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toxicanonymity · 10 months

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5.7k words, Joel x f!reader x Tommy | sequel here! A/N: ONE SHOT. I had to get this out of my system after that one Uncle Tommy line I wrote in september lol. Shoutouts to: @bonezone44 for being an Uncle Tommy stan, @walkintotheriveranddisappear for running the center for dvp excellence, and everyone who's been supportive. 🖤 Fic recs at the bottom. WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap, darkish miller bros, dubcon (coaxing/pressure, you aren't sure what Joel allows), use of "daddy," sharing, unsafe p in v (individually and together), oral, jacking off, creampies, cucking, MFM, DP (double vag), light degradation, praise, pet names, foot massage. AU where you don't overthink this fic. You’re happy with Joel, but it’s not a healthy relationship with clear communication and boundaries. Joel carries reader. TW: incidental incest via MFM/DVP - If this isn't for you, please quietly move along.

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Joel squats down with one hand on the back of your chair. He admires your face then cups your cheek. “Gotta do somethin’, baby. Won’t be back tonight.” The casual announcement makes your heart race. He kisses you on the forehead, then stands up.

“What do you mean you won’t be back tonight?”

“It’s okay, baby. Uncle Tommy’s gonna stay with ya.”

Your face gets hot. Tommy tilts his head down and smiles at you from across the breakfast table. He raises his glass of juice in acknowledgement, but you don’t look at him. You look squarely at Joel, caught off guard by his plans.

“Daddy,” you whine. “Just lemme come with you.”

“Ain’t that kinda trip, darlin’.”

“Why can’t he do it?”

Tommy laughs silently and his voice goes up an octave. “What’sa matter, sweetheart? Don’t wanna hang out?” He tilts his head and smiles, then his normal voice returns. “That’s okay.” There's a glimmer in his eye.

Joel grabs his jacket and kisses you goodbye, then says, “Don’t have too much fun without me,” and winks at Tommy. Then Joel's gone, just like that. Your tummy feels nervous as his truck starts, then drives away.

It's Thanksgiving week. You have a lot to be thankful for. Joel loves you and takes good care of you. You have solar power and a nice farm with a secure perimeter. Tommy is visiting for the holiday. You met Tommy in passing long ago, but his girl at the time was with him, and that was before you were Joel’s. You were just the girl down the street. This week is the first time you've really spent time together.

Joel would kill any other man for touching you, but apparently he's different about Tommy. You're still figuring out how that works. Joel doesn't seem to mind what Tommy sees–or feels–when the three of you are together. But what about when you're alone?

Does Joel know Tommy walked by the bedroom window and saw you undressing? Does he know Tommy came to apologize for that when you were fresh out of the shower, and saw you in a towel? Or that he looked you up and down, asked if Joel was treating you right, then gave a low whistle and adjusted himself before he left? Or that you touched yourself almost as soon as he closed the door?

*******

Last night, Joel put you in Tommy's lap in the armchair to give you a foot massage, and you tried not to react when Tommy got hard. “It's ok,” Tommy whispered with his hands on your hips. He pulled you back against his hard bulge with a soft grunt and it gave you a shock of desire.

“It's ok, darlin,” Joel echoed, kneeling at your feet. Joel placed your heel on his own hardening package as he worked on the ball of your foot.

Tommy's hand cupped your breast and you tensed.

Joel glanced up. “Relax, baby. It's just Uncle Tommy.”

“It's ok,” Tommy whispered again into your hair as his other hand crept up your thigh, higher and higher, until his thumb grazed your panties. Joel continued massaging you, unbothered, then switched to the other foot.

Tommy's thick fingers glided over your panties and you twitched as he felt the dampness. He lifted his hips with a soft grunt, then cleared his throat. “gonna take care of your girl tonight, Joel? She's drippin’ like a faucet.” Your cheeks burned, and Tommy ran his hand down your thigh.

Joel smiled with half his mouth as he glanced up. “makin’ a mess already?” Joel shook his head. “Close your legs, darlin'.”

Your stomach dropped and you stammered, “sorry, uh . . .”

But as soon as you closed your legs, Tommy lifted your dress up, making your whole body tingle with goosebumps. Joel’s face gave away nothing as he looked past you at Tommy. For a moment, you thought Tommy had gone too far. Then Joel hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, and Tommy held you back against his chest as Joel slid them off. Joel spread your knees, and Tommy's, and knelt between them, closer.

With his armpits resting over your thighs, Joel looked at your cunt hungrily and spread you open with his thumbs. You tilted your hips for him, feeling yourself gush. “Good girl,” he murmured, then planted his right forearm on your lower belly. With his right fingers pointing down, he ran them through your dripping folds, then drew in a deep breath through his nose before bringing his mouth between your legs.

Joel lapped at your weeping hole and sucked your clit. He fingered you and made out with your cunt like it was just another night, like he was getting ready to fuck you. Meanwhile, Tommy lightly grinded into your ass, breathing warm and wet into your hair and holding you gently in his strong arms as Joel devoured your pussy. Tommy rocked you gently on his lap, rocking you into Joel’s mouth. Joel ate you out at the same rhythm. When you came, Tommy’s arousal pressed harder against you and he grabbed your breast. He cooed, “good girl.”

Joel didn't seem to mind, and it felt really good, but you got self conscious after you finished. Tommy caressed your arm as Joel wiped his mouth off. “I'm sleepy, daddy,” you looked at him with big eyes.

Joel looked at you fondly, squeezed your thigh, and said, “I know, darlin’. Give Uncle Tommy a kiss goodnight.” You turned around and kissed him on the cheek, then mumbled “goodnight” without meeting his eyes.

—

Joel scooped you up in his arms. You went to bed with Joel and only Joel. As soon as he laid you down, you asked, “you're not mad about Tommy touching me?”

“Felt good, didn't it?”

You gave a small nod.

“Nice havin’ four hands.” Joel raised his eyebrows and left it at that.

You eyed the protrusion in his jeans. “I'm comin’, baby,” he reassured you as he unzipped them. He pulled his jeans and boxers down together and his massive erection sprang free. He prowled across the bed, settled between your legs, and you raised your knees, tilting your hips for him. “Good girl,” he whispered as he got himself into place.

“God damn, even wetter now,” he muttered as he gathered your slick on his fingers and wiped it on his stiff cock. His tip prodded your dripping hole, then he pushed inside with a sigh, making you moan as he split you open. Joel bottomed out, and the sound that came out of his chest was somewhere between a grunt and a groan, “Uungghh.” You whimpered in pleasure. Then, through the thin wall, you heard Tommy cum with a deep moan. Joel chuckled, then bowed his head and kissed you, pausing all the way inside.

Joel kissed you softly as he buried his length in you, and your lips broke away only to whimper, “Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he whispered into the pillow, right by your ear. “Daddy’s here.” You wrapped your legs around him as he fucked you deep and slow. You imagined Tommy lying behind you, grinding against you, whispering “good girl,” copping a feel as Joel fucked you. You moaned and whimpered under Joel as he brought you to the brink again. Then, as your wet little pussy fluttered around his cock, he groaned and bottomed out to fill you with his seed.

**********

Now it’s morning, Joel's gone, and you're left alone with his brother. His brother with the sweet smile, soft voice, and big dick that felt so hard against you. Don't have too much fun without me, Joel said. . . With a wink. Unsure what to do with that, you avoid Tommy for most of the day, and he doesn't make you hang out with him. He works in the yard and you catch a few glimpses. He gets hot and takes off his flannel, exposing his wifebeater and oversized belt buckle. As he dabs his forehead with his shirt, his bicep swells and the veins on his hand bulge.

Tommy comes in and takes a shower in the other bathroom. There’s a knock on your bedroom door, then it opens. You’re not sure why you didn’t lock it. Tommy’s wearing jeans, boxers, and nothing else. Your eyes linger on his strong chest. He leans with his hand against the door frame. “Think Joel would let me borrow a shirt? Wasn’t plannin’ to work up a sweat,” he chuckles.

Tommy crosses his muscular arms over his thick, bare chest as you get a white t-shirt out of Joel's dresser and toss it to him. Tommy’s jeans ride down as he lifts his arms and puts the shirt on in front of you. He catches you looking as his head comes through the hole, then he rakes his fingers through his curls. A subtle smile forms, his eyes twinkle, and he gives you a little nod before he walks away.

—

Later, you're taking a bath. You sigh as you sink into the water. Then there's a click as the doorknob lock is effortlessly picked. The door opens and Tommy smiles at you with his eyes, biting his bottom lip. He closes the door behind him. The tub squeaks as you quickly pull up your knees to cover your breasts.

“Musta been touchin’ yourself, huh?” he chuckles as he approaches the tub. “Don't stop on my account.” He winks and his eyes fall on your legs. You scooch them closer together in case he can see through the bathwater.

Your chest feels warm. You look down and away.

Tommy takes a seat on the tiled floor in front of the garden tub. “C’mon sweetheart, don't be shy.” his arm moves out of view, unbuttoning his jeans. Your nipples harden. He tilts his head to peek from the side and smiles.

“What do you want?” you ask softly and a low squeak echoes as you shift in the tub.

“Wanna see ya do it. Go on, finish what ya started.”

“I wasn't.”

“There's no shame in it, sweetheart”

You swallow and look down.

He studies your face and repeats, “Nothin' to be ‘shamed of. You know that. Right?”

“Tell your brother that,” you whisper and instantly regret it. You pinch your eyes shut and add, “No, don't. . .Please.”

“Oh shit,” Tommy whispers. “Ya can’t, can ya?”

You barely shake your head, eyes still closed.

Tommy chuckles. “Controlling fucker, ain't he?”

You look at Tommy and your eyes widen with some defiant glimmer of hope. “God damn,” he whispers. “keepin’ his girl from touchin’ herself.” He looks down and shakes his head in disapproval.

He smiles apologetically. “Guess Daddy knows best, huh?” He tugs his jeans off, and you watch unabashed. As his pants come off, his boxers ride down, exposing his short, dark pubic hair. You can’t help but admire the way his thigh muscles swell out from his boxers.

He palms himself over the fabric and raises his eyebrows. “Wanna see it, don’t ya?” He smiles knowingly at you.

You don’t answer. He shows you anyway, pulling the waistband down under his balls. He's neatly trimmed and his balls are big. He's engorged but not fully hard.

“Do me a favor and spit in my hand, sweetheart.” He holds it out in front of you. You look back and forth between his eyes, then his freckles. He's a handsome man. His hand stays there, waiting patiently. You gather saliva in your mouth, tilt your head forward, and let it drop into his palm.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

He wraps his hand around his cock and You look into the bath water as his eyes devour your body. In the corner of your eye, you can see him at full mast. He breathes heavier, then moves positions. He sits with his right side against the tub, facing you. He strokes himself with his left hand and dips his right hand into the water. You flinch away then try to relax. The backs of Tommy’s fingers graze your calf under the water. You squeeze your thighs together.

“Don't get shy on me now, cupcake.” He reaches behind your calf and touches the back of your leg, near your ass. Your legs involuntarily part. He wouldn't do anything Joel wouldn't like. Would he? Somehow the tension of the situation is only making you want it more. His fingers creep between your legs and caress your inner thigh crease. He sucks in a chest full of air, then gets on his knees. He brings his left hand to your mouth again for lube.

“Good girl.” The squelch of his hand around his cock echoes with the new moisture. He searches your face as half his mouth breaks into a smile. He holds your inner thigh as he jacks off. Then he straightens your leg so he can see your body better. “God damn,” he murmurs, and the sound of his voice is sharpened by the tile. He rubs your thigh, spits into his other hand, keeps tugging at his cock, then when he's close, he gets up and sits on the edge of the tub. It’s impossible not to look at his stiff, angry cock, glistening with your combined saliva. You still have one knee bent above the water–the knee furthest from him.

He pumps himself and stands up to face you. “You wanna know how I taste?” He asks.

You hesitantly shake your head no, unsure if it would be crossing a line. “Okay, sweetheart. Don't have to.” He aims his cock at the water over your lap, then closes his eyes and groans. “Ohh, God. ohhhh,” it lands sharply in your ears as he erupts. Silky ropes of cum dance in the water, some of it wrapping around your thigh. When he's finished, he pulls his boxers back up, then his jeans, but doesn't zip them up. He sits on the edge of the tub again, leans over it, and kisses you on the forehead. Then he whispers in your ear, “I'll make dinner.”

—-

You eat together at the kitchen table. There's a cornucopia centerpiece. The scant conversation is about winter and gardening, until he reaches under the table and squeezes your thigh. You want him so bad, you blurt out, “what’s happening?”

He replies, “Huh?” with his hand still on your thigh.

You search Tommy’s face. “You said it yourself, he’s controlling.” You shift in your chair and he takes his hand back. You continue, “Why doesn’t he care if you. . .”

“Ah,” Tommy smiles down at his plate. “Well. . .” He turns his chair to face you instead of the table. He sits back and manspreads, and his hands rest on his thighs. “I’m just another body to love ya with, sugar.” His eyes drift to the cornucopia. “And I sure am thankful for it.”

His eyes return to you, and your heart flutters.

“He can love on ya when he ain’t here, even.” One of his hands slides up his own thigh to rest closer to his groin. He takes in a deep breath through his nose and nods, admiring you as he slowly exhales. His eyes are darker.

A desperate want is stirring in your belly. It seems too good to be true. You abruptly announce, “I’m tired. I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Okay, cupcake. C’mere,” Tommy opens his arms.

You stand between his legs, bend forward, put your arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. As you pull your head back, his hands on your hips pull you into sitting on his thigh. He brings a hand to your cheek, and it melts you. “I wouldn’t do nothin’ he wouldn’t want,” he reassures you.

You nod.

“End up on the wrong side of the dirt,” he chuckles. When you don’t laugh, he clarifies, “Me, not you. He’d never hurt ya, cupcake.”

Then he cradles your head with both hands, studying your eyes and lips. He wets his lips, and your lips part, watching him. Half his mouth twitches. You’re warm all over. He leans in and looks at your mouth again, getting closer. When you can practically feel the heat of his lips on yours, you close the gap and feel a rush of need when your mouths come together. His lips are soft, and the kiss is tender. You pull away after two seconds.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

—---

You lie in bed missing Joel, wishing he would come home. You feel more at ease with the two of them. Your mind drifts to Tommy. At this rate, you wish he would stay. You’re almost asleep when the bedroom door creaks open.

“Daddy?” When you turn over, the moonlit silhouette is Tommy's. He's only wearing boxers and there's already a tent in them. He lifts the covers, and the mattress dips under his weight.

You ask, “What are you doing?”

“'S’okay, cupcake, I told ya. Promise he won’t be mad.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Your daddy and I been sharin’ our toys for fifty years.”

Your stomach turns, but Tommy adds, “You're the most special of all, ya know.” He scoots closer. “Never seen him in love before.”

You feel your body warming and opening up for him.

“He wants ya to get what ya need, baby,” Tommy whispers.

Your heart pounds.

“Even told me your secret word,” Tommy adds.

“He did?”

