after he pulls up some bullshit. It’s a picture of him and his brother at the bar. Cool. Who cares. 

“Okay, I dunno that you came right here after. You were so quick to lie to me.. Which is what I have the real problem with– not you getting drunk. I don’t give a shit about that. I’m not dumb and naive.” You go to push past him through the door but he doesn’t budge. 

“C’moon.” He sounds sad but you don’t care. 

“No. You’re willing to fuckin’ lie to cover that shit up…something soooo stupid and meaningless.  Something I would have been mad about? Yeah I would have. But would have gotten over--- in a couple days! ‘Cause ya were honest with me. Not lying to get me to your house. Ugh. Fuckin’ gross.” You scoff. 

“You wanna go home?” Joel asks now in a very firm tone. You don’t. You were having so much fun before stupid Matt. Having fun pretending to watch football and snuggle with him!!

“Not really!! I was having fun!!” You exclaim in frustration.

“So stay!” Joel exclaims in matched frustration. “I just didn’t want you fuckin’ bitchin’ at me ‘bout my drinkin’ with my brother! Sorry!” He is still frustrated. 

“Um. No. That sounds stupid.” You roll your eyes at him. "Lie to me to keep me from being upset with you about something?"

“You really think Imma liar?” Joel sounds so hurt now and you see in his eyes that he actually is a little hurt by this. 

“Welp, seeing as you lied. Kinda.” You huff angrily. Joel rolls his eyes. That’s the straw on the camel's back right there. “Fuck you. How are you going to be annoyed? I told you the truth!” You snap at him. 

“Fuck you, too!” Joel snaps back for… no reason. Just said it to say it. It’s kind of cute but also incredibly annoying. “How do I know yer’ not lyin’ ‘bout going to see that guy. You lied to me about being a virgin that first night... told me ya weren't... why?” Joel flicks his eyebrows up to you. 

“BECAUSE I WAS ASHAMED!!?? DIDN'T THINK YOU'D WANNA SEE ME AGAIN IF I TOLD YOU!!??” You shout. Joel's shouting is much different from yours. Very loud. Much louder and deeper and bellowing. 

“SO WAS I!! SAME REASON!!” Joel shakes clenches his jaw tight. "I’m fuckin’ ashamed I got that drunk." Joel exclaims at you in frustration-- much softer now though. but then he just groans before he speaks again. "Fuuuuck. I hate this shit. Stupid shit.” Joel throws his hands up in the air and huffs. “I’m goin’ to watch football.” And then he marches his stupid ass right downstairs. You flick him off for two full minutes now that he is out of sight. He is kinda right. Sonofabitch. You hate when men are right. Hate it. You don’t even wanna go back downstairs. But you do. Joel is sitting where he had been before and doesn’t look at you when you come down– with no bags. You feel so uncomfortable. 

“Do you want me to stay?” You grumble. Joel snorts. 

“Do you want to?” He scoffs at you softly still looking at the TV.

“If you’re going to talk to me like that, no.” You roll your eyes. Joel flicks his head to you now, with soft eyes and small smirk... and pats his lap. “What?” You're confused. 

“C’moon.” Joel nods you over to him.

“You want me to come…sit on your lap?” You raise one eyebrow at him suspiciously. He silently nods. Then he beckons you again with another patting of his muscular thigh with his fucking big, strong, stupid hands. You say nothing and don’t even look at him as you shuffle to him. He holds your waist and sits you down on to him. The back of your thighs is right on top of his and you’re more on the couch than in his lap. He looks down at you and smirks. 

“I won’t lie t’ya anymore. I’m real sorry. Didn’t wanna look like n’ ass. N’ I did anyway.” He runs strong hand across your legs softly and scans your face. “N’ I believe y’didn’t go see that Matt fucker.” He grumbles his name and makes you chuckle. “Why’d ya think I wouldn’t want nothin’ t’do withya?” He’s somehow leaned in and now only inches from your face. How did this happen?

“I dunno– you’re kind of established n’ I’m not.” You whisper softly. “N’ I thought maybe all you wanted was... the only thing I got to offer.” You chuckle but there are other emotions brewing inside you. Shit. You’re not gonna cry. No. You will not. 

“Stupid.” Joel leans in and kisses you softly, his tongue flicks across your bottom lip but doesn’t enter your mouth or do anything else. You whine softly when he pulls away. “Football.” He nods his head to the TV. 

Fuck. He does have self control.

Joel leads you upstairs for bed later after locking all the doors and windows, checking the thermostat and making sure all the blinds were shut. You cant help but wonder if he does it ever night as a cute lil routine and now you are in love with him. No you’re not. Stop doing that. No. He’s a man and just regular. You keep telling yourself that as he walks you into his bedroom and pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it in the hamper. 

“You got pjs or do you need something?” he asks, knowing you have a bag of clothes… he carried it in. 

“I have —” You’re trying so hard not to smile at him for no reason as he grabs a t-shirt from his dresser and tosses it on to the bed near where you’re standing. 

“You could use that if you wanted.” He’s being so serious. If he’s being cute and flirting he isn’t showing it as he works on his belt. Your body jolts into gear when you become fully aware that you’re just standing there staring at him. You pull your own shirt off and unclasp your bra around the back and let it slide down your shoulders and arms. You half expect Joel to be staring at you stupidly like an idiot, but he just walks behind you, brings his rough, strong calloused hand to your waist, squeezes softly and walks into the bathroom. 

You throw on his t-shirt and pull your shorts off and walk into the bathroom with your toothbrush feeling…so silly for some reason. You shouldn’t!! He wants you here. Gave you the stupid shirt without you asking. He knew you wanted it. Or he wanted you to have it… which was even cuter and made you even more nervous and feel even sillier. 

Joel hands you toothpaste as you stand in front of the vanity mirror. It’s a good mirror. You’re thinking about how good it would be to sit on the sink and pick at your face in this fucking thing while you brush your teeth. You might if you ever get an opportunity. You brush real good and follow Joel back into the bedroom, he waits for you at the door of the bathroom and extends his hand to you. To walk to his bed. Six feet away. You do not give one single fucking shit. He could hold your hand into the zombie apocalypse if he wanted. You’d let him lead you right into that shit. Fuck.

He pulls the sheets back for you and walks around the bed as you crawl in. 

“Hey.” He growls once he’s in bed. You’re so far away from him. There could be three more people in here. 

“Hi.” You have to speak with your real talking voice to make him hear you. 

“You could come closer.” He chuckles softly. 

“Why is it so big!?” You smirk at him as you have to take several hands and knees over to him. 

“I’m a big guy.” Joel shrugs. 

“Not this big!” You snuggle right up into him and now there is… still an entire queen sized bed left over where you had just crawled from. You giggle excitedly and wiggle around beside him. He is warm and perfect and smells like Joel and this is exciting. You're so happy to be here.

“What’re you wormin’ around fer?” Joel looks down at you, smirking. 

“I dunno. Just happy to be here, I think. Got the sillies or something.” You giggle up to him. “Do you not get in bed and get all excited to be in bed n’ snuggly next to someone??” You look up and him and suddenly feel kinda dumb but he doesn’t let you for long as he wriggles down beside you and wraps you up in his arms. 

“ Shiiit… no. I’m a grown man.” He sounds offended that you’d ask him that. “But you can squirm n’ worm all around next to me whenever ya’ want..” Joel chuckles and kisses the top of your head. 

“I got a cat yesterday. S’why I was at the cat shelter.” You whisper up to him. “Her name is Agatha Christie.” You add quickly after a second of silence. Joel tries and fails to stifle his laughter. 

“What!? Did you pick that name out? Poor cat.” He’s still laughing and jostling your whole body around as he laughs heartily. “Why’d ya get a cat?” 

“I’ve wanted one for a while.” You snap at him. “And her name is good!! I like spooky stuff… Agatha Christie wrote creepy detective books!! Death on the Nile!! So good!” You’re semi offended. Joel rubs his hand all along your back and shoulders. You're running your hand all across his soft n' smooth stomach except for a lil trail of hair that leads down into his boxers. He's so soft n' pudgy but firm and tight at the same time. You wanna run your tongue all along him. Shit. Talking about cats. Fuck. Okay.

“Issa good name fer’ you. Yeah, yer’ right.” Joel is still chuckling. 

“I didn’t even name her that!” You poke him in the sides and he grabs your wrist gently. 

“I’ll spank you into next week. Don’t.” He growls it. 

“Next week? For a poke? Seems excessive…” You roll your eyes at him but, you want him to. Want to poke his soft and pudgy and perfect tummy. It's calling for you.

“Don’t…” Joel is warning you. 

“Are you super ticklish?” You’re not going to tickle him…because you don’t like being tickled. Hate it even though it...tickles and makes you laugh.

“Just don’t.” He sighs loudly and lets your wrist go. It was never tight to begin with. You just like him holding onto you.

“Fine.” You feign annoyance as you kiss his shoulder softly. He sighs softer now and rubs your back gently again. 

“Roll over.” Joel whispers quietly. You do exactly as he says and might never question him ever again. He molds himself into your back and ass and his legs are pressed into yours. He is engulfing you. His mouth is right beside your ear now. “Glad you stayed.” He murmurs softly. 

“Me too.” You breathe out softly. 

“I’m gon’ tease both of us a lil now, don’t get too worked up, ‘kay Cricket?” He snickers so softly in your ear as he pushes his groin into your ass softly. “Love teasin’...” He keeps speaking as he grinds against you. “Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?” His voice is so soft and if his cock wasn’t getting hard against you, you’d fall asleep he’s so calm and soothing. 

“Yeah…” You sigh because it’s all you can do. His hand is moving all across your stomach and down between your legs for… milliseconds. It makes you groan and him chuckle each time. His strong fingers pinch and tug at your nipples softer than the first time he touched them. 

“You like this? Want me t’stop?” He kisses behind you ear gently and then breathes out against you as he works his cock into the V between your closed legs and pussy. “Shit.” Joel chokes it back and pushes into you harder. You can feel his searing hot length against the skin of your inner thighs and through the fabric of your panties. “I gotta stop.” He chuckles but does not. 

“Keep going.” You whisper to him and pause for a moment. “Please?” You really want him to keep going…you’re not really sure why. It doesn’t feel like much of anything to you other than something hot and hard between your legs. “Don’t stop… Mr. Miller.” You bite your bottom lip and cringe and how awkward you are and then Joel reacts to this.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He spits the words out and pulls you back against him even tighter, his forearm between your breasts and now his hand is around your neck softly, he’s breathing into your ear. “What did you say?” He whispers but there is force behind this whisper. 

“Please don’t stop, Mr. Miller.” You whimper softly as his hand tightens around your throat. “I’m sorry?" You’re kinda scared because this giant man has his hand around your throat… but is still doing whatever it is he’s doing between your legs. Fucking your thighs? Dunno. He’s still doing that but faster now. And choking you moderately. 

“Fuckin’ naughty, lil girl.” His voice is so deep, fuck. Okay. Is he mad? 

“Do you really like that?” You ask nervously but his body is already telling you that he does… his voice is saying.. Maybe? His hand leaves your throat and his body stops moving against yours. 