“If ya really want me to stop, all ya gotta say is Appleseed.” How would he know that unless Joel told him?

You turn away from Tommy and he doesn't waste any time before spooning you. His strong arm rests over you and his hand cups a breast. He kisses your neck, soft and wet. The thick, warm rod in his boxers grazes your lower back as he tongues your delicate skin. He kisses your neck with increasing passion, and he kneads your breast. Then his arousal fully presses against you through his boxers and your nightgown.

He curves his body around you and pulls you back into him. He sighs and his engorged cock twitches against your crack, giving you a surge of desire. He slides his hand into your nightgown from the top to palm your naked breast and sighs as he grinds against you.

“God damn, sweetheart,” he whispers as your nipple hardens against his palm. He takes his hand out of your nightgown and cups your breast on top of it again, then his hand slowly slides down your sleepwear, feeling every inch of your torso before arriving at your bare thigh. He nudges his fingers under the hem of your nightgown and slides his hand up your thigh. When his hand reaches your pussy, your top leg lifts ever so slightly, spreading your thighs to make room for him. You're not wearing underwear.

“Good girl,” he whispers. You’re aching to have him inside you. “Drippin’ for me ain't ya, baby?”

He circles your clit, and you moan softly. There's a wet spot on his boxers pressing into you. “Fuck” he mutters and backs up his hips. “Damnit, I’m drippin’, too,” he chuckles. “Takin’ these off.”

After taking his boxers off, Tommy hovers over you and you’re still on your side. Tommy's hand comes back to your breast, and you turn your face toward his. Your lips meet, and after two seconds, you don’t pull away. His lips push yours open and you accept his tongue. You breathe through your nose as he licks into your mouth.

Tommy pulls back and reads your face, then gives you another soft kiss before settling in behind you, against you, curled around you again. His naked cock is smooth and warm against your ass. He grinds against you for a minute as he massages your breast and moans into your hair. Then his hand drifts down between your legs and he groans at how wet you are.

“I gotta be in ya, sugar.” Tommy backs up and wedges his rigid cock between your thighs, and it glides smoothly through your mess of arousal. His tip reaches your clit. You’re throbbing needily. Your hips tilt on their own, offering him your hole.

“Fuck,” Tommy says as his tip finds your entrance. “Fuck. That’s right, baby.” he pushes his tip into you. You're dying for it, but you're still a little tense and it's making you even tighter.

“God damn, you feel good. Can't imagine when he first–.” He pushes into you, trying to let your body relax and accommodate his girth. “Oh shit, mmm–that musta been–Fuck.” He pushes a little further. “Relax for me, baby.” He withdraws some then thrusts further into you. “Relax, sugar,” he whispers. “Just breathe.” You take a deep breath and relax. The last of him slides in and he bottoms out. “Ohh, good girl. There we go.” He palms your breast and you melt into him. “We’re right here, baby.”

He’s got you speared on his cock, spread apart by his girth. “God damn. What a good girl.”

With his cock fully sheathed, his thick fingers rub circles on your nipple. You moan, twitching around the new cock buried in the hot center of your body. “Mmm,” he growls into your hair, still not moving. You need friction. He breathes deeply. “breathe with me, baby.” You breathe with him and feel yourself relax more.

“Please,” you whine, beginning to move your hips.

His voice is husky. “God damn. Look at ya, sugar. Fuckin’ yourself on Uncle Tommy’s cock?”

“Please,” you whimper again.

“What's your daddy gonna think?”

Your walls twitch and your heart skips a beat. “You said–”

“Yeah. . .He'll be fine, sweetheart..” Tommy begins to move his hips. “He’d be proud’a ya, takin’ this cock like such a good girl.”

He begins to fuck you at a steady rhythm, breathing heavily and cursing softly. You begin to relax with his hand mapping the front of your body, and his stiff cock thrusting into you. He palms your tit again and your head tilts back against him. He kisses your neck, and your body opens for him even more. Your cunt swallows him up with every thrust.

“Ohh, Joel's a lucky man,” he pants with his dick easily sliding into you, making you whole. “Shit, I'm lucky, too–uggh.” You push back on him as he fills you with his stiff cock.

He asks, “Little harder?”

“Mm,” you nod.

He slams into you and you moan.

“Yeah, that's our girl.”

Soon, you’re lost in the pleasure of Tommy’s thick cock pounding you.

The front door unlocks and you freeze. You’re both facing away from the bedroom door. “‘S’okay,” Tommy reminds you. He slows his hips, then bottoms out and pauses. “C’mere,” he wraps his arms around you and with his cock still inside, he rolls over on his back, then sets you down on your other side, arms still wrapped around you, his cock only sliding out half way in the process.

As soon as you’re settled, he bottoms out again with a soft moan. You and Tommy are both facing the bedroom door now. The covers are down around your waist. The handle moves, then the door opens. The silhouette is Joel with his sleeves rolled up.

—---

As Joel approaches the bed, the moonlight hits him and his face is dark.

“She’s so good, Joel,” Tommy pants, with you still full of his cock.

Joel comes to the bed and crouches down. “God damn.” Joel gently takes your jaw in his hand and tilts his head. He studies your face, then his eyes land on yours affectionately. “Couldn't go one day, could ya?” He smiles with his eyes and relief washes over you.

“M’sorry daddy,” you sigh. “Are you mad?”

“No, baby.” Tommy is fucking you slowly. “I ain't mad.” Joel slowly stands up and palms himself over his jeans as he watches your body move to the slow rhythm of Tommy’s thrusts.

“Really?”

“Baby, I keep ya stuffed so full’a cock. . . can't blame ya for needin’ it.”

“Yeah,” you whimper.

“That's what Uncle Tommy's here for,” Tommy whispers.

“Now I get to see ya,” Joel says “All of ya,” Joel gently pulls the covers all the way off. Then Joel tugs up at the hem of your nightgown and kneels down to take it off you.

You try to move forward, reaching for Joel, but Joel puts his hand on your bare chest and Tommy pulls you back, bottoming out again with a moan.

“Want yours,” you whimper.

“Shhh. You're gonna get it.”

You watch Joel take off all his clothes, and as he does it, he watches you moving at a slow rhythm. When Joel’s naked, he spits in his hand. He stands by the bed watching you get fucked by his brother, taking in the view as he squeezes his cock.

“Daddy, please,” you whine.

Joel sits down on the bed. Tommy scooches back to make more room and brings you back with him, still impaled on his cock. Joel lies down and faces you. He gets right up against you, and the first thing he does is kiss you. His hard cock lays against your clit and mound, throbbing for you. You moan into his mouth as Tommy’s cock drags slowly inside you from behind.

Joel’s arm wedges between your back and Tommy’s chest, grabbing hold of you. Joel nudges you upward. Tommy takes the hint and pulls out. You wrap your leg over Joel’s hip. His eyes scan your face, marveling at your feral want. Joel’s hand, still on your back, slides down your ass and hooks under it, between your legs, feeling your sopping wet cunt from the back. “God damn, baby. This all you or did Uncle Tommy cum already?”

“Not yet,” Tommy answers.

Joel’s tip slides through your folds, then he pulls back and notches himself at your entrance. He moves his hand to your hip, and pushes into you with a sigh. You're so wet and aroused, he sinks all the way into you. “Fuck,” Joel breathes. “oh, yeah—ugghh–swallowed me right up, baby.” He marvels at how relaxed you are. With Joel’s arm out of the way, Tommy’s tummy returns flush against your back, with his hard, wet cock pressing against your ass cheek. He grabs your tit.

Joel buries his cock in you. “Oh baby, you love this, don’t ya?”

You nod. “Love your cock, daddy.”

“You’re takin’ it so good, baby. Think you’re wet enough for—ohh, darlin’.” He grinds against you, deep inside you. “You wanna ride this cock, baby?”

You nod. Joel slides out of you and you whimper at the loss as he rolls onto his back. Joel lies face up and holds his cock for you. He whispers, “C’mere baby,” but you're already on your way.

You straddle him and sink right down on him with a whimpered, “daddy,” then bend forward, putting your tits against Joel’s chest. Tommy’s slowly stroking himself and watching.

“C’mere,” Joel whispers and reaches for your head. He pulls your face into his for a passionate kiss as you grind into him with his cock buried in you. It only takes a few seconds of grinding into Joel for your walls to spasm.

“Oh god,” he mutters as you contract around him. “oh—oh, God, baby.”

As you finish coming on Joel's cock, your whole body relaxes. You’re even wetter and more open than you were before. “Now you’re–oh yeah, you’re good,” Joel whispers to himself with his hands on the backs of your thighs. You both breathe for a moment and you begin to slowly move again.

Joel licks his finger then reaches over your ass, his hand approaching your hole from behind. You stop moving as he gently wedges the thick digit into your cunt from the top so his fingernail is against his cock. “Yeah,” he whispers, moving the finger around, checking how much you'll stretch. “Yeah,” he says as his head turns and he glances at Tommy.

Joel cups your cheek and reads your face. “Can I fuck ya with two cocks, baby?”

You spasm with an aftershock. “It won't fit,” you protest, but the thought of it turns you on. Your hips begin to move again. You're taking his cock and his finger.

“Can we find out, baby doll?” Joel asks.

You slowly move on his cock and finger, with your face close to his. Your clit is throbbing. “You aren't worried to stretch me?”

“You'll snap right back, baby,” Joel pants as he wedges another finger in with his cock.

“I dunno if I can,” you whine.

“It’s okay, darlin’. Let's find out.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Tommy gets up on his knees and gets close to Joel's shoulder, near your head.

“Get it nice and wet,” Joel tells you.

Without getting off Joel's cock, you turn your head enough to accept Tommy's cock into your mouth. You let saliva pool under your tongue, then swirl it all over his shaft until he's dripping. “alright” Tommy whispers, then you deposit the rest of the saliva from under your tongue. “Alright, don't make me cum, sweetheart.”

Tommy straddles Joel’s legs behind you while Joel hugs you close.

Tommy nudges your occupied hole. Joel slowly removes his fingers and Tommy’s tip finds its place between the first cock and the back wall of your cunt. Once Tommy's tip is nestled there, Joel’s fingers leave you and both his hands hold your sides.

“Deep breath,” Tommy whispers. You draw in a chest full of air, and when you begin to exhale, he begins to push in.

It burns for a moment as Tommy’s cockhead breaches your dripping hole, but his smooth, wet cock feels better than the fingers. “Fuck,” Tommy mutters as he pushes further.

“Daddy,” you whimper. “It's a lot.”

“I know it is, darlin’, you're doin’ so good.”

“Breathe with me, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers. You take deep breaths and try to relax. The burn fades as your body catches up. The stretch is only a little uncomfortable around their shafts at the very edge of you. Deeper inside, you feel a fullness you couldn't have imagined.

“Good,” Joel says. “doin’ real good, baby. You wanna keep goin’?”

You nod. You take deep breaths and bow your head as Tommy sinks in a little more.

“God damn, baby. Packed full of it, ain’t ya?”Joel marvels. The look on his face makes you twitch.

You lock eyes with Joel, bite your lip, and nod. Joel tilts his hips down toward the bed and you groan into Joel’s chest as Tommy pushes into you as much as he can. The burn is fading, and the sense of fullness overwhelms you in the best way. It's not just physical. You close your eyes and savor it. Joel’s hips begin to move. He slides against your front wall, nudging just the right place, making you whimper.

Tommy slides in rhythm, and his breathing is labored. “Ohhh,” he moans. “Shit-–ugggh.” He warns Joel, “I'm pretty close, brother.”

Joel looks like he's making a calculation behind his eyes. Then he reads your face. “You want double the cum, baby?”

You nod.

“That's my girl,” Joel whispers. “That’s my perfect lil girl.” His hips wiggle under you.

“Ohh-fff-uuggh” Tommy pants and pulls back.

Joel moves his hips and slides within your stuffed hole. Tommy stays still while Joel thrusts a few small strokes and you groan. Tommy pushes forward and you sigh. Joel kisses you. You push back and Tommy slides forward. Joel does another slow thrust upward, then Tommy says “fuck,” pushes another inch, then begins to cum. “Oh god,” Tommy groans. His dick pulses and pulses in your packed cunt as his warm release coats your walls and Joel's cock.

“Jesus,” Tommy sighs, then begins to pull out of you. The burn returns as the crown of his tip crests your entrance on its way out. Then you whimper in relief. There's a sense of loss as your body slowly draws itself back in, but it's a major comfort still being wrapped around Joel's cock. Tommy lies down on his back to recover.

“You did so good baby,” Joel brushes your cheek and his hips lift as your body adjusts itself back to his girth. “Ya like havin’ two cocks?” It’s the first time you haven’t felt packed full from Joel’s cock alone, and your temples feel weak.

You nod hesitantly. “Do I still feel good?”

“Oh darlin’, you feel so good,” he breathes and the tension melts away from your face.

“Yeah, I liked it,” you whisper. “But I only need one.”

He cradles your head and it feels like it's just the two of you. “Love you so much,” he whispers, and brings your face to his again, rolling his hips under you. He kisses you deeply and grinds up into you with his cock all the way inside. Your mouth breaks away with a moan, and your hips begin to move, bringing an obscene squelching sound with them.

“Oh darlin’,” Joel whispers, and he pulls you back into a kiss. He grunts into your mouth with a sharp thrust upward, and the tension boils over. You begin to clench around him. Joel breaks the kiss with a shudder, then he moans your name as you flutter around his cock. His fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you flush, then pulses with a groan. “Ohhhh, fuck—ohhh,” he sighs as he releases a massive load, more than doubling the cum inside you. The rhythm of Joel’s cock soothes you as his load combines with Tommy's.

—--

You stay on Joel’s cock for a few minutes, and he strokes your back, praising you quietly. Tommy falls asleep. Eventually you sigh and whine, "I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Ok, baby,” Joel whispers and begins to help you off his cock.

When you come back, Joel helps you into bed between them. You face Joel and he kisses you good night. You feel thankful for him as you drift off to sleep.

—-

sequel here

Thank you for reading 🖤 I know people want updates on certain Joels but I haven't been having the easiest time and sometimes writing something new is lower-pressure.

Uncle Tommy is a brain worm I've had for a couple months ever since I blurted it out in another series.

I have another recent Joel x reader ft. Tommy with a different set miller bros: leopard print

And a darker Tommy x reader here: birds of prey

-----

FIC RECS

If you like brotherly sharing, a couple of my personal favorites are

I can be your pretty girl part 4, and part 5 by (RIP) walkintotheriveranddisappear who sadly inactivated

Liquid Gold and its prequel Two Hands to Hold by @gasolinerainbowpuddles,

If you like the idea of daddy/uncle, @bonezone44 has Joel, tommy, and Ezra.

More brotherly sharing - Smack My Bitch Up, a raider AU by @milla-frenchy.

If you wanna suck Tommy's big balls, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin has you covered.

More fic recs (and more to come) on my rec blog @toxicrecs.

Alright I tried to bring my tag list back and something went wrong so I might have to remove them from the post sorry 🥲

#joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x reader x tommy miller #cw dubcon #tw dubcon #toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #uncle!tommy #uncle!tommy miller #daddy!joel miller #uncle tommy #uncle tommy miller

4K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 9 months

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i have another toji idea but this time he’s your bodyguard!

readers dad is a really rich businessman or something and reader is basically serena van der woodsen! she’s always out partying doing drugs and sleeping around so her dad hires toji to keep close eye on her. she’s not happy about it obviously!

reader is in college and toji is like i dont know in his late 30s!!

Bodygaurd!Toji x RichBrat!Reader

contains: fem reader, legal age gap, drug use, non con/dub con (not from Toji), voyeurism, exhibitionism, choking, dacraphillia, restraints, rough sex, so much dirty talk, daddy kink (sorry), teasing, sexual tension, brat taming, multiple orgasms, size kink, Toji has a big dick and knows what aftercare is :3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

The club music around the two men was blaring, Toji could feel a headache coming on. "That her?" Toji asked, pointing to a girl who was laughing at some college boy's joke by the bar, swatting his arm playfully. "She's uh.. that one there." Your father spoke, almost too quietly to be heard under the music. He pointed to you, you who were currently adorned in a skimpy black nightgown-esc dress, the fabric being pulled over the curve of your ass and exposing your lacy black thong without a care in the word to the room around you as you sat on a boy's lap, ruffling his hair as you sucked on his tongue, his hands leading your hips as he ground you down on top of him.

Toji turned his head back to your father, an unreadable expression on his face. Your dad held up his hands in the air, waving them in front of him. "S-shes a good girl really, just a little.. misguided." He said defensively. You loved your father, he was the only man in your life who acctually cared about you and didnt use you for your status or body. The two of you had a wonderful relationship, the only problem was you were an only child, and your mom had died early on in your life, resulting in him spoiling you a little too much.

So when you started acting out, wearing skimpier clothes, doing drugs, staying out late, frequenting parties, and bringing a new stranger home to fuck on his couch every night, you didn't exactly take to his words telling you to 'maybe calm down' in the best way. It's not like he had been strict about it when he talked to you, he had been very sweet and understanding when you said you were 'going through something'. Your father's lack of disciplinary skills combined with how much love he had for you and the constant mindset to always keep his sweet little girl happy had resulted in your behavior getting worse and worse.

Which is where Toji came in. You had just finished up a new photoshoot for a major modeling brand and it had brought you even more attention than you had been getting before, meaning you were going out more, and frequently engaged in unsafe sex and use of drugs. Your father couldn't stand to see you like this, so he hired you a body guard without consulting you first, someone he had worked with in the past, someone he knew wouldn't take your shit, because he sure as hell wasn't going to stop you.

Toji stayed quiet, watching your body sway and move in a way that was clear to him you were under the influence of something. The man beneath you looked too sober, and the way he had started to manhandle your drugged out body made his eye twitch. Toji had known you since you were a kid, he started doing business with your dad when he turned seventeen, and he saw you around sometimes too, although you looked quite different back then. "Do whatever you have to do, I just cant stand to see my little girl like this." Your father said, placing his hand on Toji's shoulder before he checked the time on his expensive wristwatch, clicking his teeth.

"I have to go, please don't leave her side, don't let her bring anyone home, and don't let anything enter her mouth that isn't food or water, alright? I'll be back in a week." When your dad had mentioned not letting you ingest anything that wasn't food and water—referring to substances—he couldn't help but think that might include other people's genitals too. He just had a hunch from the way you had started to palm at the man's crotch underneath you. "Right, is it alright if I use force if I gotta?" Toji asked, squinting his eyes as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

"Yeah that's.. that's fine.." Your dad answered hesitantly. Toji averted his gaze from you, turning his head to look at your father, he smiled. "Have a good trip, sir, Don't worry about your daughter, I'll stick around and whip her into shape for as long as you need me to." He reassured, before starting off in your direction.

Upon closer inspection, he could see your eyes were all out of focus, you looked like you didn't even know what was going on around you as the blond-haired boy roughly kissed your neck, starting to slide his hands down your ass, slipping his fingers underneath your panties. God, you really did look so much different from when he used to watch you lay on your stomach on the floor of your living room, watching your cartoons.

This new look didn't suit you quite as much, white powder on the table in front of you, girls and guys alike touching your skin wherever they could get in, drinks scattered around you, your bra peeking out of your dress as the strap slipped down your shoulder, your eyes rolled back in your head. He doubted you even knew the name of the man who was marking your neck. Hell, he doubted you knew any of the people around you. The people around you were too high off their asses to even notice Toji's presence as he stood right behind you, he was so close he could practically feel the heat radiating off your skin.

The boy under you looked up at him, pulling his lips away from your neck. "You wanna taste, get in line old man, 's how this shit works." He giggled, talking about you like you were some disposable inanimate tool. Toji grit his teeth, grabbing the boy's hand and stopping it before he could dip it any lower in your panties. "She's not even fucking here right now, you don't see anything wrong with that?" He asked, referring to how high you were. The boy was taken aback at Toji's sheer strength, "What the- let go of me man-" He tried yanking his hand away from Toji, but to no avail.

"Look- she fucking loves it its fine, ain't that right baby~" He asked, grinning as he took his other hand to grab your jaw, nodding it forcefully. You smiled drunkenly, your eyes all out of focus as he manhandled your head. "Alright, I've seen enough." Toji sighed, leaning down he picked you up with ease from underneath your arms and threw you over his shoulder, your ass being exposed even more—if that was even possible.

"What the fuck~" You slurred, eyes trying to focus on the constantly moving ground underneath you as Toji kept one hand on the small of your back, walking you out of the building. You felt dizzy and sick, the music was too loud, but you still felt the need to kick and scream at the man who was taking you away from the chaos. "Who the fuck are you? 'was fuckin' doing something back there.." You slurred, weakly struggling in his grip.

Toji stayed silent until he reached the exit, pushing the heavy wood open he took in the cool air of the night, the ice-cold oxygen feeling refreshing in both of your lungs. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, shooting a quick text to one of your drivers who was nearby to pick the two of you up, ignoring your 'hey- answer me''s in the backround. He slipped the device back into his pocket, plopping you down on the ground in front of him, making sure to keep a hand on your waist to insure you didn't fall over.

"Was it you I was kissing?" You asked, squinting your eyes at him as you leaned in, standing on your tippy toes you placed your hands on his solid chest to try to get a good look at his face. "I don't think he had black hair.." you slurred, losing your balance on your tippy toes, and falling back onto flat feet. Thanks to Toji's grip you didn't fall flat on your ass. "You don't even care do you?" He asked incredulously, keeping his tone steady as he let you grope his chest.

Toji took the opportunity to fix your appearance up a bit, pulling the strap of your dress back atop your shoulder so your bra was fully covered again; not like it made a huge difference thanks to how low the dress was, but he still wanted to give you some dignity; he used his large hands to slide down your waist, smoothing out your dress so it rested on your thighs once more as it should. His touch felt so good, it was a lot softer than the touches from the college boy's inside, you could work with this.

"Mmm, not really." You smiled up at him, biting your lip between your teeth as you looked him up and down. "You takin' me home to fuck me?" You mumbled, giving him a doped-out grin. "Not exactly." He replied. Seconds after, the car approached, and out came another middle-aged man who walked to the curbside and opened the door for the both of you. Toji held your waist as he walked you towards the open door. You stopped in your tracks, holding the top of the car door when you got close enough to see the driver's face.

You looked at him closely, narrowing your eyes. "Wait.. you're my driver.. why are you here? I'm not going home yet," you said confused, tuning your body to look between the two men. "Yes, you are," Toji replied, using a strong hand to manipulate your weak body as he pressed your shoulder down, pushing you into the car. "No- no wait- what the fuck? You said you were gonna fuck me." You slurred, watching the blurry picture of Toji slide into the car after you, the driver slamming it slut promptly.

Toji gripped your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, "Don't think your dad would like it very much if I fucked his daughter while she was high on coke." You blinked at him, trying to make the fuzziness in your vision go away, "'m not on coke, it's jus' molly, and why the fuck are you bringing up my dad?" You asked, trying to jerk your head away from his hand. "Your father hired me to be your personal cockblock, hope you're ready for rehab," Toji smirked, releasing your face as he bucked you into the seat, your body jolting when the driver pulled out into the street and started driving the two of you home.

—

You woke up with a headache, stomachache— honestly it would take longer to list what wasn't aching in your body. You groaned, stretching your limbs under your own sheets as you tried to wake yourself up. Wait, these are my sheets? How did I get home last night? you wondered. "Fuck.. water." You sat up, sitting on your ass as you curled your legs up to your chest, laying your forehead on your knees. Your throat was dry- like you had been stranded in the dryest desert for months, you tried to swallow, but it just felt like swallowing sandpaper. You didn't care as much about how you got home, too focused on trying not to throw up as you tried to gather the strength to stand.

You always regretted the morning after you went so hard like a night like the last. You always felt like a shell of yourself the morning after, no amount of drugs or sex could make that feeling go away until the next night, but it wasn't awful enough for you to break this little cycle you had going. "Need some water?" A voice rang in your ears, making your body jolt as you held your hand over your chest, scooting back on the bed as you looked in the direction of the voice to the large figure standing in your doorway.

A tall, balck haired and well build man who looked to be around your dad's age walked into your room holding a glass of water, you swore he looked familiar but you couldn't pinpoint where you had seen him before. You sighed, chalking it up to another unwanted one-night stand who had overstayed their welcome, although you didn't quite feel sore down there.. maybe his dick was just small? It's not like you could remember if you tried anyways. "Don't you know you're not supposed to hang around after we fuck? It's called a one-night stand for a reason." You said sharply, rubbing your temples with your fingers.

"Good thing we didn't fuck." Toji smirked, flipping on your light switch, making your face scrunch up in displeasure. You had no time to be confused when the light hit your eyes, making your headache worsen tenfold as you hid your face in your knees once again, pulling the sheets over your head. "Dude, what the fuck! Turn that shit off." You yelled, your voice coming to him muffled as you spoke into the sheets. "Its almost 2pm, you're not going to rot in bed all day, promised your dad I would take care of you, so get up." He said, uncrossing his arms as he started towards you, setting the water down on the bedside table as he stood at the side of your mattress, looking down at you.

His words made a flashback shoot through your brain, one of last night, the two of you in a car together, and this man had just told you he was your bodyguard. You turned your head to the side, squinting your eye at him as you tried to gauge if he looked like the same man in your flashback--unfortunately for you, he did. "Fuuuuuuuuuck." You groaned, half of the word being muffled when you turned your head back to your knees. "Remember me now, princess?" He asked, his deep, usually soothing voice meeting your ears in a grating, annoying way.

You pick your head up, giving him the best snarky smile you could manage while your body fought with the aftereffects of what you did to it last night. "You really think you're gonna stop me from doing what I want?" You raised your eyebrow challengingly at him, keeping your eyes on his darker ones. "I'm not as nice as your daddy, so yes, I do." He said, ripping the comforter off of your frame he grabbed your ankle and yanked you towards him on the bed, your night shorts and t-shirt he had dressed you in last night riding up, showing more of your thighs and midriff.

You stared at him in disbelief, your chest heaving at the sudden manhandling. "Don't touch me." You yanked your foot out of his grip and sat up, sliding off the bed hastily you made quick work of walking past the man, towards the bathroom. Toji winced when you slammed the door shut to the bathroom behind you, the sound echoing through the entire house, he was sure even the neighbors heard it. He sighed, sitting down on your bed, his big hand coming to rub his forehead in annoyance. "He better be paying me fucking good to put up with his little brat," Toji mumbled under his breath.

When his hand dropped into his lap, his vision was unobstructed once more, and under the illumination of the bright lights above your bed, and the absence of your presence distracting him, he could clearly see the bag of white pills on your dresser. "Jesus christ.." Toji whispered, his lip curling in disgust. He stood, pocketing the bag of substances to promptly flush down the toilet later. Something in the back of his head was telling him to check in your bedside table.

The man didn't exactly have the strongest morals, so he didn't think much of going through a college junkie girl's drawer. Just as he expected, when he pulled the drawer open he found three bright orange pill bottles, all labeled with different names. With a curt laugh, he pocketed those as well, he would make sure they were delt with appropriately. Once the drugs were in his pocket, he noticed the bright pink vibrator next to them, along with a baby blue dildo, some condoms he doubted you used, and panties with the crotch cut out.

He laughed, "Your good girl is actually pretty naughty.." He said under his breath, directed to your father. He didn't want to look too long, not because he was afraid of you finding out, he was sure you were going to the moment you came back in here, looking for something to take your pain away from the day before. He didn't want to look too long because he didn't want to imagine his boss's daughter sprawled out on her bed, legs wide as one hand pinched her nipples and the other used the vibrator on her sensitive little clit through the gape in the crotchless panties.

He heard the shower turn on, snapping him out of his thoughts as he shut the drawer, averting his gaze as he did so. He flicked the lights off in your room as he left, making his way down to the living room where your chef was preparing your breakfast, rich people. The old woman behind the counter who was cooking something that smelled devine, looked happy to be there though. He knew how genuinely nice your father was, and he figured you must've treated them with the same kindness for them to stick around.

He must've been sitting on the couch watching the old woman cook for quite some time because your figure emerged from the hallway leading into the open room, adorned in nothing but skimpy panties and a tank top. You were ruffling your hair in a pink towel, trying to dry it the best you could before you discarded the towel on the floor and jumped up on the expensive-looking bar stool in front of the kitchen. You sat on your knees, your ass poking out towards Toji, he watched as you twisted back and forth on the chair, showing off your body like you wanted him to see.

He was grateful you had come down here in a better mood than before, you must've not checked your empty dresser drawer yet. "Good morning" You spoke kindly to the old woman, to which she replied her own 'good morning' with a smile. He liked seeing you like this, this was the you he recognized. He could barely tell you were the same person who was letting yourself get manhandled on the lap of a stranger in the middle of a disgusting club high on drugs.

Toji just couldn't help but break the peacefulness of the morning with his deep voice, "Where are your clothes?" He asked, "You have company." You sighed, sitting your butt down on the stool you brought your foot up on the cushion, resting your chin on your knee as you tipped your head as you looked at him. "You're just my handler, right? So why are you talking right now?" Your face was scrunched in disdain, the girl from last night making an appearance, he had a hard time telling which of the two of you was real.

"Just sayin' it's unbecoming for a young lady like you to have your ass out so shamelessly." Toji retorted. "This is my house, I'll do whatever I want old man." You bit back, spinning around as the chef pushed your plate towards you, the colors of the different foods on your plate stimulating your brain that was dulled from last night's drugs. "Oh ma'am, I would be lost without you." You whispered to the chef, placing your hand ontop of her wrinkled one gratefully. You thought the conversation between you and your babysitter was over, so you were shocked when you felt his chest bump against your back, his large hand reaching over yours to grab the other plate the woman had made for him.