“What’d I do?” he holds his hands up and freezes. You look at him over your shoulder and he’s panting, sweating a little, but looking at you fearfully. “M’sorry fer’ whatever it was…” 

“What? You didn’t do anything..” You blink at him. He blinks back at you. 

“Huh? Then what’re you talkin’ ‘bout ‘cause I love all that.” Joel sighs softly and relaxes. 

“Me calling you Mr. Miller?” You raise your eyebrow at him. Joel snorts and lays back in bed. 

“Uh…yeah. I fuckin’ do.” Joel shakes his head. “S’fuckin’... I dunno. I dunno why I like it. Yer’ the first woman t’ever call me that in bed...damn... I liked it though fer' some reason.” Joel sighs loudly. “Sorry. I ain’t mean fer’ it t’go that far. I snuck right outta my boxers.” He rubs the sweat off his forehead and looks over at you. “Y’like all that?” 

“You weren’t mad at me?” You’re still blinking a little. Joel looks like he’s replaying the last four minutes in his head to think if you did something to make him mad.

“No.” He says after a moment and then looks over at you. “What’d I do t’make y’think that?” 

“Uh… choked me? Sounded real mad?” You gawk at him. 

“Didn’t like bein’ choked?” 

“Well now that I know you’re not mad at me… I think I did? I dunno. Let’s do it again.” You suggest eagerly but he just laughs. 

“Nah, ‘cause then it wouldn’t be teasin’.” Joel shrugs his shoulders. 

“That is terrible.” You groan. “Don’t like teasing.” You whine and then face the other way again, annoyed. 

“Lose yer’ attitude, lil Bird.” Joel spanks your ass softly over the blankets. “T’cute to be all ‘tudinal.” 

“I thought you liked a bratty lil girl.” You mock him gently and smirk, getting comfortable in the bed next to him.

He chuckles beside you and rubs the fat of your ass over the blankets now. “Yeah… I do.” Joel sighs loudly and rolls back over to be behind you again. “Goin’ t’sleep now, really.” Joel kisses behind your ear and the the back of your shoulder and the top of your head. His arm drapes over your side and then it’s quiet. 

You’re too excited to sleep!? What!? Why did you not feel this way the last two times? You slept fine. Mr. Miller!! This sonofabitch gets you all horny for thigh fucking and then is sleeping behind you first? Unfair. Not cool. Okay….without that real loud fan from your place…his snoring is kinda loud. Real loud. Right in your ear loud. Is he being so fucking for real right now? This has to be a joke. 

No. 

He is so fucking for real. And the man…sleeps like he might be dead. If it wasn’t for the snoring…you’d think he was how he reacted to literally nothing you did. He had to be faking and pretending. You eventually weasel your way back across this football field sized bed and…the snoring isn’t too bad over here. Still kinda loud. You’ll be fine. You’ve slept through worse. Fighting parents (screaming dad) all night sometimes. This is nothin’. 

It was not nothing.

tag list: @immyowndefender @korikolove @untamedheart81 @fanficlover1414 (i'll add or take you off, just let me know!)

[uintaundead]

A ton of the added bulk, raised hoodlines, and other shit is wholly due to government meddling anyways. Thanks Chicken Tax.

Saw this Trucks Discourse on facebook and I'm not part of that world but yeah that one on the left is delightful and I really had no idea just how wasteful and pointless the other kind is until this comparison

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

So Much Love in Oklahoma

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.

a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies

also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33

masterlist | twisters masterlist

What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.

(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant, doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

“My pet…” “Little thing…” “Pretty thing…”

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[bunnyrafe]

gassppp bf rafe dragging reader out of a party theyre at after threatening to fight a girl- who she saw practically eye-fucking him :0

does that make any sense 😭

the way i did a little dance while reading this because ABSOLUTELY… reader who does not play about her rafey.

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. 500 f / kook!reader, partying, mentions of drinking & drug use, rafe has met his match, daddy kink, suggestive.

you’re not one to fly off the handle. in fact the first thing people often say about you is how sweet you are. the sweetest girl who loves to party, loves expensive things and being taken care of. that’s how you won over rafe’s heart. perfect for him in every way, even when your nasty temper does happen to make an appearance.

at first, you don’t think much of it when you catch her eyes rake up and down rafe’s form. your vision is bleary due to everything in your system. a few drinks, one or two puffs of rafe’s joint— the usual. maybe you’re seeing things. actually you must be seeing things; there’s no way she’s this fuckin' dumb to salivate over him right in front of you, as you cling to his side and press your glossed lips to his neck.

unbeknownst to you rafe follows your gaze, rolling his eyes when they land on the girl in question. he ducks his head so he can grumble in your ear, squeezing your hip through the material of your pretty party dress in the process— “ignore her, baby.”

“do you know her?” you’re quick to ask.

rafe’s face twists up, “fuck no.”

“good.”

everything’s peachy as it should be until rafe gets up from your side— once he’s up, he leans back down and plants a sweet kiss to your lips. one that makes you grab at him for more, expecting him to pull you away with him to a more private room. instead he whispers against your lips, mimicking your pout— “i gotta go get something, bunny.”

you nod obediently, but don’t let go of his hand until you absolutely have to. “be good,” he mouths to you.

and honestly, that was your plan. to be good. to wait for him like you were meant to. you don’t remember getting up from your spot on the sofa, you don’t remember stomping over to her in your brand new heels. but you do recall seeing her make a move, eyes glued to your boyfriend as he weaves through the crowded house, ready to follow after him.

there are a few voices surrounding you, calling for rafe “cameron, come get your girl.” that was mere moments before you felt his arms wrap around you, tugging you away while you continued to shout and nearly full on bark like some over territorial puppy— “i’ll kill you, bitch.”

of course you didn’t mean it… well. a tiny part of you did.

you keep your arms folded against your chest. rafe’s jacket hangs off of your shoulders as you sit in the passenger seat of his truck. frowning so hard that your cheeks hurt. any kind of buzz or high you’ve had has completely worn off, but sparks go off when your boyfriend grabs at your thigh with a big warm hand, reassuringly rubbing his palm over your skin. he clears his throat, huffing a laugh through his nose… “i mean— all things considered, that was pretty hot.”

“shut up.” you grit through your teeth, drowning in embarrassment.

“nah,” rafe grins, “i’m serious, baby. you’re just— just a little protective over your daddy, nothin’ wrong with that.”

you hang off of every word, happy to still have his approval after your stunt. yeah. he’s right. there truly is nothing wrong with that… and you intend to show him just how much you’re obsessed with him when you two get back to his place.

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 | dbf!Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | you're stranded, you need help—of course, Joel Miller is your savior.

content warning | listen. i wrote this in 3 hours, idk what to say. i had a thot and it went from there. its completely p w/o p, dbf!joel, age gap, moodboard is for aesthetic and reader is mostly not described aside from hair long enough to be put up, unhinged popsicle eating, eye-fucking, public-ish unprotected p in v car sex. listen i'm on my period rn don't look at me and thank you for my love, my twin, @chaotic-mystery for constantly supporting my gremlin behavior

word count — 3.2k

Out of all the people you had the chance of running into—of course it was Joel.

The chances were slim, but not impossible. You knew his work schedule well enough, similar to that of your fathers. He worked early mornings into the late evening, taking his commute home just as the sun was starting to set.

You gripped the gas can in one hand as you made your way down the side road, the other hand placed over your eyes like a visor to block the sun away. You didn’t even have a cell signal out here, so the walk seemed fruitless.

But, you had to find a gas station. 

You thought you could make it home, which was clearly poor judgment, and the hair falling from the haphazardly tied knot on top of your head was sticking to your neck, eyes squinting as the truck pulled up next to you.

“Now, darlin’—the hell are you doin’ out here in the middle of nowhere?” Joel asks, the blast of AC hitting you in the face as he rolls down the window, arm leaned over the console as he looked you over. 

It was clear you’ve been out here longer than you should and Joel doesn’t even take a second to hesitate before he’s popping the handle on the passenger door and inviting you inside the cooler cabin of his truck.

“Where are you comin’ from?” He asks, shifting the truck into drive before he rests his palm over the gear shift.

“A friend, I thought I had enough gas to make it home but,” You shrug, waving vaguely at your car parked on the side of the road as he drives by.

What took a fifteen minute walk to where Joel had picked you up was only a minute or so drive back. Joel looks at you wearily and turns up the AC, blasting the stray hairs away from your face but the immediate burst of cold feels like absolute heaven.

“Grab a water out of my cooler, sweetheart,” He gestures with a thumb over his shoulder and you scramble, leaning over the center console with your ass popped up in the air.

Joel assumed it had to have been a pool party, the skirt covering your bottom half doing nothing to hide the thin, strappy bikini bottoms you wore underneath. 

Joel doesn’t mean to stare, but he’s worried that you might hurt yourself, his hand reaching out to wrap around your calf in an effort to keep you steady.

A subtle smirk plays at the corner of your mouth as you reach for the water inside the cooler and pop your head back up, your ass grazing his hand on the way down as you twist back into your seat.

Little touches were never a big thing with you two, normal and constant and nothing unusual.

A hand on your shoulder at family cookouts, his hands engulfing yours as he popped open the cap on your beer, a squeeze of his hand at the back of your neck when he hugged you after a month or two of not seeing you around your father’s house due to college or work, whatever was keeping you so busy. He didn’t try to pry, but you’ve been around less and less with each passing summer—so this unsuspecting time with you, he didn’t mind. It was nice.

Really nice.

You twist at the cap and take a drink of the water, so thirsty that it starts to drip out of your mouth, a small droplet down your chin, reaching your chest and down the center of your breasts.

“It ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Joel jokes, squinting his eyes as he hides the growing grin on his face with his usual frown.

“Sorry, being out in that heat like that…” You take a breath, recalling the bottle and putting it in the drink holder, “I just feel so stupid for thinking I could make it.“

When the street lights come into view, you know you're closer to actual civilization. And, just as Joel takes a right on the next intersection you stop at, there it was.

“It happens,” Joel comforts, “but you were lucky I was drivin’ home—can’t even think about what could have happened if I didn’t pass by.”

Joel pulls into the gas station and turns off the ignition.

“Well,” You flash a bright smile, squeezing at his shoulder—he’s got on a dark shirt plastered with the logo of the construction company he worked for, faded and slightly damp from his own sweat, “you did and I’m thankful for it, Joel.”

“Hand it over,” Joel motions toward the gas can, “I’ll fill ‘er up for you.”

“Joel, you don’t have to—“

Joel tilts his head toward the gas can at your feet, eyebrows raised and hand held out expectantly.

“Just hand it over.”

You sigh softly and relent, reaching between your legs to grab the plastic jug, knowing of the eyes that drag down your spine from the open back of your top, tied just as your neck and the side of your breasts spilling out of your swim top.

Joel knows a snag, just a simple hook of his fingers would send them spilling out into the cool air, nipples perked up under the mesh fabric of your top and—

“Joel.”

Joel’s eyes pull up suddenly, his face flushed but he’s lucked out by the redness of hot, summer heat on his face.. He clears his throat and grabs the gas can.

“Be right back,” He tells you, “stay put, alright?”

“And where would I go?” You retort playful, “I’m sure you’d find me again anyways.”

Joel chuckles to himself with a shake of his head as he departs into the store, handing a ten to the clerk before he takes a quick glance back at you, fanning yourself with your hand and chugging down another swig of water.

“Actually,” Joel pauses for a moment, holding a finger up as he lingers down the aisle toward the freezer and grabs out two popsicles, hoping that would quell some of the heat, even if for a moment—plus, he knew you had quite the sweet tooth, “there, just put whatever’s left on the pump and I’ll use that to fill it up.”

The clerk nods and scans the items, handing Joel off the receipt and he’s half jogging back toward his truck—quick to toss you the keys and the two popsicle’s he’d bought.

“What is this?” You ask cheerfully, eyes lighting up as they plopped into your lap.

Joel kept the driver's side open as he filled up the gas can, watching as you peeled eagerly at the popsicle, the red dye immediately dripping down your fingers as you pulled away the plastic.

“Just throw it on the floorboard—I’ll clean it up later,” Joel notes as you look around, placing the lid back on the gas can before climbing back into the truck, “you mind openin’ mine?”

You place the cherry flavored popsicle between your lips with an eagerness that forces Joel to look away, the sound of you peeling away plastic in his ear as he pulls out of the gas station and makes his way back toward your car.

“Thank you, baby,” He says casually—not all that odd either, he’s got a million nicknames for you, some trickier to let slip around others but there was an unspoken agreement. You never minded, never cared.

He was only ever Joel to you and he didn’t mind that either. 

“Of course,” You smile, before dragging your tongue along the bottom of the popsicle and back up, sinking it back between your lips.

Joel just bites at it, not one to savor things very often.

You giggle and roll your eyes, the popsicle tip just as the edge of your lips before Joel is looking over at you curiously, ignoring the red stain of popsicle on your tongue as it peeks out.

“What?”

“Just—you’re not even trying to enjoy it, Joel.”

“It’s meant to be eaten, right?”

“It’s hot—it’s a cold treat, you’re supposed to make it last a little. Come on,” You hold the popsicle out for demonstration before licking up the side, sinking your lips back down in a show that was more for yourself, knowing how he constantly looked at you—if Joel chokes on the bite of flavored ice in his mouth you don’t see it.

It wasn’t a secret, how he looked at you. It’s been a few years since you left for college and teetering that line, nearing your mid-twenties now it seemed like it had only gotten more and more obvious. Joel’s never made his own advances aside from the one time your drunken state made you a little too confident, sliding between his legs at one of your family parties late at night, pressing a kiss right against his lips that ended far too quickly. 

He did kiss you back though, you do remember that.

“Alright, alright,” Joel waves his hand at you nonchalantly, “you can cut that out.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the sticky sweet juice slip down your fingers as the popsicle starts to melt, nearly finished as Joel had already downed his own.

“I’m just eating the popsicle,” You brush him off, “that you bought me—“

“You know what I’m talkin’ about, sweetheart.”

You do, but that half second of lingering pause makes Joel worry he has read the situation completely wrong.

“What? Do you not like it?” You tease him, “Doesn’t it turn you on, Joel?”

You finish up the last bit before tucking the stick into the plastic and back on the ground, suddenly realizing the red dye had stained the front of your top, causing a frown to form on your face as you rubbed at the material.

“Shit,” You curse, ignoring the heated look on Joel’s face at your words, practically oblivious with the sudden distraction. You pull at the tie on the back of your top and bunch up the fabric as you stuff it between your lap, meeting Joel’s half-dumbstruck look as he tries to keep his eyes on the road but also can’t draw his eyes away from you, “what—I got it all over my shirt?”

Joel pulls to the side of the road in an instant, forcing the truck into park, “What are you playin’ at?”

You look at him with confusion, narrowing your eyes.

“What? Why did you pull over?”

“What are the chances of me findin’ you out here? On this road?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, “Hm?”

You feign innocence for a few seconds before you cave, smiling with a devilish glint, resting your chin in your hand as you lean against the center console, your bikini top doing nothing to cover the plump of your breasts as the press against the fabric.

“Well, I mean—I figured they were pretty likely but—“

“Is your car even out of gas?”

You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully, eyes tilting upwards in thought—truth…lie. 

Joel seemed set on getting the truth. So, you give it to him.

“No, but I had you going, didn’t I?”

Joel is silent for too long and you raise your eyebrows in question before Joel reaches forward, tugging at the lever under his seat to send him scooting back.

“Come here,” It’s simple. An instruction. 

But the look on his face—the intimidation shakes you to your core.

“Now, don’t back off,” Joel challenges, “it’s what you wanted, right?”

“As if you don’t want it either,” You counter, “you’ve been eye-fucking me since I got in your truck.”

Joel doesn’t even deny it, only waits. A simple nod of his head in a gesture for you to climb over and into his lap.

So, you do.

His hands immediately find your thighs and push up the denim skirt, your own hands resting at your sides as you scoot until your cunt is pressed up against the hard line of his zipper, the denim of his jeans so sensitive against your bare skin, feeling like all your senses were dialed up.

“We do this,” Joel starts, “there’s no going back. So, I need you to think if you really want this or—“

You surge forward, forcing the back of his head into the headrest as you swallow his words in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues clashing with the taste of sugary sweetness.

“Gotta be quick,” Joel tells you, his words lost on deaf ears as your hands drag down his front, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne, the ironic freshness despite having worked in the heat all day, “can I fuck you, baby? S’that too much to ask?”

You shake your head, peppering soft kisses against his lips, along his jaw, feeling his fingers reach for each tie at your hips and pull, his hand immediately sliding over your cunt, cupping you with the warmth of his palm.

“Get it out, baby—got my hands a little busy right now.”

The heat in his words makes your pussy clench, but your hands move even faster, dragging over the front of his jeans and pulling at the zipper swiftly and Joel lifts his hips enough to get them down his thighs but that was it, hissing at the instant your hand closes around his cock.

“You got a problem with me fuckin’ you like this?” Joel asks, a true gentleman, but you roll your eyes. “Don’t even know why I asked—you’ve been beggin’ for it.”

You tilt your head, smiling at him playfully before you lick at your fingers and taste the remaining sticky sugar before pressing them along the center of your cunt, mixed with the already growing slick—Joel nudges at your entrance as you watch, the tip of his cock notched against your hole and your pussy quivers with the anticipation as he drags his cock up, down, up, before sliding in all at once.

It’s slow, but intense. Your eyes close, brow drawing together as he pulls you further and further down his cock.

“Open,” He breathes out, “open your eyes and look at how you’re takin’ me, baby.”

You blink quickly, grabbing onto his bicep for purchase as you look down, his hands squeezing at the tops of your thighs as he admired, watching the way his cock has you on the edge of near tears—a mix of overwhelming emotion and intense sensation.

Joel pulls at your top gently and it falls without much struggle, he bunches the material up and tosses it aside with your bottoms, massaging the swell of your tits under his palms as you rock your hips slowly, hearing the soft grunt behind his closed lips as you lean into his touch.

Flicking his thumb over your nipples, he admires the way the nubs hardered, like he’d imagine earlier—he tries not to dwell on how you both got here, like it wasn’t years of built up tension finally crumbling underneath you both.

“Don’t be shy,” He tells you, “take whatever you need, baby.”

As does he, leaning forward to press his lips against your breast, tongue lapping over the pert nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, drawing a soft sigh out of you.

You lift your hips, in time with the hand of his own that drops to your side to quicken your pace, “Wanna take my time with you but we can’t,” Joel admits, “gotta get home.”

You nod, knowing he had his own responsibilities as a father—you don’t argue, placing your hands against the headrest and raising your hips nearly off of his cock before sinking back down quickly, keeping that pace for as long as your body will allow, shared breaths into each others mouth as he hands travel from your tits to your face, the largeness of his palms engulfing your face as he brings his lips to your mouth again, again, soft whispers of words you know he doesn’t mean. Promises you know are fleeting and easy to break. 

You couldn’t be with him, but you would take whatever this is.

“Just like that, baby,” He murmurs, grunting harshly into your ear as you tuck your head into his neck, his hand buried into the hair at the back of your head as you sink down onto his cock desperately, crying out into the side of his throat as he snaps his hips roughly, hitting so deep inside of you it makes you clench, biting down gently on his skin, “I feel it, I felt it.”

You snake your hand between your legs, finding your clit quickly and rubbing over the swollen nub, and Joel can tell by the neediness in your tone, moans broken into his skin as he fucks into you, haphazardly scanning the road for any passing cars—but he knew this place was always deserted, a shitty road that no one ever took.

Not even you, but today—it wasn’t a coincidence. 

“That’s right, baby,” Joel sighs, head thrown back as he groaned out, “gon’ let me use this pussy, yeah?”

You nod instinctively, willing to agree with whatever Joel asked.

“Wanna fill her up,” Joel admits, forcing you to lift your head and look at him, head tilted down slightly to meet your eyes, “that alright, darlin’?”

You nod again, but coherent this time. 

He loosens the reins completely by then, practically hauling you over his shoulder as he pounds into you, encourage the hand on your clit as he squeezes a handful of your ass under his palm, marking the skin with a few firm slaps that has you moaning out loudly into the sacred space of the truck.

“Joel, please—“ You gasp, “I’m gonna—right there,”

“I know, baby. I know.” He says softly, but the strain in his voice is obvious, groaning through clenched teeth as your orgasm crests, warmth spreading as you gush over his cock, the momentary bliss of sensation making your forget where you were, suddenly wishing that this had been a little less impulsive, wondering how Joel would treat you within the walls of his bedroom, buried in the sheets of his bed.

When Joel comes, it’s intense. His hands squeezing at your waist hard, his hips jerking out of rhythm as he stills you, coming inside of you with a deep groan, pulling you in for a frenzied kiss, laughing at how your faces uncoordinatedly press together, your nose smushed against his own and he kisses at the tip of your own as you pull away, his hair messier than when you started from your insistent grabbing and pulling during the heat of your orgasm.

He looked a complete mess, actually.

“You okay?” He asks after a long pause, his hand rubbing at your back, cock still buried inside you on the side of an empty road. 

“Mhm,” You nod drearily.

“Baby, you gotta drive home now.” He tells you and you know—it doesn’t make it any easier, though. “Don’t pull this shit again, alright?”

If he’d see it any other way you would have flinched, but it was soft and comforting—not a warning.

“You need somethin’, you come knockin’ on my door.”

And you know he means it.

“Okay, I will.”

“Swear,” That was an order, “I need to hear it.”

“I swear.” You reply quietly.

Joel doesn’t push you away, though.

If anything, he savors the few moments he has in this dreamy afterglow, a taste of what could be—but you both know never will. 