"Your daddy spoiled you too much, now you're just a stuck-up brat. You should listen to your elders y'know?" Toji scolded. His voice sent goosebumps down your spine, maybe this could be something, you always did love a good hatefuck. The warmth of his chest was gone as soon as it came as he took the plate back to the sofa, kicking his legs up on the coffee table as he started shoveling the food into his mouth sloppily. "When you stop treating me like a kid, I might." You answered, keeping your back to him to he couldn't see the blush that had spread across your face.

The two of you ate in silence, you were the first to get up, walking your plate over to the sink to clean the food off, when your phone started buzzing on the counter. You abandoned the plate in the sink, walking back over to see who was calling. Toji watched your eyes light up as you answered the phone, probably some college boy you were fucking with at the moment had called you to hook up. It was the middle of the day, students these days were relentless. "Tonight? Send me the address and I'll be there~" You cooed into the receiver.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize you had just been invited out to another party. Toji acted quickly, when you faced your body away from him, leaning against the fridge as you listened to the boy speak, Toji appeared behind you once again, snatching your phone out of your hand, "No she won't." Toji spoke for you, letting him know you would absolutely not be going to any parties under his watch before hanging up the phone. "Stop fucking doing that!" You yelled, your body jolting in surprise as you turned around, glaring at the man just inches from you.

You grabbed his wrist that was holding your phone, with your other you ripped the device out of his hand before digging your sharp nail into his chest and giving him a death stare from under your lashes. "Touch what belongs to me again Ill-" "You'll what? Fire me? Your pretty drugged-up brain keeps forgetting your daddy hired me?" He smirked, crossing his bulging biceps over his chest. You took a step back, shaking your head. "You won't tell me what to do, fucking watch." You spat, walking off to your room. Toji brushed it off as an empty threat, what could you possibly accomplish when he was watching your every move like a hawk?

When you reached the comfort of your bedroom you slammed the door shut, hoping Toji would hear from his place downstairs. Who the fuck was he to come into your life and order you around? And your dad had hired him too? Seriously? These old men needed to stop fucking intervening with you, you didn't need any help. After that thought ran through your head you made a path straight for your drawer, looking for a pill or two to at least make you feel like you weren't cooped up at home if you couldn't actually leave.

Curling your fingers around the handle you pulled it open and- what the fuck? The familiar orange bottles you kept next to your sex toys were nowhere to be seen. Even on your most fucked up nights you had never neglected to put the bottles back where they belonged in your drawer. There was only one person who could've done this. "OLD MAN!!" Toji heard your voice echo, your footsteps getting louder as you marched angrily into the living room. A grin spread across his face when your figure came into view, his feet still kicked up on the coffee table as he barely spared you a glance before he went back to watching his show.

"Do you really not know my name, or are you just being a brat?" Toji asked, keeping his eyes on the screen. You were fuming, you had spent your hard-earned money on those (not like you had a shortage of cash or anything, but you hated your drug guy, he was so pushy and not at all cute.) "Toji, you had no right to go through my drawers like that, seriously, you're more fucked up than you think I am!" You yelled, your face growing hot, veins pumping with adrenaline. Toji decided you were worth the time of day, tilting his head back against the couch cushion he looked at you.

"Your daddy said I could do whatever I wanted, he also said to keep all that nasty shit out of your pretty little body, so that's exactly what I'm going to do." He replied, raising his eyebrows as he looked you up and down, pausing on your crotch, still only clad in those skimpy panties he couldn't stand. You blushed at him calling your body pretty, his words making your brain forget its track of thought for a moment. "W-what I put inside me isn't any of your business." You retorted, placing your hand on your hip.

"It is when your father specifically tells me it is." Toji laughed. "If you want something inside you so bad why don't you put those toys to use? That'll give you some kinda high for sure." Your face heat up even more. You figured he had seen your toy stash in the process of him throwing your pills away, but you didn't think he was going to use them against you like this. "Did my dad tell you to harass me like this too? Fucking pervert." You spat. "You're calling me a pervert when you're walking around in front of me with just those little panties on? There practically fucking see-through."

You were feeling hot in a different place now. You still wanted to punch him so hard he threw up, but another part of you wanted to climb over the cough and straddle his hips, pull his cock out and sit on it, letting him fuck you dumb. You'd never fucked someone his age before, it sounded fun, you bet he had loads more experience than the college guys you were sleeping with. "Why are you looking?" You retorted, your voice losing its edge. "Don't you want me to?" Toji replied. The two of you kept your eyes on one another, the air around you thick, making it hard to breath as neither one of you dared to break the eye contact.

The doorbell ringing snapped you out of it, both of your heads turning to look at the massive entrance doors. Toji stood to get it, but you beat him to it, running over to the door. "I got it." You told him. He stood behind the sofa, watching you open the door in your slutty attire. Pulling open the door, a handsome man around your age came into view, his arms sticking out for a hug as he stepped inside. "Absolutely not," Toji spoke, making haste for the door to shove him out. "Relax, do you think I'm fucking stupid?" Toji raised his eyebrows like you knew what he was going to say, before he crossed his arms and let you finish.

"He's gay, nothing is going to happen. You won't let me go to this fucking party, and I am not staying here alone with you all day." You hissed. The boy behind you nodded, his hand wrapped loosely around your waist. Toji stayed quiet for a while, the boy hadn't said or done anything yet to contrast your words, so even though he was hesitant, he stepped aside, letting the two of you pass as you held his hand and dragged him in the direction of your room. He heard you giggle as you pulled him along with you, his eyes squinting before he shook off the feeling, finding his place once more on the comfortable sofa.

—

About an hour had passed since the boy had arrived and he hadn't heard anything suspicious yet. For having such a massive and expensive home, you sure had some thin fucking walls. Toji was starting to doze off, his show having long ended and now some drama had taken its place, droning on in the background. His eyes were fluttering shut, arms crossed over one another, and that’s when he heard it.

“Ahh!” His eyes shot open, scanning around the room as he tried to figure out if what he heard had been a figment of his imagination or not. “Fuck! Baby~ ngh!” There it was. All he needed to hear. You had fucking lied. He heard your moans echo through the walls, you were so loud it was like you wanted him to hear you. “This fucking bitch.” Toji mumbled under his breath, uncrossing his arms he stood and made haste for your room. The moans and crying began to be accompanied by slaps and squelches the closer he got to your closed door.

"Yeah~ give it to m-meee" you moaned between his thrusts. Truth be told, he wasn't fucking you well at all, you only invited him over because his looks rivaled Toji's, but even then he fell short. His thrusts were sloppy and felt more like he was jabbing around your cunt with a thin stick, but you wanted Toji to know you were in charge here, he wasn't going to come into your home and tell you what you could and couldn't do, so if it took a bad fuck to get that through his head, so be it, it's not like you were going to see this boy after today anyways.

You had a smile on your face, which the boy took as him fucking you good, his annoying moans filling up your ears, "Yeah? You like me fucking dick?" He whined, emphasizing his words with a thrust that made you yell out, not from pleasure; not like he would be able to distinguish the difference anyway, "Love ittt~" You faux moaned, fighting to keep a yawn from spilling through your lips. The boy kept jabbing his dick into your walls, and you got so immersed in listening to your own moans to get you through this, that your soul almost jumped out of your body when your door swung open.

Toji stood in the doorway, the vein on his forehead protruding out from under the skin as he took in your position. You were ass up, face down in the sheets, and he could tell right away you didn't like it as much as you were leading on, he saw right through your little game. It only took a couple steps for Toji to get from your doorway to standing behind the man at the edge of your bed. Faster than you could comprehend, Toji had yanked the boy back from the collar of his shirt, pulling him off the bed and out of you as he stumbled on the floor, awkwardly tucking his cock into his pants.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" You yelled, turning your body around you crawled towards them on the bed, reaching out for the boy like you wanted him to stay. This wasn't exactly what you had in mind, you wanted to rile Toji up and show him you could do whatever you wanted, but you didn't know he would storm in here and throw the boy out forcefully. You should've known he was the type of guy to pull something like this. "You know you're way out right?" He said to the confused boy you had dragged into your mess.

He held him up by the collar, bringing his face close to his own he tipped his head, waiting for the boy to answer. He nodded in fear, still trying to wrap his poor aroused head at what was happening. "Good, be a good boy and let yourself out, would you?" He whispered, throwing him forward and out of your room. The boy stumbled on his feet, trying to grab the wall so he didn't fall over before the door was being slammed shut in his face.

"Fuck! You asshole, Fuck!" You were behind Toji, grabbing at his shirt as you tried to get him to face you so you could yell at him properly. While he was throwing out your fuck, you had slid on your panties and pulled your tanktop back over your tits poorly, the hard buds of your nipples poking through the shirt. Toji wasted no time in turning quick on his heels as he grabbed you by the throat, your hands coming to grip at his wrist as he choked you out, pressing just hard enough that you could barely manage to get a stream of air through your esophagus.

He leaned his face close to yours, looking at how messy you looked with your tangled hair and smeared lipstick. "You really think you can get away with shit like that? Huh?" Toji asked, squinting his eyes at you. You whined, trying to give him a pout, "Aww, don't act like you wanted him to stay, he wasn't even fucking you right, was he? If I wanted to hear someone fake an orgasm I would've gone to pornhub." He said, looking between your glassy eyes and your swollen lips from the boys sloppy kissing.

"You're such a slut you know that? You can't go one fucking day without having a cock inside you, even if it's bad, huh?" He chastised, slowly walking you backward towards the bed, so slow you barely noticed it. "He get you high too? Hmm?" He asked, his other hand coming up to pull your eye down to get a better look at your pupils. "N-no." You whispered through his hand squeezing your throat. "No?" His eyes everted to the side table, where a few white pills sat atop the wood, waiting to be taken.

"But you were gonna let him get you high, weren't you?" He asked, following your face when you yanked it away from his hand that pulled down your eye. "None of your fucking business." You spat through your teeth. It was only then you realized you were back at your bed, your calves bumping into the mattress taking you out of your trance. "How is it none of my business when you were moaning like a pathetic slut just to get my attention?" He asked, tilting his head at you as he slid his massive thigh between your own, his knee pressing against your crotch.

You kept silent, pouting at him as you kept your pretty eyes locked on his, waiting for him to do anything. "You sure you ain't high right now?" He asked, to which you quickly nodded. Toji smirked, huffing out a smile at your unapologetic display of lust, "Ur' pupils that big cos you're horny then?" Your arousal spiked tenfold when he announced your need. You licked your lips, nodding at his words as you shamelessly let your eyes fall on his plump lips, dragging between them and his dark eyes.

Toji was feeling conflicted. On one hand, he could think of no better time to put you in your place and fuck the brat out of you, showing you who was really in charge here, you were sober and so clearly wanted it after all. The more rational side of him was telling him this was his boss's daughter, who was twice his age, so he absolutely should not fuck her. Unluckily for the rational side of his brain, your hard nipples poking through your shirt and the smell of your arousal that was still evident in the room was more than enough to sway him, the primal side of him winning as he listened to his urges.

"You wanna find out how it's supposed to feel to get fucked?" Toji whispered, like if he said the words too loud, your father who was currently in another country might hear. You nodded, pulling your lip between your teeth. He laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation before he pressed his lips to yours, the pair of you instantly groaning into the other's mouth. You don't know if you've ever felt this aroused in your life. Even his kisses made you feel something you've never experienced before, was every kiss supposed to feel like this?

Toji slowly pushed you back on the bed, keeping his knee between your legs as he hovered over you, releasing your neck and instead using one hand to pull your panties off, his other resting by your head so he didn't crush you. You wrapped your hands around his strong neck, whimpering into the kiss. He heard you giggle when you threw your panties somewhere in the room, sliding his hand up your waist as he situated you on the bed, pulling your thighs around his hips. "Whats so funny?" He asked, pulling back from the kiss as he watched you smile underneath him, tilting your head as you loosened your arms around his neck.

"Jus' wondering what my dad would think if he saw what the bodyguard he got to protect his little girl was doing to her right now~" You giggled, biting your lip. Toji shook his head, keeping his eyes on yours as he wordlessly dipped his fingers down to your pussy, teasing up and down your soaked entrance. "Yeah, what would he think about you fucking someone twice your age? Fuckin' brat." He spat, watching your smile fade and your expression be replaced with your slacked jaw and raised eyebrows as your eyes fluttered when he dipped his large fingers into your hole, pressing into it teasingly before pulling away.

"I know he's used to seein' you slut yourself out to those dumb college boys, but this might shock him.. huh?" He cooed, pressing his fingers into your cunt slowly, your walls greedily swallowing up his thick digits. "F-fuck-" You cursed, your eyes falling shut, tipping your head agaisnt the pillow. "That feel good baby? You like feelin' this old man's fingers in your pussy? Fuckin' into your sweet spot?" He whispered, bringing his lips against yours once more, hovering them against you as he inhaled your reactions when he curled his fingers, massaging your g-spot with precision.

"Right there-" You gasped quietly against his lips, wiggling your hips down onto his fingers. "Right here? Yeah? When's the last time someone actually touched you right here, hmm?" He asked, softly kissing your lips before he went back to hovering his lips over yours. "I-I don't know." You whispered, trying to kiss him back but he kept his lips just far enough away from yours that you couldn't manage. "No? That why you're so fucking insatiable huh? Jus' waiting to find the guy who will actually fuck you right?" You were dripping around his fingers. His soft teasing words were a stark contrast to his fingers that now pistoned in and out of you, wet squelching noises bouncing off the walls and echoing into your ears, driving you mad.

"Mhm- mhm-" You replied, nodding your head rapidly, feeling your orgasm come on quickly. "You're not gonna find that with these fuckin' college boys sweet thing, 'ya need a man for that, someone a little.. older." He whispered, making you whine against him as he curled his fingers into a particularly sensitive spot. You abandoned one of your arms around his neck, reaching between you to grab his wrist. Your eyes cracked open, staring up at him as you breathed heavily. "All it takes is a couple fingers and you're a good girl, isn't that right?" He asked, feeling you squeeze around his fingers.

He continued to drill his fingers into you, your back arching against him as moans fell freely from your lips, your nails digging into his wrist as you felt your orgasm creep up on you. "You gonna cum for me, princess?" Toji asked knowingly, smirking when you nodded against him. You felt it, it was right there, well within your grasp when- suddenly the stimulation stopped, your orgasm fizzling out. Your eyes peeled open, eyebrows scrunched together as you looked up at him with a crimson face. "You sure?" He asked, his smirk growing.

Toji abandoned his fingers from your pussy, pulling them out with a pop as he sat back on his heels, replacing his lips with his fingers soaked in your cum as he pressed them against your lips, watching while you eagerly took them into your mouth, moaning around them as you tasted yourself on your tongue. Of course, you were mad Toji had pulled away right before you came but with the way he had rubbed inside your walls so nicely, your brain couldn't think of anything bratty to say as you sucked on his fingers, watching his eyes watch your lips as he unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock in one swift movement.

You moaned around his fingers when your eyes made contact with his girth, it was massive, way bigger than anything you had taken before, even bigger than your dildo. His was prettier than other dicks you'd seen too, a pretty flushed and tripping tip to contrast against a slightly darker color of his length. He jerked his cock steadily, pressing his fingers deeper into your mouth. "You like what you see, brat?" Toji asked, grinning when he felt your tongue slide over his fingers, mimicking the way you sucked a cock.