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

[mariasont]

maria, i have an ideaaa!!

bimbo!assistant!reader goes on a date with a really shitty guy. and she sneaks away to the back door and calls hotch in the alley to come and save her (it’s also raining). she’s all wet and her makeup’s all ruined when hotch comes.

he then takes her back to his place and takes care of her… and… mushy soft fluffiness happens… and maybe feelings are confessed… and maybe a kiss or 2 happens…🥰💖

TALK ABOUT A BAD DATE - A.H

a/n: genius, genius, you are an absolute genius!!!!!!!!!!! this was probably my fav bimbo!reader fic to write <3 thank you sm for requesting

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um the rain takes out reader's shirt, so she does kinda flash him for a hot sec, hotch also blatantly checks out her ass, cuties being sickeningly cute, cuties kiss in 4k

wc: 2k

A perfect, flawless, stunning, never-been-done before outfit wasted on a loser of a guy. Your makeup had taken an hour alone, your hair—well, you didn't even want to think about it because you were certain you were starting to break out in hives.

You steadied yourself against the brick wall, the uneven asphalt beneath your heels threatening to take you down as you fished your phone from the depths of your purse.

You dialed the first number you could think of--Hotch's. His was also the only one you had memorized. The battery icon flashed a warning of five percent as you hunched beneath the alleyway's awning, trying to shield yourself from the rain. You desperately hoped he'd pick up.

There was frankly no plan B if he didn't. Go back inside and ask you so-called date for a ride? That was not an option. The moment he pulled up in one of those big trucks, with its deafening music and roaring engine, you regretted not driving yourself. After all, you were well aware what men were compensating for with a big truck.

"Hotchner."

His voice was gruff, the sound slightly distorted by the speaker. You imagined he had just walked through his door, despite the time being eight o'clock on a Friday night. He was presumably preparing to pour his routine glass of scotch.

"Sir, it's me," you said, attempting to ignore the relentless raindrops assaulting your makeup--a battle they seemed intent on winning. Clearly, the concept of setting spray was foreign to them. "Can I ask you for a favor? If you say yes, I pinky promise I'll stop rearranging your desk. I know you have a system, but it just looks so bland sometimes."

"I'm going to overlook that desk comment," he stated, his sigh audible through the phone. You could picture the pensive frown that came with it. "What do you need?"

You drew your lips into a tight line, looking down to watch the rain mock the effort you had put into your outfit.

"Can you come pick me up? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Pick you up? From where? Are you okay?"

You shivered slightly, your free hand instinctively rubbing warmth into your arm. You should've brought a jacket. The thought of sharing this evening's failings with your boss did not sound appealing, so you avoided most of his questions.

"I'll text you the location, okay?"

"Okay, yes, I'll be there. Just stay put."

You thanked him and followed that by a double promise to stay put (he didn't believe you the first time). You also told him you'd wait inside, which was less than truthful. The thought of getting drenched was far more attractive than the prospect of bumping in that women-hating boy again.

You didn't have to wait long, thankfully, spotting Hotch's car turn into the alley, the headlights flaring up like spotlights against your face. You used a manicured hand to shield your eyes, narrowing them against the glare. The distinct sound of a door opening and closing signaled his arrival, and soon, Hotch was striding towards you.

"Christ, get in the car," Hotch insisted, more a command than a suggestion.

He was by your side in an instant, his arm on yours as he opened your door and helped you in. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over you to fasten the seatbelt. You giggled, his hand pausing just above your thigh.

"What?"

The rain gently streamed over his perfect skin, his hair now saturated and plastered to his brow, his blue dress shirt bearing the brunt of the downpour.

"You don't trust me to buckle my own seatbelt?"

"I don't trust you with a lot of things." Completely false. "For instance, your choice of men." Completely true.

He clicked the seatbelt into place and swung the door shut, cutting off any chance of a response, then moved around the car to the driver's side.

You can't help but pout, even as your eyes traced the line of his jaw. "How'd you know?"

Any trace of annoyance vanished as quickly as it came as he placed a hand behind you, giving you an even better view of his profile while he reversed the car. Your focus shifted to the ripple of muscles under his shirt.

"I'm trained to know when someone is in distress and you practically spelled it out. The restaurant, the clothes..." His voice tapered off, disguising his pause with a cough while his gaze flickered over your outfit, his cheeks tinged with a fleck of red. "I've got a spare sweatshirt in the back if you need it."

You traced his line of sight to your chest. Emitting a small squeak, you quickly shielded yourself with your arms, realizing that your white top had become completely see through.

"Totally not embarassing," you say, pursing your lips as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"It's fine," Hotch insists, but you don't miss how his eyes are now careful not to drift from the road. "Put your seatbelt back on."

"I can't reach the sweatshirt."

You shift to face the back, knees planted on your seat as you lean over to grab just the thing you were looking for. In the rearview mirror you catch the brief moment his eyes do stray, discreetly (or so he thought) sweeping over your ass.

A self-satisfied smile crept across you face as you slid back into your seat, slipping on the sweatshirt. It smelled like him—an intoxicating blend of aged leather and pine. You liked it. A lot.

"So do you wanna talk about it?"

You really didn't. With a sigh, you dug through your purse for your lip gloss. Flipping down the passenger mirror, you froze, confronting your reflection.

"Hotch, didn't you think to mention my face is all... smudgy?"

Your mascara (and setting spray) had betrayed you, leaving dark trails down your cheeks and a slightly unhinged look.

"Your face is perfect," Hotch remarks dryly, like he was tired of you, he undoubtedly was. You were a handful after all. "Why are you avoiding my question?"

You let out a delighted gasp.

"Did you just say my face is perfect?" Leaning over the console, you tap his nose with your finger. "You're just the sweetest."

The look Hotch gives you is flat, expectant as if he knows just what you were trying to do.

"Okay, okay, fine, it was just a terrible date. Like, Hotch, I'm talking disaster-level bad. He made fun of my job, ate like a toddler, and his truck? He wouldn't shut up about it." Your hands are now shuffling through the contents of your purse in a panic. "And now, I can't find my keys."

"Your house keys?"

A breath of frustration flows from you, fingers pulling through your hair as you nod. "Dang it."

You felt a slight unraveling in your usual poise, and the panicking that came with it. Hotch's hand landed on your shoulder, his thumb grazing across your collarbone.

"Hey, it's fine. It's late, and you're upset. You can stay at my place tonight, I'll crash on the couch, and we'll find your keys in the morning."

He made everything seem so simple.

"I'm not upset," you insist, lips pursing as you angle your body just enough to feel his touch more fully.

His hands felt right on you.

He chuckled quietly, his thumb tracing a path from your shoulder to brush away the solitary tear beneath your eye that you hadn't noticed before.

"Must be a raindrop," you shrug. Hotch's soft laugh tells you he doesn't quite buy it. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying over?"

"I'm certain."

"Okay."

"So why did your date make fun of your job?"

"Because," you start, your fingertip lazily sketching doodles on the misted car window, "when I was telling him about being an assistant and working for you, he implied that the only reason you hired me was so you had something pretty to look at."

"Well, he's not entirely wrong."

You let out a surprised giggle. "Hotch!"

You reach over the console, pinching his arm which he just laughed off, pulling into what you assumed was his driveway. You had never been to his house. It was nice. Really nice, the kind you'd find in movies—not imposing, but inviting, with its brick walls and stout brown pillars framing the porch.

You were even more surprised when you entered the house. The image you had of Hotch's house one of meticulous order, a place where you could hear the tick of a clock from rooms away. But this... this was a home. There were throw blankets casually draped over the couch, books overflowing, armchairs worn in just the right places.

You lean down, intent on stripping off the torturous heels, but a wobble has you teetering. Hotch is quick to step in.

"Here," he offers, lifting each foot in turn to his knee, skillfully undoing the straps and easing them off you.

Standing flat-footed, you suddenly feel much shorter, and you wonder if Hotch has ever seen you without them.

You look up at him, smiling cheekily. "My very own prince charming."

He ignored you and moved through the living room. "Do you want a pair of sweatpants?"

"Sharing clothes now, are we? I bet there's a clause against this in the employee handbook."

Hotch raises an eyebrow, "I don't think I need to remind you of the numerous times I've overlooked your creative interpretations of the handbook rules."

"So you're admitting to showing me favoritism?"

You plucked the sweatpants from his hands, not giving him an option to respond as you shuttled yourself into his bathroom. You changed quickly, trading your sopping wet clothes for Hotch's dry, warm ones.

You reentered the living room to find Hotch reclining on the couch with an ease that was new to your eyes. He, too, had slipped into something more comfortable—sweats and a form fitting grey long sleeve that threatened to distract you completely.

You dropped your purse onto the coffee table and settled next to him, maybe a little closer than you should have.

He let out a sound that was more a breath than a laugh, a sound that all the same made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "You've still got some, uh, makeup under your eyes."

He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb.

"It won't come off that way," you said, grabbing his wrist with a soft smile. "I have makeup wipes in my purse."

But he didn't hand you your bag like you would've thought, instead he dug through it, pulling out the wipes and starting to dab at your face. The softness of his touch felt disarmingly intimate, so gentle it coaxed your eyes to flutter more slowly, eyelids becoming more heavy.

Your head tilted downward and Hotch used his free hand to tilt it back up. "Stay still, or I'm going to poke your eye out."

"You're making me sleepy," you murmur, your voice a soft, drowsy hum, but then he moved the wipe to your lips and suddenly you were anything but.

He was even more gentle with your lips, if that was possible, wiping away the gloss like you were made of glass.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself gazing into his warm, brown-sugared eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. How did you get so close? You weren't sure, but he was there, noses almost touching.

He pulled away the wipe, using his thumb to clean up left over gloss though you were sure there wasn't any. His hand paused there, resting on your lower lip like it was meant to be there. You felt every fiber of your being stand on high alert. You wondered what he was thinking.

Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

"Are you going to kiss me?" You asked, half-hopeful, half-daring, giving a microphone to your inner monologue.

He took a moment, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes then back down again. "Yes."

It was certain. Like there was no doubt about it, but he didn't move.

"Okay, I'm ready," you breathed out, pulse roaring in your ears.

Hotch's laughter was a low and warm sound. You had heard it a lot tonight.

"You kill me," he said, and it wasn't patronizing—it was affectionate and genuine, and it made your whole body turn to mush.

Then his lips were on yours, and you were both laughing, the sound muffled by lips. It was tentative at first but it quickly morphed into something sweet and soft and perfect.

"Aren't you glad my date went terribly?" you mumbled into his soft skin.

"Devastatingly glad."

One thing was clear—Hotch was not going to end up sleeping on the couch tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @averyhotchner @everythinglizzy @sky2nd

join my taglist here!

[saltinesinsoup]

god. man.

[deen-djarin]

Suds n’ Trunks

Summary: Joel ordered a car washing service…bikini car washing service.

Tags: 18+, No Outbreak!Joel, Cheeky Flirty!Reader, Porn with a sprinkle of plot, Daddy kink, Choking, Joel is a menace and so is reader, Oral (m & f receiving), Unprotected P-in-V, Consensual Creampie

—

The sun shone on the perfect suburban streets of Austin, Texas. So hot you could fry an egg if you wanted to. You rolled your windows down, driving down a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, and pulled up at the house that sits in the cul de sac, a dirty- no filthy ford pickup truck parked on its driveway.

This must be the place.

A sigh fell from your lips as you hopped off your car with your supplies in hand; a bucket, sponge, microfiber rag, and various soaps for different parts of the car. The heat was even worse after you’ve left the comfort of your air conditioned car, but the thought of being out of your clothes and soaked in suds and the cool water excites you.

Once you’ve discovered this lucrative market of bored, horny, lonely middle aged suburban guys— eager to see a show, and maybe get their car cleaned as well, you start to do this gig every summer. The money is good plus these guys tip generously.

Your service by its core is nothing but a mobile car wash, but the carwash is being done by you, clad in a skimpy bikini. c’mon, who wouldn’t want that right?

When you scored your first customer, you became a spectacle for the neighborhood. Your client shamelessly pulls out a lawn chair, having a grand ol’ time “enjoying the sun” as you wash their car. Neighbors walking out their houses mowing their already perfectly trimmed lawn, walking their dogs, cats, and some approached your client for a neighborly talk they probably haven’t had in months.

You’ve gotten the whole neighborhood out of their house basically, then your client list doubles with those people coming over to you and asking to do theirs next. Some cars don't even need washing, but you do them anyway with a smile knowing you’re gonna eat good that night.

Ever since then you decided to do this gig every summer, cheekily naming your little business “Suds ‘n Trunks”.

—

You ring the doorbell of the Miller’s residence and step back. You could hear a soft grumble from behind the door before it opened and reveal a scruffy, middle aged, handsome man. your eyes scans him quickly, his hair tousled, his shoulders broad, big arms, big hands, Jesus Christ you want to just-

“Can I help you?”

His gruff, deep, Texan drawl snaps you out of your trance and brings you back to reality.

“Uhm yes, Mr. Miller? you called for a car wash?” You asked him with a sweet voice you come to learn that older men love, it always works like a charm, making them tip you a fat wad of cash— these men just craved attention from a pretty girl, and you’re happy to give that to them.

“Oh..yeah you could uh, it's that one right there,” he motioned to the dirty pickup truck. You give him a smile and nodded, “okay, i’ll go on and get started then.” Joel nodded and shut the door immediately.

—

A red Ford bronco sat on his driveway, absolutely covered in filth. You usually don't deal with this much grime, dust, and mud. Granted, most cars you’ve washed barely need a wash, the clients just wanted to see you wet and covered in suds, which you couldn’t really blame them.

You took a breath and started to step out of your tanktop and shorts, revealing the red matching bikini you’re wearing underneath and started to go to work.

—

Joel was exhausted after doing several construction projects back to back yesterday, from dawn to the ungodly hours of the night resulting in his beloved truck — Shirley— looking like it had been dragged in the mud…literally.

Joel likes to take care of his things, Shirley is no exception. His free time on the weekends is often spent on his truck in the garage, polishing her to perfection. But after all the hard work he did, just the thought of washing her made his back groan in protest.

So he got the number of your services from his coworkers after they commented on the state of Shirley, a smirk planted on their faces and they kept snickering which Joel found odd, but he was too fed up and exhausted to think twice on booking your services.

Joel grunts as he settles on his couch, his cold bottle of beer in one hand, the tv remote on the other. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

It's finally his time for him to take his hard-earned relaxation time. which should be easy, but he could hear the annoying sputtering sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower.

That thing needs more oil. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer.

Then another sound of a lawnmower sounded from the other side of the house, even more annoying than the first.

What the fuck? Why are they all mowin’ the lawn at the same time? at this hour? he thought.

Then comes the obnoxious yapping of Mr. Thompson's french bulldog and chihuahua.

What the hell is goin’ on? it's a whole ruckus out there.

He groaned, frustrated that the whole neighborhood seems to be against his well deserved relaxing time. He grumbled as he strides towards his window, drawing up the blinds to see what the fuck is going on out there.

His eyes nearly bulged out, blush quickly crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his cock twitching in his pants instantly at the sight.

You, bend over in the hood of his car, wet, covered in suds, in a fucking bikini. He tried to look away, he really did, but the way your hips sways, your ass jiggled, as you scrubbed hard with the caked on mud on his truck— it was hypnotizing.

—

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

The sight of Joel's furrowed brow as he stared at you in your revealing outfit was a mix of disapproval and desire. Your sweet smile remained as you answered his question, "Mr. Miller! I'm just washing your car."

His gaze roamed over you, making you shiver with anticipation. "In that?" He grunted, clearly torn between his disgust and arousal. "Well, yes… It's part of my service."

The man stood silent for a moment, his confusion palpable. "Part of your service?"

"Uhm, yeah... It's a bikini car wash service… You didn't know?" you tilted your head, confused.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"The name is Suds 'n' Trunks," you reminded him softly.

"I know what it's called!" he huffed, clearly frustrated.

Unsure of how to proceed, you hesitated. "So, uhm, you want me to just dress up and go or—"

"No, finish your job," he grumbled, still irritated. Your eyes trailed down to the growing tent in his jeans, confirming the source of his conflicting emotions.

You hid your smirk and purred, "Yes, sir," before returning to your task. The knowledge that you had such a potent effect on him only fueled your desire to please him.

—

Your back is even more curved now, ass sticking up more than they should as you washed the side of his truck, knowing Joel is looking– watching you like a hawk while he sits on the porch, a beer in his hand and a cigarette on the other. you turned your head over your shoulder just to give him a small smile, which he returned with his jaw clenching.

You bask under his gaze, your body tingling, giving him the best show you’ve ever given. you squatted as you started to clean the lower part of the truck, your ass jiggle with every hard scrub you give.

The tension between the two of you is palpable, leaving Joel frustrated, he knows damn well you’re taunting him. He’s torn between wanting to yell at you for acting so unprofessional and embarrassing him in front of the watchful eyes of his nosy neighbors— or fucking you against the truck for payback.

He sits there watching you, contemplating on what to do. You gave him another cheeky look over your shoulder and that was it, his last resolve snapped, fuck it.

—

“Careful with her,” he said lowly as he approached you.

You turned your head, batting your eyelashes, “Hm?”

“You’re goin’ too hard on her, just painted that part,” he murmured as he got closer, just right behind you.

“But the mud is really caked on this part,” you told him and went back to scrubbing.

“A-ah, hey,” he tutted and leaned down behind you, his large palms sitting atop of yours “Gentle…easy does it,” he murmured, his hot breath fanned against your ear.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan as you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. Your hand following his movements, “There we go…there we go, good girl,” he murmured and you swore every part of your body shivered.

“This is gonna take longer to finish, sir,” you murmured, your voice a mere whisper as you turned your head to him.

“I know…but you’re gonna get a bigger reward out of it, how’s that sound hm?” he muttered to your ear before abruptly pulling away from you and sitting back on the porch.

your breath hitched, heartbeat skipping, and the heat between your legs grew hotter. You turned your head towards him to see him sitting back at his porch, his head nodded at you to continue your work, a small smirk curved his lips.

—

You’re halfway done with the truck when his neighbor starts to approach you, a middle aged guy you came to learn named Michael. He’s been clearly hitting on you, and trying to get a closer look on what you’re doing. which usually doesn’t bother you but you could practically feel Joel's watchful eyes boring into your back.

“So you do this for a living?” he asked as he stood a few feet away from you, “It's just a summer gig i do,” you replied with a small smile, keeping the response light.

"Sweet, it's nice seeing a young, beautiful, hard-working woman," he chuckled. Your jaw tensed for a moment before you forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Can you do my car next? It's pretty dirty too," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt a flush of annoyance, but your eyes met Joel's, who glared disapprovingly from his porch.

"Well, uh..." you hesitated, glancing back at Joel. He shook his head, a clear indication that he didn't want you to entertain Michael's advances. "Sorry, Michael. I'm booked for today... I gotta go somewhere after this."

Michael sighed, "Aw, just my luck," he lamented. "I'll ask Joel for your number, huh? I'll book you as soon as you're free." You chuckled, "Yeah, you go do that."

Michael made his way over to Joel, asking for your number. Joel nodded, but with a grunt, he gave Michael the wrong number. A smirk played on your lips as you returned to your work.

—

After what feels like forever you finally finished with the last drag of your microfiber rag. You let out a sigh and turned around to Joel sauntering his way. “All done Mr. Miller,” you purred.

He looked at his truck, all clean and shiny. A satisfied smirk graced his face, “you did a good job” he praised. “Good enough to get that reward?” you murmured with your head tilted innocently. Joel let out a small chuckle “Mmhm... come on inside and i’ll get it sorted for you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes gleamed with lust and you bit your lip in anticipation as he led you inside his house. The wind hits your wet body, the coolness leaves your nipples even harder, your body tingling with need.

By the time the two of you were inside, Joel’s body was taut, like a spring ready to burst. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, his large palms grab a hold of your wet body and pinned you against his door, you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden actions.

“Been a good girl for me huh? Takin’ care of my truck,” he murmured as he leaned down and his lips grazed your jaw to the skin under your ear. “Been naughty too haven’t you? Tauntin’ me with this sweet ass of yours,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard squeeze making you let out a small moan, he pulled you closer, his hard cock pressing against your wet bikini bottoms.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips against him, needy and desperate for friction, eliciting a small moan from you and a groan from him. “What do you have to say about that huh? Pretty girl?,” he muttered and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’m sorry sir” you panted softly.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be that sorry,” he chuckled lowly, his voice gravely and his accent was thicker than before “Think I would have to punish you… you thought it was funny huh? Makin’ me hard as a rock with those fucking neighbors watchin’?” he growled to your ear and slapped your ass, you whimpered and jolted forwards.

“I’m sorry sir..please don't punish me,” you whined and bit your lip. “You’re sorry huh? Go on, pretty thing, show me how sorry you are,” he murmured. You didn't need to be told twice, you fell to your knees, eyes wide as you looked up to his face, hands deftly undoing his belt and jeans and pulling it down along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivated just from the sight of his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and throbbing, just how you thought it would be. He gave you a nod to tell you ‘go on’, you leaned down and darted your tongue out, tasting the heady taste of his precum. He groaned and tossed his head back, hand tangling in your hair and pulled you in, you hummed and finally wrapped your mouth around his girth with a small whimper. Your jaw straining to accommodate him, tongue moving with practiced ease as you sink down deeper, taking in more of him.

“Fuck yeah..good fuckin’ girl…thats it,” he muttered and started to guide your head the way he wanted, you thrive with his praises, taking in him as deep as you could. Gagging and sputtering here and there but you didn't stop at all in search of his approval and satisfaction, you didn’t want to stop. The room was filled with the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, along with the obscene sounds from you and your muffled whimpers.

Joel nearly came when he saw you starting to snake your hand between your legs, “Naughty fuckin’ slut, touchin’ yourself huh?” he groaned and started to thrust into your mouth, holding your head in place. “You want me to take care of that? Hm?” he growled and you whined as an answer. Suddenly he abruptly pulled you away from his cock, “get on the fuckin’ couch,” he muttered, you scrambled off the floor and quickly gotten on the nearby couch, “on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commanded and you did as he said, bending over, facing the backrest of the couch.