Toji groaned through a smile when you grabbed his wrist tighter and pushed his fingers into your throat, bobbing your head around them. "Someone trained you before me, huh? Who taught you to suck fingers like a dick?" Toji asked, raising his eyebrows at you. You swallowed your arousal and saliva in your mouth before pulling his fingers from you, a line of spit connecting your lips to his fingers. "I don't remember." You smiled drunkenly, making his cock twitch as he didn't let up his strokes on it. "Such a slut." He said, shaking his head.

You whined at his words, spreading your legs around his thighs to make more room, you dropped your hands down to his cock and wrapped both your hands around the tip, jerking what you could while he kept up his own ministrations on his cock as well. "You gonna slut yourself out for me too? Show me how good you are at taking cock?" He asked, releasing his hand from his dick he leaned over you, placing his forearms around your head as you stroked the entirety of his cock in your hands, wrapping your legs around him.

"Yeah~" You answered, looking between the two of you as you pressed his fat tip against your entrance, his cock leaking against your pussy. "You gonna fuck me raw, daddy?" You whispered against his ear. Toji swore his brain stopped working, his cock throbbed in your hold at the name. He audibly groaned, pressing one of his hands over your mouth, "Don't do that." He warned, swallowing hard as his smile faded from his face, his arousal plastering itself all over his features.

Toji felt a new need, a rawer, more primal one. He knew he shouldn't have felt as aroused as he did when you called him that, but he couldn't fucking help it. He kept replaying your words over in his head, one of your hands came up to pull his down off of your mouth, while the other stayed between your legs, his tip pushing past the ring of your cunt, making the both of you gasp. "You like it when I call you that, huh?" You whispered, watching his jaw go slack and his eyes roll back as he slipped deeper and deeper into your cunt. "Fuck- you're so- haah- so big-" you whined, his cock pressing agaisnt your sweet spot ruining your attempts at being in control for even a second.

"Yeah.." Toji moaned, his eyes peeled open again to watch your expression as you took his cock, "Let's see if you're still runnin' that fuckin' mouth when I'm done with you." He finished, thrusting his cock to the hilt unexpectedly, knocking the wind out of you. The older man started up a brutal pace inside your cunt, his eyes rolling back at how tight and warm you were around him. Both of your hands came down to push against his pelvis, trying to get him to slow down, "Fuck! T-toji w-wait wait-" You whined at the painful stretch.

"Nah, what happened to 'daddy' huh? Though you liked callin' me that shit." He asked, not letting up his hips, ignoring your hands trying to push him away. "Stop fucking whining, you can take it, ur' such a big fuckin' girl who can take anything, right?" Toji smirked, biting down on his teeth when he felt you squeeze around him. Incohearant moans were being fucked out of you, one of your hands starting to circle around your little clit in small circles as you felt yourself rapidly approach your orgasm.

He gripped both of your wrists together, stopping your motions as he pinned your hands above your head, watching your head thrash back and forth against the sheets. "Answer me brat." He spat, picking up the pace of his hips. "Fuck f-fuck D-daddy please-" You wined, letting him hear exactly what he wanted to hear. You've never called anyone other than your father that name; really only calling Toji the nickname in the first place to tease him; so it felt foreign calling Toji that in this setting, but seeing how worked up it got him made you aroused as well.

He groaned once again at the nickname, his hand that wasn't pinning your arms above your head came down to rub at your clit, finding it with pinpoint precision and rubbing it in circles just how you liked it. "Oh fuck me-" you groaned, your eyes rolling back, head tipping back in the sheets, revealing your still marked-up neck to him. He hated the sight, he wanted to lean down and replace the ugly purple marks with his own, darker ones, so that's exactly what he did.

He found the bruises with his eyes first, then made sure his lips were covering them before he started sucking the skin into his mouth, making you gasp. "When's the last time someone touched your clit for you?" Toji asked, noticing how tight you got around him when you rubbed the little bud, your legs squeezing his waist simultaneously. "I- I don't know I- Fuck!" Your head pushed further back into the sheets as Toji kept sucking on your neck. "Feels soo much better when someone else does it huh?" Toji asked knowingly.

Your moans were raising in pitch, the noises coming less frequently as your high crept over you, your breath stuttering in your chest as you came hard, all over his dick, moaning out his name and broken cries of 'daddy' as you did. "Oh- fuck yeahhh~ Cum all over daddy's fucking cock princess, that's fucking right~" He leaned back from your neck, pressing your wrists into the bed harder as he fucked you through your first orgasm, your walls squeezing him like you were trying to milk him for all he was worth. You came down, gasping and crying in overstimulation as Toji kept fucking you, the squelching louder now thanks to your orgasm.

"That feel good baby? Wanna feel that again?" He asked, laughing at how tears had started to fall down your cheeks. "P-please fuck- Your cock feels so- fucking- good-" You praised through his rough thrusts, his hips making your body slide up on the bed from how hard he was fucking you. "Yeah? I bet it feels good, you're fucking shaking." Toji laughed, slowing his thumb against your clit so as to not overstimulate you to the point of passing out, as validating as it would be to see you literally pass out from his cock, he didn't want to deal with that right now.

"You like my p-pussy?" You asked, smirking at him, noticing how his grip on your wrists tightened when you asked him that. His cock twitched as he watched your tits bounce from under your shirt, your nipple occasionally popping out from under the fabric. "Who taught you to speak like that? Such a filthy fucking mouth." Toji chastized, picking up his thumb on your clit once more, wanting to see you fall apart one more time on his dick before he came.

"Y- fuck T-you didn't answer-" You wined, feeling the coil tighten in your stomach once more. Everything about this man was making your entire body feel like it was on fire. How confident he was, how he knew your anatomy like the back of his hand, how he seemed to know every little button on your body that made you twitch and whine, all of it was driving you crazy. "You want me to tell you how much I love fucking you little pussy? Huh?" He stared, groaning against your lips as he leaned down, kissing you between words.

"Want me to tell you how I almost came when I got inside you? How good it feels when you twitch around me?" He whispered, kissing you hungrily, swallowing up your high-pitched moans as his hips lost rhythm. "That what you wanna hear? How you have daddy losing his mind in your tight little cunt?" You pulled off of his lips, practically screaming his name as your high crashed over you once more, his words being the final straw that got you there.

Toji dropped his head to your neck, biting the skin there to keep his groans at bay. "Fuck- fuck- where do you want it?" Toji rushed, hoping you were able to respond through your orgasm, or he was going to cum inside you anyways. "I-inside daddy f-fill me up!" You slurred through your high, riding your orgasm out on his dick as he continued to pull his cock almost completely out before bullying it back inside you. "Yeah? Want me to cum inside you? God- you drive me fucking crazy-" Toji continued to thrust inside your tired cunt, fucking you once more into overstimulation as he groaned loudly into your neck; he never was one to be shy about being loud in bed.

"Fuck- It's coming- gonna fill you up baby, 'n you're gonna take every last fucking drop, right?" He asked. He desperately needed to hear you say it. "Yes baby yes- g-gonna take it all- c-cum inside me pleasee~" You slurred, the pulsing of your walls working him over just right as his breath hitched at the first rope of his hot cum shooting inside your cunt. His teeth dug into your neck when he came, his hips stuttering as he humped them against you every time his cock shot out his cum. "Yessss~ Fucking give it to me daddy~" you slurred against his ear, giggling.

He stilled against you, the aftershocks of his orgasm wracking through his body, his grip had tightened around your wrist almost completely cutting off your circulation, you were sure to have bruises there in the morning. The two of you panted when he finally came down from his high. He sat up, slowly pulling his cock out of your sore and red pussy, his eyes watching as his thick cum spilled out of your hole and down the curve of your ass. "Take a picture if you wanna~" You said, squeezing your calves around his waist.

Toji shook his head, "You should be careful with that, you know who you are, don't you?" Toji said, scooping up his cum he stuffed his fingers back inside you, keeping it all in. You didn't know what to say back, guys usually jumped at the opportunity to take a picture of you all ruined like this, was it weird to say you were almost charmed by Toji looking out for you? "Your legs alright?" He asked, his voice breaking the silence when he noticed how shaky they were.

You weren't used to someone asking how you were after sex either.. this Toji.. he was weird. "Uh, yeah, just a little sore." You said, uncharacteristically shy. His eyes glanced up at your bashful face, before they found your wrists, seeing bright red marks imprint on the skin there, he admit the sight was erotic, but that shit look like it hurt. "Shit, sorry," Toji mumbled, his hand reaching up to your hands on your tummy to rub your wrist softly in his hands. "Didn't mean to fuck your shit up so bad." He laughed. You giggled at his choice of words, "It's fine, it felt good." you replied.

Toji had started to climb off the bed, tucking his cock into his pants a he laughed, walking towards the entrance of your room. Right, he was going to leave now, just because he was a good fuck doesn't mean he was going to stay now. "Don't move," he instructed, making you snap out of your thoughts. You watched Toji exit the room, you heard the skin in the bathroom turn on briefly before the water stopped, soon after the large man entered the room again.

You hadn't moved, just like he told you to. You watched him crawl back on the bed, a damp rag in his hand as he wiped your legs down, starting from your ankles, "I would carry you to the shower, but you wouldn't be able to stand anyway." He laughed. You pulled your leg back, out of his grasp, "What are you doing?" You asked. Toji looked at you like you were dumb, "I'm cleaning you up?" He said like it was obvious, roughly pulling your leg back towards himself so he could wipe you clean again, kissing your ankle before he threw it over his shoulder, scooting forward to wipe down the underside of his thigh.

"You're weird, Toji fushiguro." You said, blushing at his sudden soft treatment of your body. The man laughed, reaching your sore cunt he dragged the towel through your folds, cleaning the mess the two of you made there as you groaned in distain. "Okay, baby." He replied.

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sivyera · 1 year

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TWILIGHT characters as love tropes

ft. carlise, esme, emmet, rosalie, edward, jasper, alice, jacob, seth, leah, paul, charlie, bella

a/n: with songs to each character

༻♛༺

⤷ Carlisle Cullen - rich love

Carlisle is a very rich man which means he will spoil you a lot. Not only with expensive gifts but also with a lot of attention and affection.

Every time when he gets home from work, he welcomes you with a kiss and warm hug.

When he has a day off, he will cook with you (even tho he cannot eat it, it's just about the time he can spend with you) or you will lay on his lap with his hand stroking your hair and book in his other hand, reading to you.

Every Friday he will take you to a fancy restaurant and than for a slow walk around the nearest park.

On your birthday or on International Women's Day (or any other 'special' day) he will spoil you even more than on normal days. Expensive jewelry, perfumes, clothes, shoes,...

He will bring you flowers at least once every two weeks. And every July he will take you on vacation and you can choose where.

Lolita - Lana Del Rey

⤷ Esme Cullen - falling in love fast

Esme is such a kind soul so it's no surprise that you two fell in love with each other fast.

She will take you on a date every Saturday. Mostly coffee dates are her favourite. The two of you can talk for hours while drinking delicious coffee.

She will also enjoy baking with you (even tho she cannot eat/taste them)

She has many polaroids with you on them or with the both of you on them and has them hang in her closet or the small table beside her bed.

She loves when you paint her nails and massage her legs and she will always return the favor.

She loves sunny days but because she's a vampire and her skin sparkle on the sun, she cannot go out where people can see her, BUT she can go somewhere private like meadow or forest where you two can be alone and on the sun!

Sofia - Clairo

⤷ Emmett Cullen - he fell first and harder

Emmett was absolutely over the moon when you two started dating, because he knew from the start that you two are just meant to be.

He loves, loves, LOVES when you sit on his lap. He doesn't care if you are stroking his hair or doing make-up on him, he just want you in his lap, so he can embrace you with his big arms and muscular body.

He'll dance goofily around the bedroom with you to some catchy hip-hop songs he has found.

He loves cuddling with you especially when he can be the big spoon, because he likes how tiny you're compared to him.

Matching pyjamas and make polaroids in those pyjamas, which happens to be one of his favourite memory and polaroids.

He doesn't really like reading books but he always wants you to read to him, because he loves your voice.

She's Kinda Hot - 5 Seconds of Summer

⤷ Rosalie Cullen/Hale - you fell first but she fell harder

Rosalie has trust issues and trauma because of her past so she wouldn't fall in love easily nor fast, but trust me when she does fall in love; she loves hard.

She loves having spa day with you which includes face masks, painting nails, shared warm bath and much more.

She will take you to the mail shopping almost every day and will buy you everything you look at.

She doesn't like much PDA but she will hold your hand in public but if she gets jealous, she will show the person she's jealous off who you belong to.

She doesn't show it to others just you, but she loves cuddles. She loves when you lay next to her, face to face so she can see your beautiful face.

She's also very protective over you, so if any guy or a girl makes you feel uncomfortable (or unsafe), tell her and she will make sure they won't approach you ever again.

Prey - The Neighbourhood

⤷ Edward Cullen - first and only love

Edward waited so many years for you, but it was worth it because he finally got you.

He loves when you kiss his forehead even tho he has to lean down because of your height difference, it makes him feel safe. Still his favourite place to kiss you is on your lips.

Edward will write poets for you and about you on small piece of paper and then put them somewhere in your room where you will notice them like your closet or on your book, laptop, notebook, pillow,...and he will bring you your favorite flowers right after the previous ones he gave you have withered.

He will also write songs about you (or for you) and then play them to you on the piano. Which he absolutely loves because you sit right next to him and look at him with those beautiful eyes of yours full of love. Edward cannot read your mind but he can sure read your eyes, the small spark and the love in them when you look at him, he just loves it!

Loves cuddling with you, his favourite position is when you lay on his chest or when he's the big spoon, face to face or hugging you from behind.

He loves having deep talks with you and he'll tell you about his childhood or about the time he was born in.

Follow You - Imagine Dragons

⤷ Jasper Cullen/Hale - unconditional love

Jasper can be sometimes insecure just as much as Edward, they even have similar reasons... Jasper is afraid of him hurting you, he's afraid that he won't be able to control himself around you, but your words of affirmation and gently touch will calm him down.

Jasper doesn't talk much, he rather listens and he loves listens to you. It doesn't matter what you are talking about, he just loves your voice.

He will take you for a horse ride because he loved it back when he was a human and because he was a cowboy, but you two will have to share the horse because he wants your arms around him.

At first he was a bit scared of cuddling with you (again because of his control) but soon as your hand went to his hair, he melted. Both of you realized how touch starved he's so now cuddling is an everyday thing.

Jasper is a gentleman like Edward or Carlisle so he will also bring you flowers every even week.

He'll read to you to make you fall asleep, because his smooth voice is like a lullaby to you. But if Jasper feels that you are anxious, he will calm you down with his gift and than talk to you what made you anxious, eventually he will cuddle you.