He stood behind you and pushed you legs wider, your head craned over your shoulder to look at him with your needy expression, bottom lip between your teeth. He gripped your chin and he leaned down, finally crashing his lips to yours. He was rough, didn’t even hesitate on pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue dominating yours, making you whine and push your hips back, desperate, begging for him.

His kiss left you panting as he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your back, biting on the knot that holds your bikini top together and pulling on it and letting it unravel, his hand started to grope your tits, playing, pinching, pulling on your sensitive nipples. “Mr. Miller,” you panted “please..”

“Use your word, Baby, what do you need?” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You whimpered and kept moving your hips, “anything- please- your finger, mouth- anything, i need you,” you rambled desperately. Joel chuckled darkly, his large fingers playing with the knots of your bikini bottoms, “needy little thing,” he murmured before pulling on the knots and unraveling the red wet fabric, making it fall to the couch.

Joel practically growled at the sight before him, you, bent over with your ass high in the air, naked, your pussy dripping and ready for him. “Look at you..” he murmured and leaned down, groping your ass and pushing it apart to reveal more of you. “Mmh..” he grumbles before leaning down and placing a broad lick on your cunt. “Oh- god- Mr- mmhngh! Mr. Miller” you whined and pushed your hips more to his face. Joel groaned and started to really eat you out, his large palms splayed on your ass, face completely buried in your drooling pussy. “It's Joel, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he pulled away from your cunt for a second, “I wanna hear ya moan my name.”

“Joel..” you breathed, getting used to the feel of his name on your lips. Joel started to flick his tongue rapidly on your clit, making your eyes roll back and moan out his name, “fuck- ahh! Joel!” He grunted in response, “yeah that’s it, moan my name…mmhhh good fuckin’ girl.”

You were falling apart already at the hands of his tongue, moving on your pussy with practiced ease. Joel relished the sounds of your moans, and the sweet and tangy taste of your cunt. He groaned and started to push his thick fingers to your entrance, “Joel! Ahnghh! F-fuck! mmhngh!!” you cried out, he grunted and pulled away from your pussy for a second, “That’s it baby, you’re gonna cum hm? Gonna be a good girl an cum on my face?” he muttered and curled his digits to hit that heavenly spot within you, you whined in response, barely able to come up with words but nodded with your eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl, c’mon, come on my face” he panted and started double his efforts, his tongue flicking on your sensitive clit, slurping all your juices, whilst his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you back arched and your eyes rolled back, you swore you saw stars. His name kept falling from your lips in between moans and whimpers which he responded with praises.

“good girl, that’s it”

“you’re so pretty when you cum for me”

“tastes so good baby, there you go..”

He peppered kisses across your shoulders and back as he waited for you to come down from your high. “joel..” you panted and kept pushing your hips back to grind against his throbbing cock, eliciting a groan from his lips, “yeah? you want my cock, pretty girl?” he muttered and rutted his hips against you, his cock sliding against your cunt. “yes- please joel- please-“ you let out a loud moan when he suddenly pushed his cock into your core.

“fuuuck” he groaned as he pushed himself in “fuck- shit, baby you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he panted and gripped your hips tight. “joel! oh- f-fuck hhngh!” you whimpered and gripped the back of the couch. Joel pulled back until his cock is almost fully slipped back, you whined at the loss of his stretch, then he slammed back in. “Fuck! Oh- f-fuuckk! Joeel!!” you cried out, “Yeah baby that’s it- shit- yeah take it baby, take it” he growled to your ear and wrapped your hair on his hand and yanked it back. Your head tilted back at the force and he crashed his lips to yours again, swalowing all your moans and whimpers as he fucked you with a relentless pace.

“J-joel” you warned between pants, “Yeah i know baby- fuck- yeah i can feel it,” he groaned and panted “c’mon baby give it to me, cum on my cock, c’mon” he murmured and went faster. The sound of his skin smacking against yours gets louder and louder, the couch groaned and creaked in protest. You could barely utter any coherent words at this point, just slurring his name and how good it feels between moans and pants.

Your back arched and trembles as you cry out his name like a prayer. Joel slowed down for a second, letting you ride out the orgasm, “there you go…hmm there you go” he muttered soothingly, his hips rocking deliberately, slowly. “You can take more, sweetheart?” he murmured to your ear, you couldn’t help but nod. ”Good girl,” he praised to your ear and kissed your jaw before his arm wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest and pulled you up until his chest pressed against your back. He resumed his hard relentless thrusts, his hand on your chest groping and playing with your hard nipples. you felt like floating at this point, just taking everything he gave you like a good girl.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to your ear, you could barely talk just letting out sounds of pleasure, he spanked your ass hard and you gasped out a moan, “Yours! Hahngh! All yours!” you whined, Joel gripped your neck and pulled you closer to him “Who?” he demanded, you panted and choked out, “Yours daddy!” bingo.

He growled and bent you over again, his hand still tight on your neck, choking you just right. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl for daddy,” he muttered and pounded into you. You kept choking out moans, calling him daddy over and over. He shifted his position, propping one leg on the couch to get a different angle, deeper, and it allowed him to reach that spot within you. “Oh my g- aahhngh!! daddy!! right there, oh fuck- fuck me right there!!” you cried out. He grunted and let out a dark chuckle, “there sweetheart?” he taunted as he thrusted extra hard aiming at that spot again. “yes!! yes- yes please- please i- daddy please” you rambled, begging for him, his cock has reduced you to nothing but desperate and needy. “well since you asked so nicely,” he said coyly before hitting that spot over and over again.

You felt you’re gonna shatter yet again in any second, a ticking time bomb set on your lower belly. “D-daddy i’m- hah- i’m-” you could barely finish your choked out sentence. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for daddy?” he panted to your ear, all you could do was nodded and give a whimper of confirmation. He chuckled darkly and his hand snaked down to rub your clit with fervor while his hips kept pounding to your ass, “Go on then, come for me, come for daddy,” he muttered to your ear.

Your vision blurred and you saw white. It feels like you’re barely conscious, your third orgasm hits you even harder than the last. You didn’t noticed whats happening until joel groaned, “Fuck yeah you’re squirtin’ on me baby- good girl- hhnngh good fuckin’ girl.” Your thighs trembled, wet with your release, red from his thrusts.

He finally let go of your neck and you gasped out for much needed air, his thrusts started to stutter. “Where do you want it?” he panted to your ear, “Inside, inside daddy, please,” you begged and started to move your hips to meet his. Joel couldn’t hold back any longer, 1, 2, 3 hard thrusts later and he came completely undone inside you. “Fuuuckk!! Fuck yeah- oh shit baby” he moaned, “fuck! makin’ me cum so much, pretty girl…oh yeah good fuckin’ girl,” he panted to your ear.

After his hips stilled, he pulled out of you, making you whine and clench around nothing, pushing his hot sticky seed out of you.

He chuckled and whispered to your ear, “look at you…all messy n’ dirty,” he cooed. “You cleaned my truck now it's time for me to clean you,” he murmured before peppering kisses down your spine yet again.

—

author’s note: THIS WAS MY FIRST FIC EVER AHSHSHEH so forgive me if its shitty or the grammar is horrible bc english is my 2nd language:3 ALSO i have never written smut before heheheh, your feedback is greatly appreciated!! thank you for reading this horny piece of literature!!

[seven-oh-four]

okay i NEED to talk about something that's been driving me INSANE since the very first episode of the amazing digital circus.

okay so. in the first episode, when caine snaps his fingers to bring Ragatha back to normal, the scene places a strange amount of emphasis on the fact that this action also causes pomni's hand to go back to normal even though caine didn't know anything was wrong with her.

why?

well, y'know the gloink queen? she never actually... dies. kaufmo falls on her, causing her to spit out zooble, beats her up, glitches her out, but she's never destroyed. even as the gang leaves the gloink caves, you can hear her screaming.

she glitches out, but she's never destroyed.

and when caine snapped his fingers, everything stopped glitching, and they wanted to make sure you'd notice that.

but like. she's the gloink queen. she's just a tutorial boss. she's obviously not gonna come back, right? how would that even work? twist reveal that she was the mastermind all along?

then episode two came out, and my suspicions grew. episode two has a whole scene introducing a new character, The Fudge. The Fudge then dies via a truck from the sky, something that tragically happens all too often. The Fudge is never relevant again.

at the end of the episode, it's revealed that Jax left the gate open anyway, the Fudge survived, and he is now terrorizing the kingdom...

but... this is of absolutely no consequence. it's completely irrelevant. the gang just leaves.

okay so that's TWO big gloopy monsters that have a strange amount of emphasis placed on the fact they survived despite the fact that this never winds up addressed in the episode.

okay. so how about episoOh My God.

AGAIN. they have two whole shots dedicated to showing you that the creature survived, with scare chords and everything, and yet this STILL never comes up again!!!!!! what!! the hell!!! and fuck!!!!!

we've also had an entire episode focused on the concept of NPCs, and NPCs becoming self-aware.

so these monsters are obviously going to come back at some point. they HAVE TO. it'd be utterly ridiculous for them not to!

i just needed to get this off my chest. i need SOMEONE to know this.!!!! okay, bye!

bonus note: Gloink Queen says "GOD will be gloinks!" at the end of her evil monologue. we didn't know this at the time, but all of the NPCs refer to Caine as God.

[drabblesandimagines]

Swingin'

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, absolutely fluffy nonsense once again

“Stand here for me, ma’am.”

You giggle at the odd term of address as familiar hands maneuverer you forward into position by your hips, the owner of said hands stepping back in front of you when they seemed happy with your positioning.

“Now, put your left index finger on your nose.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t seriously be making your girlfriend take a field impairment test.”

Leon crosses his arms, trademark smirk on his lips. “Oh, I’m serious, sweetheart. Left index finger – go.”

You swallow down a hiccup as you follow his order, finding your nose with ease and smile, triumphantly.

“Now with your right.”

That one doesn’t go as smooth, your finger sliding down the side and prodding yourself in the cheek before you reposition, finding it at last. “Oops.”

“Arms straight down by your sides.” You comply at once, straightening your posture as you do. “Place your left foot directly in front of your right, heel touching toes.”

That one is a little more tricky to follow, you admit, but you think you’ve nailed it after a little bit of shuffling, though your boyfriend doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Walk forward – heel to toe every step and count aloud.”

“Heel to toe…” You mutter, looking down at your feet. “One.” You swing your right leg round a bit too dramatically and your foot lands too far in front of your left but you persevere.

“Two.” Another big step forward has you throwing your arms out for balance.

“Arms straight down by your sides, sweetpea.” Leon chides.

You huff, dropping them back down and scoot your foot backward, before stepping forward with the other. “Three…”

Unfortunately, you step too far off to the right, nearly losing your balance completely before Leon steadies you with a firm grip on your elbow.

“Yep, you are 100% not riding on the back.”

“But I promise to hold on real tight.” You press your face into his chest then, wrapping your arms around his waist in demonstration and giving a firm squeeze to show off your strength.

“Not a risk I’m willing to take.” Leon wraps his arms around you in return and presses a kiss to your crown. All it would take was for you to let go around a corner and…

He shudders, can’t even bear to imagine any further. Nope, not happening.

“I’m sorry.” Your words are muffled, feeling like an annoyance. “I really didn’t think I’d drank that much.”

And you hadn’t, it had only really hit you when you’d exited the bar into the fresh air to meet Leon on the sidewalk. He’d parked his bike a block or so away from the venue and that short, stumbled walk had set alarm bells ringing.

“I’m sure you didn’t, little lightweight that you are.” He teases. “Come on, it’s not too far a walk from here anyway – might help you sober up.”

You pull your head back and look up at him, brows furrowed. “What about your bike?”

He looks at it – his prized Ducati, security lock already in place from when he left it to walk towards the bar – and shrugs. “I can get it in the morning.”

“Uh-uh,” you step back, Leon loosening his arms as you do but still keeping you close. “You take the bike and I’ll walk home. Ooh, I could jog alongside!”

Leon smiles in amusement, but shakes his head. “Not happening.”

You look down at your feet, double-checking you were in fact wearing flats and not heels when Leon doesn’t take you seriously. He’s in his military-grade boots, as usual. You’re not sure how they can be comfortable to walk in, steel-capped toes, but he never seems to complain.

“Okay, how about you wheel it home as I walk?”

“Why are you so concerned about me leaving my bike?”

“Are you kidding me? You have the worst luck with it. If you leave it here, it’ll get stolen or hit by a truck, or… struck by lightning.”

“And my insurance covers all of those.” He turns you, gently, one arm snug around your waist and encourages you to take a step forward. “Come on, let’s get home.”

You wrap an arm tentatively around his waist in return and only make it a few steps before your insecurities arise. “Leon…”

“Mm?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Not at all, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip in reassurance. “Why would I be? You had fun, right?”

“Yeah, I did.” You nod, thinking back over the evening. You’d met up with your friends to catch-up over some cocktails, a rare evening where you’d all happened to be free. “It was so nice seeing them all. Tabitha’s been through two boyfriends since the last time we managed it.”

“She still dating jerks?” He frowns, familiar with her tales of dating woe.

“Sadly. Are you sure there’s no suitable guys at your work?”

“Oh, I’m one of a kind, baby,” he chuckles. “Don’t wanna set her up for disappointment.”

“Maybe this one will be diff… Ooh, look!” You point just up ahead, your attention span apparently at an all-time low. “They finally finished the renovations!”

The playpark had been taped off for a while – the equipment old and outdated and more than a little bit dangerous. You pull away from him and race through the gate, making a beeline for the swings. Leon jogs behind you, stopping a few feet in front of the swing-set and places his hands on his hips as you plonk yourself down and kick your feet against the fresh tarmac.

“I don’t think you’re the demographic they’re looking for, sweetheart.”

“Says you.” You tease, the agent having a handful of more years on you. “When’s the last time you sat on a swing anyway?”

“I dunno, 30 years ago?”

“Long overdue.” You jerk your head at the swing besides you. “Bet I can swing higher than you can.”

He tilts his head and smiles. “I’m sure you can.”

“Leon, come on.” You pout, scuffing your soles on the tarmac again as you swing half-heartedly back and forth. “Please?”

How could he ever say no to that face?

He rolls his eyes and walks over to the swing, sitting down heavily as instructed, wrapping his fingers around the chains. “Happy?”

“Uh-uh, not until you swing, Kennedy.” You kick your feet against the ground in demonstration, picking up some height and speed as Leon follows suit.

You look at him and grin as the two of you begin to swing in sync, getting higher and higher. Leon’s smile only grows wider as the wind rushes through his hair.

It takes him back for a moment – back to before he knew what Umbrella and BOWs were. He still has his jokes, of course, but it had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be a little bit silly.

You just make it far too easy.

He scuffs his boots against the ground to slow down his movement and watches as you follow suit, tilting your head in concern.

“You okay?”

“Mm-hm. Come here,” he pats his lap and you jump off mid-swing, somehow managing to keep upright. Leon rolls his eyes and stops his swing completely as you step over and drop yourself sideways onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck for stability.

“I can’t ride on the back of your bike, but I can sit on your lap whilst you swing, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he lets go of the chain and cups your face. “I just wanted a kiss.”

He closes the gap then with a soft kiss, one full of utter adoration – not too firm, but one that makes your scalp tingle as his lips caress yours, over and over.

He pulls away to lean his forehead against yours.

“I love you, sweetheart. Thanks for keeping me young.”

You let go of his neck to pat his chest, chidingly. “Come on, you’re not that old. You were swinging pretty high.”

“Yeah, guess I was.” The cocky grin crosses his face then. “Higher than you, actually.”

“Uh-uh”, you shake your head, adamantly. “You just think that cos you’re a little bit taller.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

But he’s lost you, your attention fixed on something over his shoulder. “Ooh, they’ve got a new slide too!”

You make Leon try every piece of play equipment before finally heading home, but his smile never drops.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Comments and reblogs make my whole day x

[itneverendshere]

I love bartender!reader!!!!!! She seems so sweet and collected...but I was wondering if she's got a little fire in her? Maybe they're at a party together and she gets jealous......which is new because she's usually the calm one out of her and rafe. Hope you're doing great <3

loved writing this bc you're so right!!! it's just so not like her to lose her temper over trivial things but oh🫣 hope you're doing just a great as well💖

i'm usually so unproblematic - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: allusions to smut but no actual smut.

You’re sitting in Rafe’s truck, staring out at the huge house in front of you, stomach in knots. It’s a mansion, more like.

Kook house. Kook party. Rich people everywhere. You can already hear the distant thrum of music, even from inside the car, bass-heavy, vibrating through the seats.

You chew your bottom lip and glance over at Rafe. He’s calm, casually messing with the radio, probably about to put on those trashy songs he loves that you absolutely hate but pretend to like because you love him.

It's insane how easy it is for him to just... be cool about this. But you?

You’re not so sure.

"This was a bad idea," you mumble, half-joking but also half-serious.

Rafe turns to you, one eyebrow raised, lips pulling into a crooked smile. “Nervous?”

You give him a look. “Obviously. I’m not...I don’t do these things. I don’t know these people.”

You’ve been with Rafe for almost a year now, give or take. Said your I love yous, met each other’s families. Hell, you’ve spent more time at Tannyhill than at your own place lately, and you’ve grown used to Rafe’s kook side. His friends, though? These parties? A whole other beast.

“I already met Topper. Isn’t that enough?”

He laughs under his breath, reaching over to take your hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s Kelce, and a few other people. No big deal.”

No big deal, you think. Easy for him to say when he’s been around these people his whole life. For you, being a pogue, working extra shifts at the country club just to pay rent… yeah, this is a little different.

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine. It’s just— I’m out of my element.”

He squeezes your hand. “Hey. You’re with me. That’s all that matters.” 

You’re with Rafe. The Rafe who loves you, who can’t keep his hands off you even when you’re just watching movies. The Rafe who gets jealous over dumb things, like if you laugh too hard at one of JJ’s jokes, even though he’s just your seventeen-year-old neighbor. The Rafe who texts you goodnight, even when you’re in the same room, because he’s a sap and you secretly love it.

“Alright, let’s go,” you agree, trying to hype yourself up.

Rafe smiles, and then he’s out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, like a perfect gentleman. You roll your eyes but step out, the night air brushing your bare shoulders. You weren’t sure how to dress for this party, so you chose to wear something…safe. A pretty red top you only used on special occasions and your best demim skirt. It wasn’t exactly kook material but at least you weren’t in your worn-out shorts and usual crop top or in your work uniform.

The moment you walk inside, though, it’s like stepping into a different world. The house is packed. People everywhere, laughing, drinking, hanging by the pool. Everything’s pristine and polished, and you feel their eyes on you the second you walk in.

Rafe wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Want a drink?” he asks, leaning down so you can hear him over the music.

You nod, trying not to let the fact that people are definitely staring at you freak you out. You’re not a Kook. You’re his girl, though, and you know how much that pisses some of them off.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a drink in hand, and Kelce’s talking your ear off about something you don’t really understand. Golf. You smile and nod along, doing your best to keep up, but the truth is, you’re not listening. You’re too busy watching the crowd, still feeling like you don’t fit in. Like you never really will.

That’s when you notice her. Tall. Pretty, in that rich, polished way that’s almost too perfect. And she’s glaring. Right. At. You.

Your stomach drops, and you tear your eyes away, sipping your drink to cover the dread that suddenly hits you. You don’t know who she is, but she’s been staring at you since you walked in, and it’s starting to mess with your head. Was there something on your face? Had you met before at the club? Maybe she didn't like your drinks.

“Baby, you okay?” Rafe’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Yeah, fine,” you lie, forcing a smile. He frowns slightly but doesn’t push it. Kelce’s still talking, oblivious.

You try to ignore it, but as the night goes on, she keeps popping up. Always staring. Always with that look crazied in her eyes. Like she could kill you. You’ve had a couple drinks by now, and your nerves are turning into a kind of irritation.

Finally, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a break from the overwhelming feeling of being watched. You lock the door behind you, exhaling slowly as you stare at your reflection. Were you seeing things? Overreacting? Surely, Rafe or Kelce would’ve noticed as well, right? Or maybe they were used to this. 

I’m just overthinking it, you tell yourself. I’m fine. She’s just..

But when you open the door to leave, she’s there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you with that same stupid look, like you personally offended her by daring to exist. 

“Can I help you?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tilts her head, giving you the most disgusted once-over you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re Rafe’s new thing, huh?”

What? You’ve had just enough to drink that your filter is basically nonexistent now. You blink, confusion killing the buzz in your head. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I know you.”

You laugh awkwardly, nothing about this is funny. “Okay? So what’s your problem?”

Her eyes narrow, lips tinted pink curling. Oh, she’s mad now. She steps up closer to you, practically chest-to-chest. “My problem is that I don’t get why someone like you is with Rafe. He used to have a certain standard.”

Oh.

You almost laugh again because...wow. Really? That’s what this is about? “Okay, Regina George,” you mutter under your breath. You’re not in the mood for this. You tilt your head, giving her your best innocent smile.  “And who are you?”

“Sophie. I dated Rafe for two years, before you, obviously,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something. You didn’t know him back then, you hadn’t even spoken a word to him. "Guess he didn’t mention me."

His ex. Of course. Of course she’s his ex. 

You snort before you can stop yourself. "Nope, pretty sure he forgot to bring you up.”

You feel a little sting of jealousy in your chest, but you try to swallow it down. You’re not about to let this girl get under your skin. You’re better than that. You didn’t know him, it’s fine.

 “I’m not really interested in whatever this is.” You move to step around her, but she blocks your path.

“Just a word of advice,” she grits out, like you’ve personally offended her, “He’s not the kind of guy who sticks around for long. Especially not with girls like you.”

That does it. The alcohol, the nerves, the whole night—you’re seconds away from losing it. “What the hell is your problem?” you snap, your hands curling into fists at your sides.