R U Mine? - Artic Monkeys

⤷ Alice Cullen - any universe

Alice (because of her gift) always knew you were the one, her one and only true love. So when she first saw you, she couldn't help but babbling to her adoptive siblings all day how amazing you are and how she's already in love with you.

She'll go to the mail with you and make small fashion show with you in the cabins with all the cute outfits she found for you and you for her.

She's mostly the small spoon (sometimes she is the big spoon but depends on the situation) while cuddling because she loves when you hold her in your arms and stroke her back.

Outside, in front of other people, she will always hold your whole arm, not just palm.

If you have trouble falling asleep, she will gladly sing to you while stroking your hair.

She'll buy matching clothes, jewerly or nail polish, because she loves when you two match your outfits or other accesories.

i wanna be your girlfriend - girl in red

⤷ Jacob Black - whatever it takes

Jacob is willing to do anything and everything for you, his imprint. He will kill for you, he will die for you, he will do just everything.

Jacob can be sometimes insecure because he isn't that rich like the Cullens and he thinks you deserve someone who will treat you like a queen, so once again he's willing to prove you that he's worthy of your love.

He'll make you a small wolf and your favourite flower out of wood and attached it into a bracelet, which he will eventually give you to your birthday.

He's also a big cuddle bug, because he's so warm will make you comfortable enough to fall asleep. He's most of the time the big spoon because he feels like he's protecting you but he doesn't mind to be the little spoon. Cuddling also leaves his scent on you so every vampire or shape-shifter (wolf) can smell who you belong to.

He'll take you on motorcycle rides. Also he will drop you at your school on his motorcycle and then he will pick you up. Also he'll let you ride on his back while he's in his wolf form.

Jacob doesn't like fancy restaurants, he prefers his or your bed with some snacks and movies, cuddling of course!

Galway Girl - Ed Sheeran

⤷ Seth Clearwater - love at first sight

Seth hoped that he will met his imprint someday and he heard from the others how amazing the feeling is to imprint on someone, but no one really prepared him to him because when he first saw you, your beauty hit him like a brick. And he finally understood the feeling because all he could see was you...

Seth will make sure you are always in a good mood with him, either he could tell you some stupid joke or cheesy pick-up line.

He maybe look like a cute baby but don't let his cute face fool you because he won't hesitate to kill for you, so it makes him really protective over you.

In his wolf form he's like a big puppy but only to you and he loves giving you piggy back rides in his wolf form.

Cuddling really depends on his mood; if he's in good mood he will be the little spoon with his head placed on your lap; if he's in a bad mood (mostly when he's jealous) he'll be the big spoon to show others that he can protect you.

He loves baking with you but he's clueless so he will just stand there and watch you or mix some ingredients, often sneaks up a kiss on the cheek while baking.

Dandelions - Ruth B.

⤷ Leah Clearwater - enemies to lovers

At first Leah hated the fact that she actually had a imprint, so she would try to stay away from you as much as possible and when she couldn't; she would have some nasty comments towards you, but it hurt her as hell when she saw how sad she made you or worst insecure.

She tried hard to stay away from you but she failed, miserably. She needed you, she needed to be with you, so she will explain everything to you same as she would apologize for her acting.

Very protective of you, anyone could just try and test her patience.

At first she wouldn't want you to be near her while she was in her wolf form because she was much bigger and stronger so she was afraid that she could hurt you, but she became a sucker for scratches behind her ear.

Seth will often tease his big sister because she's really soft when it comes to you, which makes Leah give Seth few playful slaps.

When it comes to cuddling, Leah is the big spoon because she has the urge to protect you and being the big spoon makes her feel like she's protecting you in you sleep.

Running With The Wolves - AURORA

⤷ Paul Lahote - rough love

With the term 'rough love' i mean that Paul is passionate lover and is willing to do anything for his imprint, you.

Paul isn't very patient when it comes to people but you are an exception. Still he's aggressive when someone push his buttons but you are always here to drag him away and calm him down.

Just a single touch and Paul's full attention is on you. Which brings me to the fact that he turns into a puppy when you touch him, your touch is just to comforting.

He's the big spoon because he feels like he protects you and it makes his scent stay on you.

He can get jealous very easily, he trusts you but he doesn't trusts the others and he doesn't want any boys or girls too close to his imprint.

Loves everything you cook or bake and will always eat everything.

Overprotective, if any vampire even dare to touch you, he'll kill him.

Little Freak - Harry Styles

⤷ Charlie Swan - old love

Charlie is old school but still a huge gentleman.

He will bring you flowers every time you had a bad day and some chocolates when you had a good day to make it even better.

He loves watching old movies or crime/detective movies with you, with his arm around your shoulder.

When he has day off, you two will go on a picnic date which always ends up with you laying on his chest while he's telling you some stories from work.

Every time you bring him a lunch into his police office, he will welcome you with a warm, thankful smile and thank you with a kiss on your cheek.

He will protect you even more than before, when he finds out that there are vampires and werewolfs (shape-shifters).

Burning Love - Elvis Presley

⤷ Bella Swan - teenage love

Bella will be awkward and nervous when she first spoke to you, because you were just too beautiful to be real. But to her surprise she made you fall in love with her which made her so, so happy.

First attempts of trying to cuddle with her or just show her simple romantic affection were awkward because she was just to nervous, eventually she will warm up and feel more comfortable.

She find our that you touch calms her anxiety and nervousness so whenever she's nervous or anxious she will just hold your hand and squeeze it gently.

Charlie was very happy that his daughter found someone like you, which made Bella even more happy when she saw how you, the love of her life and her father get along.

Often having sleepovers at her house when Charlie has night shifts, which always leads to matching face masks and cuddles.

Kisses on the cheek are her favourite, because she can easily turn and give you small peck on your cheek and visa versa.

Electric Love - BØRNS

6K notes · View notes

yeyinde · 7 months

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dangle on the leash | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

The flimsy sarcophagus housing all his wants, his desires, cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant. Ghost cocks his head in consideration. Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger. But he's a rabid dog burning with the urge to bite. No one should really be surprised when he finally decides to sink his teeth into you. Unfortunately, that hail mary Price sent into the aether never reached you.

(your bird is too big for a cage— —but maybe a collar would do.)

this is a babytrapping fic lmao but please read the tags carefully. a companion piece to this (Price + babytrapping).

DEAD DOVE. SMUT. 18+

HARD WARNINGS—coercion. dependency. intentional alienation. unsafe, unprotected sex. this very much toes the line of noncon (that is still very dubcon even when consent is given) in many ways, notably: somnophilia, and condom/contraceptive tampering. intrusive, violent thoughts. mentions of violence. manipulation; slight gaslighting. implied kidnapping. references to past abuse (Ghost), brief mention of drugging/threats of drugging (ambiguous as to if it was ever followed through on or not, mostly just Ghost's internal monologue unfiltered). ADDITIONAL TAGS—smut. rough sex. unsafe sex. dom!Ghost. mean, obsessive, unhinged!Ghost. spit kink. dacryphilia.

he's feral, but he's yours. too bad for you, no one is really sure if that's a good thing or not.

One of the things Price often tells new recruits is to shove their old life into a box.

“There's home,” he huffs, fingers twitching as if he's subconsciously flexing around the hilt of a lit cigar. “And then there's work. Whatever box you decide to put this, or your family, your personal life, into is your choice. But for fuck’s sake. Keep them separate.”

Most of the new recruits are fresh off selection, shaded sickly chartreuse, and take his words as a literal gospel. Work, this; home, them. They don't start to unravel the second part of his gruff speech until much later. Until they can't wash the blood from their hands, and the scent of their mum’s eucalyptus hand soap is nauseating. Unfamiliar. When being in civvies feels like wearing skin that doesn't fit, and everyone around you is alien, foreign. They don't know. They'll never know.

It's only when they find themselves gazing at the clock on the wall of their family home, counting down the minutes until their mandatory leave is over do they realise that home is the barracks.

That's something Ghost has always understood. Maybe it was because his home life was already in ruins, tatters. Beer soaking into the knock-off Persian rug a cousin nicked from a flea market when he was nine. No fine china in the cupboards because it'll end up in shards on the floor. Plastic plates and forks and cups. Always. Howling in his head. Screaming from down the hall in his mum's room. His bedroom door creaking open at night. The anger, the curdling fear (shameful—be a man; punch him back, hit him before he hits you, you useless prick—), of not knowing whether or not it was his dad, high as hell and itching for a fight after busting their mum’s lip wide open, or Tommy sneaking into his bed at night because his is soaked in piss and he can’t sleep when they scream at each other like this.

(Funny that, he always found; neither of them could ever sleep when it was silent, either.)

Blood on the linoleum. Trying to eat burnt toast and overcooked beans with a busted lip and a twinge in his jaw—

(Fractured, they'll say later, years later, during his mandatory medical checkup when he's first recruited. Healed all wrong. Son, didn't anyone take you to hospital?)

He understands the separation between home and work—even if the former lost all relevancy nearly a decade ago. Back when he buried them all. Was buried himself—

What Ghost never really understood was the box.

Shove it into a box.

When he asks over cheap whisky somewhere in Siberia, Price tightens his fingers around his glass before bringing it up to his head. His index finger juts out. He knocks the tip of that bruised, scabbed knuckle against his temple. Once, thrice. Levels Simon with a pointed look he both can’t understand and somehow knows all too well.

“Up here."

“Paid nearly fifty quid for that,” he grouses, shaking his head. “Think I've been ripped-off, Price.”

Price scoffs, places the glass down with a hollow thud. “Don't be a fuckin’ muppet, Simon—” his real name makes his shoulders tense. Around the barracks, they know him only as the Ghost. “You put it away somewhere. Hide it. I don't fuckin’ know. But if it keeps you goin’, keeps you sane, and doesn't become a mess I gotta clean up, well—”

The implication is stark. Heavy.

Price was always good at chiselling through layers of accumulated indifference to get to the madness within, but considering Ghost’s past and his mile-long rap sheet, the warning digging into his words like a dull blade isn't unwarranted.

Old dogs, he'd called the pair of them when they first met. There was a sharp keenness in his eye when he lifted his hand, waved his cigar toward the tangled mess of scar tissue crisscrossing his face (made with a dull, rusted knife, one that gouged out deep pocks of skin, ugly fuck, looks like the badlands, don't he? like a postcard from the Grand Canyon, sweetheart. not so cute anymore, are ya, pretty boy—), and said, “well, you're fuckin’ rabid, ain't you? Better put a muzzle on that before it becomes a problem, mm.”

His problem, specifically.

And Ghost gets it. Thinks Price might understand that particular brand of madness—despite growing up on literal opposite sides of the track, his Manchester to the others Liverpool; poverty and prestige—if only just. Because Price seems to be able to curb those baser impulses in a way Ghost hadn't yet mastered (and won't for quite some time yet). He's put together. Sort of. Respected. Normal.

The men in the barracks don't look at him and flinch.

But he sees the way the man's eyes linger in the crowd, shrewd and careless, before falling on the pretty bartender in the back. The one with roses in her eyes and a smile full of dandelions. Soft, like butterscotch. It's here when they darken. When he reaches, almost angrily, for his whisky. Pats his chest with a heavy fist searching for his cigar.

She's a sweet thing, he reckons. All pretty and trusting. Birds like her make his head itch—

“Don't even think about it, Simon,” Price grumbles, and it feels like territorial posturing, a challenge he almost raises to meet with his chin, if only to make Price fluster, but it's hollow. Empty. He denies himself, too. The prick.

“How'd you do it?” He asks, and doesn't specify. Doesn't think he needs to.

When Price swallows, it looks like a grimace. “Years of practice.”

He considers the weight of it, his eyes straying back to the woman behind the bar. She's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wrist delicate like bone china, the kind they could never afford, and for a moment, the intrusive thoughts, the ones he gets sometimes about wanting to tear things to bloody pieces, rears—

It's stamped down in a swig of flat lager You stupid fuckin’ mutt, Price would say tomorrow morning, shaking his head. You always think with your prick?

Simon cranks his head sharply to the side instead. The resounding crack seems to echo through the empty pub.

Price just shakes his head. “Christ. No one ever house break you, yet?”

“Yeah, they did,” he rasps, staring at the bartender who gazes back at him now. Skittish, unsure. Not so sweet after all. She looks away, cowed. Her hands tremble. He leans back, and hums. “And now I piss outside, like a good ‘ol boy.” “Ain't nothin’ good about you, Simon. Fuckin' Christ—”

And he's not wrong.

The Ghost has a reputation of being a cold-hearted bastard. A Frankensteinian beast cobbled together with spare parts robbed from a jailhouse graveyard. Worst of the worst. An arm from a mass murder. The leg from a spree killer. Heart a patchwork mess of ichor and sulphur. Sutured together with barbed wire.

It's all sort of macabre. Rather trite, too.

The rumour mill in the barracks is insatiable.

But sometimes, he wakes up and he's still buried. Still dead. Dirt in his throat, lodged in his nose. He breathes in and feels pebbles scraping his lungs. Feels worms in his ears. Maggots in his head.

They crawl through his grey matter. Leeches burrowing into his thoughts, sucking the good in him dry.

Or, whatever's left of it, anyway.

He thinks with his teeth because it's easier that way. Cold, calculative instinct. Just barely boxed into a neat package slapped on the desk of Price's higher-ups.

A good man, they say, and turn him loose on the streets. One of the best we have, as he breaks jaws, and tears through jugulars. A force to be reckoned with.

They hand him a gun, a rifle, when the bloodied footprints leading back to camp become too much of a hassle to clean. Shoot from a distance. He takes to it like the bulk of metal was made for his scarred hands. Scythe to a Reaper.

It feels like bloodletting. Draining him of his anger, his fury, until a cold, gnarled indifference curls in the basin left behind. Icy, frigid. Down to the bone.

Sometimes, he doesn't remember what it felt like to be warm, even buried under a thick balaclava and layers of military fatigues.

Frankenstein’s monster. Patched together from the rotten remains of horrible men.

And as he stares in the mirror at the patchwork ruins of his face, his body, he wonders if there's some truth to it, after all. He's pretty sure if someone cracked his skull open—again—they’d find rot. Tumulus. Infested with maggots and worms. Cobwebs behind his eyes. In his nose. His brain perfectly preserved: a zombified tombstone. And oh, how it hungers.

Wants.

But in a box it goes. One shaped like a coffin. Placed pretty in the back of his broken head.

He stares in the mirror and thinks he sees something moving under his eye. Wriggling around. The temptation to claw it out rears, but the shredded tissue on his thighs reminds him of what happens when he listens to that insidious hiss in the back of his head (some amalgamation of his old man, and that bastard—) and goes searching for gold in bone marrow.

He huffs. Fingers curling around the porcelain. His head is rotten. Putrefied. He can feel the decomposing sludge press against his temples. It grows teeth sharp like a razor blade and hacks away at jaundiced bone. Ghost lifts his hand, digs his fingers into his temple. Down boy—

(Simon doesn't even want to consider what his heart must look like, then.)

Cold-hearted, sure—

But he likes sweet things.

The kind that will undoubtedly give him cavities. A spillover, perhaps, when candy bars were too expensive, and the only dessert he was given was a toffee by the neighbour when she wasn't moaning to his old man about all the shit he and Tommy got up to.

(Bruises came afterwards, the colour of liquorice. Sour cherries.)

Unfortunately for him, sweet things don't like him much—a shame, really. Simon has always had a sweet tooth.

His rough edges are too sharp for their liking, and Simon's—

Intense. Like a dog with a bone, he doesn't know when to let go. When to unhinge his jaw from the morsel between his teeth. He bites hard. Shakes his head. Tears into the things he wants until it's bloodied meat pinched in his incisors.

And so, they keep their distance. Like they can smell the rot on him. The funeral dirt. The stench of an unearthed sarcophagi.

Sometimes, though, the wiley ones will inch closer, looking to get messed up badly by a bad man, and it makes something inside his head howl when he turns them down. Following Price’s creed. Can't give in to the pretty ones, he'd said. Nothin’ but trouble.

Trouble, like a pair of shackles. A noose. Trouble, like gentle, clean hands and fragile bones. Fine china. Fine powder. The marshmallow soft kind of trouble that will melt in the acid that leaks from his pores. Aqua regia. Attacking anything that gets close.

(Breakable, is what Price means. Pretty chew toys that are beyond repair once he's finished with them.

He must think Ghost is some sort of psychopath—)

But still. He stays away. It's easier on base, in safe houses, too far out from the general public to have to worry about doe eyes and soft touches. He doesn't need it, anyway—

Then comes you.

And the forfeiture of his self-control.

You're trouble of a different kind.

Trouble, like the end of a sledgehammer. Trouble, like the grill of a car. The barrel of a gun.

In the shape of a battering ram, one strong enough to dislodge the madness in the back of his head. Where the corrosive acid should ruin you, eat you alive, it doesn't. Not with your tantalum skin.

But oh, do you pack a punch—

At first, you think he's homeless.

Some scruffed-up man sleeping on a park bench outside of your apartment.

In another life, he might have been. He isn't a stranger to bad habits, and had the military not been his only choice in life for some semblance of good (laughable, considering what he does for a living), he could see the threads of his life leading him here. Drugs. Manchester is good for it, this he knows all too well. Especially the shithole neighbourhood he's from.

He doesn't clue into this, though, until you glance at him, warily, and then shuffle into the cafè he’s holed outside of, the place where his current target gorges himself on steeped tea and crumpets.

(Price's dry text sits, open, on his burner phone: and don't fuck this up—)

It feels a bit like an omen. Made worse when you meet his gaze through the glass, and—

Well. Shit.

The impact is a collision. Hitting a pole at top speed. Metal bent around concrete.

His teeth ache (so, so bad—).

You emerge from the small building a few minutes later—the faded eggshell with chocolate trim is nauseatingly sweet against your pastel yellow raincoat—holding a takeaway bag, and balancing a tray of coffees in your hand.

He tenses. It's instinctual. There's nothing about you that's an immediate threat to his person—unless you plan on adding to his scars with the tip of your umbrella, the scalding coffee in your hand—but it's odd, isn’t it? No one approaches him. Not unless they have a reason to.

And no one, in his experience, ever has a good one.

“Hi,” you chirp, disarmingly sweet, as you come to stand in front of him. His jaw aches. Even sprawled across a bench, you're barely looking down at him. Sticky, cold fingers tap a strange rhythm down his spine. “I, um, hope this isn't weird, but I saw you sitting here, and—well. I got this—”

You wiggle the bag. He smells something greasy. A breakfast sandwich, he's sure.

It's an unusual assassination attempt. Price will be livid.

“What for?” He rumbles, sitting up in the seat. The shift of his bulk seems to make you nervous. You take a step back, and he fights the urge to follow. To back you into a corner. No escape.

You regain your footing, even if the smile on your face wobbles. Weakens under his flat stare. Some people can smell the rot on him.

He wonders if you can, too.

(Pity that. You're a pretty bird, ain't you?)

And the way you take him in lacks a distinct thrum of hesitation, fear that’s normally there. It occurs to him, then, that you see him as just another man. Just another person.

(“deader than a doorknob, this one. such a goddamn waste, boss. he was a fun one, wasn’t he? should we burn ‘em?”

nah. bury him out back—)

It's laughable, really. A joke. He has the urge to crack one—sick and awful enough to make that little smile on your face wilt. Wither away. Almost does, too, but it get tangled in his throat when he feels the weight of your stare on him.

The easy sweep of your eyes is barely discrete, but it's clinical. Pitying. But the softened edges of that empathy dissolve as your pretty head adds up all the numbers on him, coming to a standstill. Your eyes linger on his wrist. The gold of his wristwatch peeks out beneath the black sleeve of his hoodie. An intricate web of complex timekeeping that only he's privy to. A little luxury he picked up in Italy when the cash he'd been given was getting too tiresome to carry around.

Dead men, after all, don't need bank accounts.

And then—

You fluster. “Sorry, I just thought—”

It clicks, then. The pity. The soft words. The goddamn coffee—

His gums itch. He has the sudden urge to be mean about it. Pick you apart in this street until nothing but embarrassment and humiliation remains.

“That I was homeless? ‘nd you brought me, what? A coffee? ‘ow sweet of you. Some breakfast, too. Well, aren't you a lovely girl?”

You are embarrassed. It blisters across your expression. Has your hands trembling around the cardboard tray, spilling droplets of coffee down the side. Your head is bowed, cowed in shame. It reminds him of that bartender some years prior. Pulling away when the bad dog growls—

But there's a thin sheen of intrigue in your eyes, burrowing holes into the shoes in front of you; a tangled knot of want coiling in the heat of your embarrassment over this blunder. Over offending him.

Well—

That's new.

Some get off on it. On humiliation. Specifically, of the public variety. He didn't take you as the type. The way you twist, squirming in place, is odd, though. It doesn't fit as well as he originally thought. No. It's not the public shame, but—

Him.

Ah.

Sweet, sweet girl.

(So naïve.)

He reckons he could get you to do just about anything to make it up to him. You would, too. You're soft enough to be submissive, to bow your head in contrition, but there's a flicker of defiance in the jut of your chin when you lift your head.

This is a blunder and you're sweetly embarrassed, sure, but it isn't enough to break you.

And now Simon just wants to ruin you. Teach you a lesson about bad, vile men—

(Something you'd welcome with open arms, wouldn't you?)

“Didn’t know Manchester was so charitable,” he rasps. His throat is dry. Parched. He reaches for the coffee—black, with extra creamer and sugar on the side, tucked neatly in a little bag; fuckin’ hell. Ain't you just adorable—and places it on the spot beside him. “I’ll be takin’ this. Will need it for later.”

You look like you want to protest. Fight back. His hackles rise, ready for it—eager. Something anticipatory, dark, bleeds through the moulted mess of his head. Sickly. Terrible. He thinks about what you'd look like sprawled under him, shaking and begging for more, for him to stop—

Fuck. Birds usually make his head itch, but you make his fucking skin crawl.

In the end, you just huff. Roll your eyes. He wants to chew them out of your head. Pop them between his teeth. He bet you'd taste divine.

You walk away from him before he can. You don't look back once.

Pity, he thinks. Someone's gonna snatch you clean off the streets like that—

Hours later, he sends Price a text message with the coordinates for where to pick up the package Ghost left.

He considers it a blessing when the man sends him back, good job, now get a pint from me as a little reward. Can't say I don't treat my team well.

A reward, huh?

Well. With your stature in comparison to his own, Ghost easily can see you being considered a pint.

So, he follows you home, and tallies this one as being on Price.

It's easy. Too easy. He slips deftly behind you, tucked away from view, and masks his footsteps under the echo of yours until he's standing in the shadows outside of your house. This, too, feels like a blessing. It's a duplex. He waits for one of the lights to flicker on, and—

The window brightens. Room number two.

He hums, and palms his pockets for the pack of smokes he nicked off the man. Needing something to take the edge off. To quell the urge to bite.

It's even easier to engineer meetings. Random run-ins. All blamed on happenstance, chance. Of course. This towering mountain of a man with his thick manc twang—the sort of gallows humour that can only be found in the blue-collar streets of Salford from the nasty old men squatting on the corners—must have better things to do than stalk you. Surely. You're not special enough to be hunted, right?

Still. You're a touch wary of him. Distrustful. You keep your distance—six inches for Jesus Christ, aren’t you a peach?—and try to skirt the line between neutrally polite to the strange man loitering outside of the shops you frequent (your schedule burned to his memory, naturally) and that fascinating skittish intrigue from before. All simmering heat. Blunt want. The kind wrapped up in silk threads.

It's interesting to watch it play out when he steps closer and all those long-forgotten instincts in the back of your head flare up. The shaky step you take back. The inward frown of confusion when you're not sure why your body craves space, acting almost on its own. And then the sweet defiance that breaks over you. The intentional step closer. The feigned warmth in your tone as you talk to him.

It's easy to pocket the uglier aspects of his personality. The coldness. The indifference. The flat, droll insincerity that leaks into his tone. All of it shelved, locked away, and he's not sure if Price would be happy that he listened to what he said, followed his example, or furious that he's bastardising it to lure this pretty fish in.

)The latter, undoubtedly. But Simon gets a sick kick from it all.)

Especially when it brings you closer to him. Thaws you as you rationalise his reaction during the first meeting, gears spinning. Kicking up excuses.

Anyone would be angry, offended. It's natural. He's alright now—

It makes you look at him differently as you forcefully fight the urge to flee.

Silly bird.

Wary eyes rake over his massive bulk. Brows furrow at the series of black medical masks he wears in public. Always. That, in addition to the heavy black of his wardrobe—black jacket, black hoodie, black leather gloves—sometimes makes you glance at him with a touch of worry. Fear. Probably wondering if you brought home a delinquent.

But it changes when he rolls up his sleeves one day after you've been moaning about your broken beach cruiser (the, I don't know, chain—or something—keeps catching—), and crouches down to fix it.

There's a hitch in your breath. A distinct swallow. A guilty tinge of something shy, deliciously so, shading your eyes ruby-red when you look down at him.

And ah—

Sweet little treat snagged on the line. Ain't he a lucky lad?

It's all the better when you do the work for him. Reeling yourself in, practically throwing yourself in his cooler when you ask about his tattoos, carefully—considerately—nudging the topic away from his ugly scars.

He guts you clean as he tells you he's in the military. Top secret, pet. Don't ask because I'd hate to ‘ave to hurt a pretty face like yours—

You preen under it. Pet. Pretty. You don't even notice when he slides his knife over your scales, dices you up on his chopping board.

You're the picture of sweetness when he unkinks the chain in your bike, and sets it straight. All happiness. Smiles. Appreciative glances. You flutter your pretty eyes at him as you say—

“Thank you—”

You're waiting for a name. His belly rumbles. He could eat, he thinks, and licks his teeth.

“Simon. Simon Riley.”

The risk-reward ratio is balanced when you breathe it out between plump lips, chasing the end of it with your tongue. He wants to eat it out of your mouth. Swallow it down.

You touch his arm, hand warm, soft. “If there's anything I can do to pay you back—”

He takes you out for a kebab later on. Nudges you out of the way when you open your wallet to pay. Draft girl. Naïve, too, because he can feel the heat in your cheeks from where he stands, reaching over to snatch the bag from the man with a grunt.

You must think him quite the gentleman. So trusting.

Doesn't matter. He lets it take root. Especially when you shyly invite him back to yours to eat.

He makes a feast of it, and fucks you on your mint green chaisse after he's finished.

(Not on birth control, you say, and hand him a box of condoms, suddenly shy. It's unopened. He hums, and burns that to memory.)

He keeps his distance—an easy feat when he's halfway around the world, and you're stuck in the gloom of Manchester.

It's purposeful, of course. He made a promise to Price not to give him a reason to worry, but fuck—

You're proving hard to quit. He's never had anyone cuff him upside the head on his bullshit. Not anymore, anyway. Not as the Ghost. He likes the thrill of it, of this chase.

You don't let him steamroll you when he's in a mood to fight. You punch back, hitting him right in the mess of his guts, and fuck. Fuck. He's a little bit obsessed with it. With you. This wily little fish that acts so shy when he's got three fingers buried in your cunt, but rides him after like you're starving for it. Clawing at his chest. Scratching his arms. It's raw. Primal. He wants to break you—this fiery little kitten that bites his fingers until they bleed, and then purrs in his lap as he drives a pickaxe through your head, shredding logic into pieces. Rummaging around until he nicks the optic nerve that lets you see red.

You’re everywhere. In everything. In the back of his head, under the howling that hadn't stopped since you trailed your finger down the jagged topography of his bare chest, digging your nail into the crude x across his heart, and whispered, soft and sweet: you're all kinds of fucked up, aren't you?

A bludgeon to his self-control—

He resists. Has to. Is mean about it, too. Doesn't tell you where he's going (it's need to know), or what he's doing (would ‘ave to bash your pretty ‘ead in if I told you), but keeps you strung on the line (keep thinkin’ about that pretty cunt of yours; can't wait to come ‘ome and ‘ave you sit on my ugly mug—).

It's dangerous, this game of his. Thrilling for all the wrong reasons.

But he’s a good mutt. Good—

Until the text.

The one you send to him when you're out with friends. A picture. You're in a pub somewhere in Moss Side, a drink in hand. A gaggle of nobodies crowded around you. It makes sense, he supposes. There's that old idiom—you’ll trap more flies with honey—and he doesn't know anyone nearly as sweet as you.

His sweet girl.

(you fuckin’ mutt—)

Ghost stares at you for a moment, teeth aching. The little ensemble—a crop top and jeans—is a vision, he reckons. But it's spoiled when he catches more eyes on you than pointed at the camera. Practically spilling out of your top, aren't you?

He breathes heavily through his nose. Tastes guncotton in his throat.

Ghost commits every face to memory, and then calls you.

You're drunk. Too drunk to remember it tomorrow. Stuck in a pub on what's supposedly a bad part of town. Chatting away about going to your friend’s house. He gets the address, and something sour twits in his stomach. Shit council houses.

“That safe?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He's already chubbed up in his slacks at the slur in your voice. “And dressed like that? Didn't take you for a slag—”

It makes you sputter on the line. “I'm—I’m not—”

You're so quick to placate him. So hasty to make him happy. Please don't be angry with me, Simon. I'm just having some fun—

The claws and fangs are tucked away when you're drunk. He shoves the information in the cache, eyes burning. Head aching. He's feverish. Hot under the collar.

Odd considering he's dead—

“Sounds like you will be.”

“It's not like that—”

“‘ow would you know? Might meet a nice fellow. Might take him home.”

“I don’t—I wouldn't—”

The sniffle makes him throb. Fuck. “Yeah? Well, ain't none of my business, I reckon—”

“It is.”

“Oh? How's tha’?”

“I—I like you, Simon—” he can taste your embarrassment through the phone. He didn't even need to bring you flowers and you're already boxing him into monogamy, confessing to him. So sweet. So tender. If he were a better man, he might have told you to sober up. To talk about this tomorrow.