“Dirty pogues who think—”

"Okay. I’m not gonna play whatever this is with you," you interrupt her, gesturing between the two of you, stepping forward so you’re toe-to-toe with her now. "If he wanted to be with a walking Vineyard Vines ad, he would be. But he’s not. He’s with me."

“You really think you’re different?” she spits, voice laced with venom. "Like you're special?"

Your laugh comes out sharp, more of a bark. “If you were so special, you wouldn’t be here, playing guard dog outside the bathroom. Move."

“Or what?” she challenges, her lips curling in that same superior smirk that makes your blood boil. “What are you gonna do, pogue?”

That’s it. You feel the fire flare up in your chest. Screw this girl. Your hands ball into fists, and you’re half a second from knocking that smug look right off her face when Topper steps in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not turn this into Jerry Springer, alright?" He holds up his hands like he’s breaking up a fight at a middle school dance. You’re staring daggers at Sophie, and she’s glaring right back, but his hands are still up, a peacekeeper grin plastered across his face as he looks between the two of you. “Let’s not do this,” his eyes landing on Sophie. “C’mon, Soph, no need for the drama, yeah?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms and stepping back with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Whatever, Topper.

He watches her go before turning back to you, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

You nod, still fuming, but grateful he stepped in when he did. "Yeah. Thanks."

You let him take you away because if he doesn’t, you're going to follow her and throw a drink in her face or do something worse. You feel like you could punch her right in her perfect, stuck-up face. 

He leads you back to where Rafe is, and you’re too upset to even look at him. His hands are on you the second you’re close, pulling you to him like he can tell something’s off. "Baby," his lips brush against your temple. "What’s wrong? You look like you’re ready to kill someone."

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not without completely blowing up.

Rafe’s brow furrows, his eyes darting between you and Topper. “What the hell happened?” he asks again, more forceful this time.

Topper gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, just shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just some girl drama. Don’t worry about it.”

Girl drama your ass.

He turns to you, and suddenly, he’s all over you, his hands on your waist, the other settling on the back of your head, “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You pull away, shaking your head, still too mad to speak.

He follows, his hands reaching for yours. “Hey, c’mon.”

Finally, you look at him. Really look at him. And the second you see his face, that stupid, worried puppy-dog expression, the anger starts to melt away.

“I’m mad,” you admit, “I got jealous. Your ex’s a bitch.”

Rafe blinks, and then, to your surprise, he laughs. A real, genuine laugh. You glare at him. “It’s not funny!”

“No, no, it’s not,” he says, quickly sobering, though there’s still a stupid smirk at his lips. “I just, I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “I’m serious, Rafe. She was awful.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “I don’t care about her. At all. I care about you.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is softening. “She said you wouldn’t stick around.”

Rafe’s smile fades, and he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

"She’s a psycho.”

Rafe’s expression changes, his frown deepening. "Sophie?"

"Yeah," you snap, because you hate the sound of her name coming out of his lips, "Sophie. Called me a dirty pogue, which—real original.”

“She what?” Rafe’s jaw tightens, and for a second, you see a flash of that old Rafe—the one who’d get into fights at the drop of a hat. "I’ll handle it.”

You’ve seen it before—his protective streak, the one that could turn dangerous if he wasn’t careful. Part of you loves it, the way he’d go to war for you without even blinking. But another part of you hates that you have so much power over him.

But right now, you’re still too mad to care about him handling anything. You push past him, heading for the exit, needing air, needing space. Everything inside you is on fire, and all you can think is that you need to get out. Anything but this house full of people who make you feel like you’re just dirt. People like her. You can’t stop hearing her nasal voice in your head, those snide comments digging into you like little needles, bringing up that same old insecurity.

“Baby, hold on,” His voice is behind you, and his hand is instantly catching yours, tugging you back before you can make it to the door.

You spin around, already ready to snap, but then you see his face—eyes wide, brow furrowed like he’s genuinely freaked out that you’re upset. “Don’t listen to her, she’s full of shit.”

You stare at him, your chest tight and aching, because yeah, you know she’s full of it, but it still got to you. It still hurt. “It just…” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words, even though everything feels like a mess. “It got in my head, Rafe. Like, I hate that she said that. I’m so sick of people looking at me like I don’t belong just because I’m not—”

He cuts you off, stepping closer, and before you can even finish the thought, he's dragging you into him. “You belong with me. That’s all that matters.”

You let out a breath, but you’re still worked up, “But it’s like—I don’t need some stuck-up kook girl who thinks she’s better than me telling me I don’t fit in. I know I’m not like them, but she said it like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like I’m just some—”

Rafe’s lips are on yours before you can finish. He only pecks you, but it’s enough to shut you up, to make your brain go silent for a second. “Stop,” his voice is almost pleading. “Stop thinking like that. I love you, okay? I don’t care what anyone else says.”

You blink up at him, you want to stay mad, but also want to let it go because he’s right here, so close, and he’s got that look on his face that makes your heart flip. “You don’t get it.”

He pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips like he can’t stand to have any space between you. “Then tell me,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Tell me why you’re letting her get in your head.”

You huff, but the fight in you is starting to die out. “Because she made me feel like I’m less.”

He tilts your head back just enough to look at you, “That’s bullshit,” his fingers are gentle as they trail up your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel a little stupid for letting that girl get to you in the first place. But damn it, you’ve heard it before—from other people, from yourself—that nagging voice that says you’re not enough.

“I know.” you mumble though you’re still a little embarrassed.

Rafe smiles then, that sweet smile he only ever gives you, and he presses his lips to your forehead. “Good,” he says, tugging you even closer, like he’s trying to wrap himself around you. “Because I’m obsessed with you, and I don’t care what her or anyone else says.”

You let out a shaky laugh, finally letting yourself relax in his arms. “You’re obsessed with me?” you tease, tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“Hell yeah,” he grins, his hands sliding up your back, one hand slipping down to squeeze your ass, his thumb sliding just under the hem of your skirt. “I can’t keep my hands off you. You know that. It’s becoming a real problem.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but you don’t stop the giggle from bubbling out. The way he’s looking at you right now, like he can’t even think straight because you’re standing in front of him—it drives you up the walls. Then he leans down and kisses you again, and this time it’s not...casual. His lips move against yours like he’s trying to take every thought in your head, and it’s working. Your hands slide up, wrapping around his neck as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. 

He grips you harder, lips moving to brush against your ear, “You’re mine, baby and I’m not fucking going anywhere.”

That hits you, hard, like a truth he always reassures you off but still feels brand new when he does say it. Everything that pissed you off, all the crap Sophie said, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

“Stop making me horny,” You whine out, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer. You can feel his grin against your skin as he leans in, biting your lip playfully before kissing you again, you know he’s enjoying teasing you. His hand slides down to grab a handful of your ass again, making you gasp against his mouth, and you feel him smirk.

“I like you horny.”

You’re in the middle of this stupid party, surrounded by people who probably hate you for breathing, but all you can think about is how much you want him right now. His lips move over yours like he’s trying to claim you, and you’re more than happy to let him. It’s messy, all tongues and spit, but you don’t care. You love how rough and needy he is, how he groans into your mouth like he’s been dying to kiss you all night. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy, the room spinning, and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or him—or both.

You tug at his shirt, frustrated with how much fabric is in the way, and he chuckles against your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp. His hands slide down up to your neck, tightening just enough around your throat, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, making him grin.

“You're just so—” his lips brush over your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, kissing and biting just hard enough to make you squirm, "Beautiful, aren't you?"

You’re normally not one for pda, not at all. The idea of people watching, of eyes on you while you're with someone, always made your skin crawl. But when Rafe kisses you like this? When he’s got his hands on you? God, your brain just goes dumb, and every ounce of self-consciousness fizzes out. It's embarrassing, almost. All you can think about is the way he’s making you feel, the way he’s holding you against him, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You’re so not this person, not the girl who makes out with her boyfriend in the middle of a crowded room.

But with Rafe? You can’t even think straight. 

His hands slide under your skirt for the millionth time, blunt fingernails gripping your plushy thighs, and you nearly whine, “Rafe,” you breathe, trying to pull away long enough to think properly, but he just kisses you harder, more insistent. “Baby, stop,” you manage to whisper, though you don’t mean it at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes all dark, his breath hot against your lips. “You want me to stop?” he teases, his hands still tight on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that makes your knees go weak.

You shake your head, biting your lip, and his grin widens. “Didn’t think so,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself, and honestly? Neither can you. You’re so turned on, it’s ridiculous. 

“I—fuck,” you pant, trying to get the words out between kisses, but he’s relentless, pressing you back against a wall, his lips latching on to your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin “Baby, please—”

He groans against your neck, one hand sliding up under your top, fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, and you swear you’re about to lose it. “Please what, hmm?”

You bite your lip, trying to stay composed, but you’re way past that now. All you can think about is how much you need him. Right now. Anywhere but here.

“Take me to the truck,” you nearly beg him, just loud enough for him to hear, but you know he catches it because he pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

He smirks, running his thumb over your bottom lip, teasing. “Yeah? You need me that bad?”

You nod, not even caring how desperate you sound. “Please.” Your voice cracks a little on the last word, but you don’t care anymore.

You need him, and you need him now.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

Forty minute later, the air inside the truck reeks of sex.

You’re breathless, flushed all over, and your legs feel like jelly. Rafe’s next to you, grinning like an idiot already fixing his jeans like he’s not still catching his breath. It’s written all over you—the tousled hair, the smudged lipstick, the way your top is barely hanging on properly as you try to straighten it out, the stickiness you can still feel between your legs, on your panties.

You feel filthy.

You bite back a smile as you adjust your skirt, your body still recovering from the way he had your face pressed against the seat.  

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to get it together, your fingers fumbling to fix your bra strap, “I feel like my makeup’s a mess.”

He just chuckles, leaning back in his seat with that cocky look that made you want to jump him in the first place, “You look perfect,” he says, eyeing you up and down like he’s ready to go another round.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “Yeah, well, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

He laughs, reaching over to pull you close, his lips pecking your hair, “Worth it.”

You’re just about to leave the truck when the door opens, and as you both step out, you catch sight of Sophie and her friends walking past. Perfect timing. Of course.

She’s glaring—hard—and her friends are snickering, whispering to each other like they’ve just seen something they shouldn't. Sophie’s nose wrinkles as her gaze flicks between you and Rafe, her expression twisting into disgust like you’re both some kind of wild animals who just rolled around in the mud.

But you? You feel smug.

You meet her stare for a second too long, the corner of your mouth lifting in the tiniest, most satisfied smirk. You know she knows exactly what just happened in that truck, and it’s killing her. She’s practically seething, her friends muttering furiously under their breath as they walk by, noses in the air.

Rafe doesn’t even glances their way—his fingers hook into one of the belt loops of your skirt, tugging you back to him with just enough force to make you stumble slightly into his built chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is.

“Thirty more minutes,” he murmurs against your cheek, planting a kiss there, casual but so possessive, his lips lingering just long enough to make your stomach shake with butterflies again, "And I'm taking you home."

And that’s what makes it even sweeter.