Too bad for you, he isn't. And what’s worse is that he’s a loyal bastard, too.

But that's later, and right now—

He's halfway across the world, and you're vulnerable. In the den of hungry mutts.

It’s charr in his throat. Anger in his veins. “You like me? An’ you go out dressed like that?”

“There's nothing wrong with how I'm dressed—”

He sucks his teeth. “Dunno ‘bout tha’, pet. You look like you're achin’ to get fucked.”

You take a shuddering breath. “I just want you—”

“Yeah?” It's a growl. His cock spits prespend in his trousers. “Then be my good girl. Go home and wait for me.”

It's quiet on the line. He catches the hitch in your throat, the sharp exhale, like you can't really be sure if he's serious or not. He says nothing. Waits.

Where there would have been a fight—fists and teeth and snarling words—you quieten in the silence. Docile. Submissive. It's in you, he knows. He saw the glimpses back when you first met, when he'd bent down and fixed the bike he broke. All it needs is a little—

“Jus’ worried about my sweet girl, is all.”

And you relent.

Corrosive oil spills out of the necrosed holes in his head. It curls over his thoughts, liquid sin. He takes himself in his hand, blood pulsing in his veins, white-hot, damning, and bares his teeth at the urge to come to you, to push you down on the floor, and mount you like a snarling beast—

“Good girl,” he growls when you tell him you'll call a taxi, that you'll go home and have some wine with your friend instead.

Friend. Friends.

He'll have to do something about that.

(The thing about deprivation is that it bleeds into a vicious sense of possession when it's finally obtained. Greed. His wants have wants, have wants—

A perfect ouroboros. One you feed into almost destructively.)

Because the thing is—

Simon wants to tie you to his bed. Keep you locked up in the safe house he has in Manchester. Chained, shackled. A prisoner with him as your iron guard.

It isn't just fantasy, either.

The flies that congregate around you are an annoying, incessant buzzing in his ears. Remora clinging to the biggest fish.

But they're easy to scatter when he waves his hand.

(Waves off. Threatens with bodily harm, with physical aggression—

Same thing.)

The sting in his knuckles and the blood on his shoes are worth it in the end when your tantalum skin cracks. An aggregate of beautiful lines, pretty in their fragility, their brokenness. He wedges his fingers between the splints, widening the chasm to pet at the sticky-soft centre hiding beneath all that rough rock. Sweet girl. Hard candy enclosing taffy-softness.

His coos melt you to the consistency of mercury. Liquid silver pebbles along your lash line, spilling over in a dizzying display of raw vulnerability.

It makes every predatory instinct inside of him bristle. Locking onto the sweet lines of crystalline sadness that run down your cheeks. It has his heart racing. Eager, anticipatory. The thrill of the chase, of running you down into the ground until you're fine powder under him.

And it’s there, it's in his arms—the maw of a beast—where you seek comfort, lamenting the loss of your friends, your coworkers. No one wants to hang out with you anymore. They don't return your calls or answer your texts.

What did I do? You sniffle, throat bared. Belly turned up.

Flooded with tears. The lachrymal face that peers up at him makes his teeth ache. He rolls his head back, feels himself thicken in his pants.

Simon loves it when you cry.

“Fuck ‘em,” he rasps, words sticking to his dry throat. “If they can't see what a catch you are, then they don't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

It makes you cry harder, makes you mumble into his chest about how lucky you are to have someone like him. Someone who cares.

His breath hitches. Warm floods his veins, fever-hot.

“Thank you, Simon—”

And then you, smooth silver and wickedly sweet, cradle him in your palms as if you could hold all the broken pieces of him together.

He thinks it's cute.

Doesn't really have the heart to tell you it's a lost cause.

“Anytime, pet.”

And you're perfect, too.

You take this mangy mutt into your house, and let it eat your food, sleep in your bed. You let him fuck you stupid, and listen so prettily when he convinces you to let him spoil you. Let him pay your rent, your bills. Let Simon dote on you the only way he knows how—mercilessly possessive, and a touch cruel, mean—but you roll over, showing your belly. Submissive and sweet.

It's even better when you try to lash out at him with a collar in the shape of his teeth branding your neck, spitting and hissing like a feral cat who doesn't know yet that's claws have been clipped. Only to then curl up in his lap, purring as he strokes your fur, and carves out a place for himself in your life.

He wants to sink his teeth into you, and you think he's a big dog. Undomesticated. One who comes and goes as he pleases. A stray. A mutt.

It's said fondly. Full of love—

His mouth is full of cavities. His teeth ache. His gums bleed.

(do you know he's rabid? that the faded name on his dog tags once read cujo—)

Everything about you makes that sludge flood behind his eyes, pounding rotten fists against his temple. take, take, take; mine, mine—

The howling doesn't stop. It tells him to press you into the mattress and fuck you stupid. Tie you to the bedposts and never let you go—

He throws fists in the dark, trying to hit the madness in his head. Ends up with bloody knuckles and laughter in his ears.

(a voice of reason says, your bird is too big for a cage—)

He clings to it.

You're warm beside him. Burning hot. He syphons it from your veins when you're asleep, pulling you close just to feel something on his skin other than dirt. Other than blood.

It's easy to pretend he's fine with these little nips. Leaving teeth marks in your neck. Bloody rings snaking up your thighs.

He wraps one hand around both of your wrists, holds them high above your head, and tells himself it's enough. Shackled by him, under him, as he takes you apart, pulling at your sense of independence like the gnarled fingers of winter bringing defoliation to summer's bloom, but even with this, all of it, he still aches. Still wants. Needs—

Stupid fuckin’ mutt.

Then you bring his hands up to your throat, letting him wrap his bearish paws around your delicate neck, and he knows these little bites will never satiate the hunger in his guts.

He wakes up the next morning feeling warm. Full. Edges softened, if only just, by the sticky sweetness of your breath ghosting over his chest.

Simon curls his arm around you, holding tight. He won't let go. Won't—

Hide it. Put it away.

Ghost does neither of those things. He buries it, instead.

But in doing so, you find cracks in the foundation. Ones that are just big enough for your willfulness to slip through. To hand him back the cash he gave with a scoff, and a, i work, too, you know? i don't need your money, Simon. that's not why i’m with you—

(All he hears is, I don't need you.)

And then you send him a text. I'm going out with friends from work tonight. We're going drinking. I'll talk to you tomorrow!

In the zombified remains of his head, a new howling starts. The hisses tell him you're pulling away, running from him—

It's a big world out there. It'll eat you whole—

Like Tommy.

The thing about want is that sometimes it grows teeth, hands. Claws. Without a body of its own, it tends to mould itself after its maker because that's all it knows how to do: devour, consume. Yearn.

He shouldn't be too surprised to find that this need of his has dug itself out of the grave he buried it in.

(he did, too—)

The flimsy sarcophagus cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant.

The howling in the back of his head stops abruptly. The pulsing ache in his temple abates. It's heavy, this weight. This absolute, utter emptiness—

No. It's not hollow. The chasm isn't drained, it's—

(In the silence, something growls. Feral. Possessed.)

—full. Perfect equilibrium. All of the patchwork parts of himself, the ones that don't quite fit, suddenly find synergy.

Communion.

Ghost cocks his head in consideration.

(your bird is too big for a cage—

—but maybe a collar would do.)

—after all, could you ever leave him with his name etched into your womb—

In leaving the key under the mat for him to come and go as he pleases, you've left yourself vulnerable. But—

Not anymore.

He has a safehouse he'll take you to. You'll let him, too, because it'll be the best choice for you. The three of you.

He's never entertained any ideas of family, not when the closest approximation he has is drenched in gun oil and smells of smoke from artillery fire, but the howling in his head quietens at the idea of it. He can't shackle you to the bed—stupid fucking mutt—but he can tie you down all the same. Make you his. Wholly. Always.

And the thing is—despite a pickaxe making figure-eights out of his grey matter; lead poisoning and rust giving him these sour, awful thoughts about locking you up in his house, leaving you a needy mess, dependent only on him—Simon supposes he knows right from wrong.

Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger.

But in carving himself a place in your life, he failed to realise that the walls behind him closed in. No way out. And so, his only option is to go forward. To keep moving.

He'll be crucified for this, but that's fine.

He doesn't intend for you to find out, anyway. It'll be an accident. He came home early, and found you drunk. Drank with you. Your drunken idiocy merged, creating a terrible, noxious cocktail of awful, bad choices. Permanent ones. Irreversible.

(You're so sweet, so docile when you're drunk—)

It'll be easy to convince you. To play the part of a stoic man suddenly in turmoil. You'll offer to get rid of it, a suggestion that he'll flinch at—a cornered dog, a hand raising in the air. You'll whimper. Shake in his arms as you tentatively smooth over the wrinkles in his brow, murmuring out your options in a stilted breath.

You'll be a Riley before the end of your term. It's only proper, he'll mutter, stiff and uncomfortable, and you'll melt. Liquid tantalum in his palm. The fruits of his labour laid bare, seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tucked tight between his teeth. Mercury he can swallow down, keep in the bracket of his rotten ribs. Safekeeping from this world that just takes. Devours.

But not if he eats you first.

The mere notion alone serves as an anchor, locking him to the seafloor. The tumult in his head calmed at the promise of owning. Biting to claim. To have. Greedy for it. For you, and the strange sense of quiet your proximity brings him. The warmth, too.

He's a rabid dog. This he knows—has known—for quite some time. Indisputable. It pools in his mouth. Liquid sin. Makes him ache for just a sip. Unquenchable, though, because he's wary of water. Hydrophobia, but only for how it washes his efforts away. Cleanses.

The urge inside of him to bite, to infect, quietens when he gets closer to you.

(a rabid mutt licking at the window you're on the opposite side of, dreaming of just a taste—)

A byproduct of that maddening virus in his veins, the one he must have picked up six feet in the ground. Bite, bitebite—

—and give you a collar in the shape of his teeth.

He finds you in bed. A bottle of wine on the end table beside you, courtesy of your friend. The one lingering remora he couldn't snap at—one who sends you messages about how you are being manipulated. Taken advantage of. Fuck that loser, the latest one says when he picks up your phone, scrolling through the dwindling conversations housed within. Just him now, and them.

It preaches about empowerment. About how you shouldn't let a man pay your bills (textbook manipulation. he's putting you in a position of dependency. making you feel obligated to stay. it's all on Google, babes. like, fucking get a clue!!!!), or how it's moving so quickly (maybe you should come stay with me in Durham for a bit, hun. get away for a weekend. i worry about ya, is all). He hums, thumbing through the old chats.

You told her to fuck off about the manipulation, but it came after a lot of, oh, yeah. well, he's just. you know. he's different, and you haven't declined the invitation. i’ll think about it, is what you write.

It simmers under his skin. That independence he plans on stomping out under his heel. With his kin.

(sick, sick sick, wrong—)

It's desperation, this. Clawing at the walls—the dirt—until his nails are torn off his fingers. Until his skin splits, peels. Broken under rock and rubble. That animalistic need for air. To breathe. Basic training tells him not to save the person drowning unless he's sure they won't kill him in their struggle to live. But what's he supposed to do when that person is his rotting body, sinking down to unfathomable depths? When all he has is you to cling to—

Damnation built by his own hands.

You'll die together, he reckons, and tosses your phone on the hamper in the corner of the room.

Ghost can't remember the last time someone made him feel anything at all other than impartiality. Indifference. Casual apathy.

Price is the exception to this on the grounds of being consanguineous to him.

And you—

An outlier.

One he intends on sinking as deep as he can with. Anchored, maybe, by this little plan that beats and pulses in the back of his head. That clogs his throat with a want so thick, he can already taste the brine from the ocean. Water in his nose. Down his esophagus—

Better than dirt, he supposes. And it spurns him forward.

You're malleable like this. Tensile. He bends you easily with just a touch until you're flat on your back, a pillow shoved beneath your tailbone, and stripped. The loose shirt you wear to sleep is hiked up under your neck. Panties are pulled off until your sweet, bare cunt is revealed to him. All pretty and soft, and his. Untouched, he notes, and gives an appreciative stroke over your clit with his thumb.

It was something you were whining about the other day, panting in his ear as if he wasn't a continent away. Pleading with him on the phone to please, please let you come.

Simon likes the way you cling to him when it's been a while since something has wrecked you as thoroughly as his cock. When your spoiled pussy was neglected for a few days, weeks, and starved for attention. You were so sweet to him then, cooing in his ear how good you've been, how much you want him and only him, need him. Begging so prettily for it.

He's almost sad to spoil himself in your cunt when you can't weep for it. Can't bully him closer. Try to claw his eyes out. That delicious push-pull where you hiss at him for pulling away, but whine when he gets too close.

Sad, but—

Not enough to stop himself.

You're not wet enough for him to slide inside unprepared—his cock too big, something that makes his bones tremble—and he rectifies it by leaning down, letting saliva pool between his teeth and lips. He holds it there for a moment as he spreads your folds apart with his thumb and forefinger.

And then he spits on your bare cunt.

It hits your clit, the thick glob siding down your slit. He reaches between your thighs, pawing at you. Slides his fingers through the slick mess he made, teases around your tight rim.

Simon usually likes to take his time with you. Lapping at your pussy for hours until you're a weeping, snot-nosed mess whining in the sheets. Spoiled rotten. Begging him to fuck you already, Simon, you can't take it anymore—

He's mean. Cruel. Edges you for hours until your legs shake, trembling around his ears. He never lets you reach that peak—doesn’t let you come until he's buried inside of you.

Coming on his tongue, his fingers, is rarely a privilege you ever earn. Too much of a spitfire, a spiteful little kitten, to give in and do what he demands. So he keeps you on the precipice until he's ready to fuck you, ignoring your bribes, your bargains. Simon doesn't give in even when you beg, when you relent and tell him you'll finally be good.

You never are.

Spoiled, he always huffs. Down to the fuckin’ bone.

Like now. Pulling away from him. Him, the only person in your life who stuck around. A little bullying (bones breaking, splintering under his fists; the wet, hot smear of blood on his hands, skulls smacking against the pavement—an’ if you tell anyone, he cracks his battered fists and it sounds like a snarl, a gunshot, your parents will be cryin’ over an empty grave—) shooed the gnats away. He took a more clandestine approach to others. Birds that kept circling you tight. Protective, shrill. They made his head ache, but—

(don't want to start nothin’, but i don't want to be alone wit’ ‘er. tried to kiss me, is all. ain't like that, pet—)

It was a test. And they all failed. All but him.

Yet—

come to Durham.

i’ll think about it.

Ungrateful. It's his fault, though. Simon doted on you too much, cosseted by his affection, when he should have clipped your wings from the beginning.

Ah, well—

Lesson learned.

You're wet enough now. He pushes in two fingers, scissoring them apart. You'd be yowling at him, kicking up a fuss if you'd been awake. But you're not. It thrums through him. Thick, heady. He likes you like this—probably more than he should. The heat simmering in his veins bubbles. Pops. Sap on charring wood. It clogs his throat with his smoke until it burns, a dry forest fire.

He needs you. Needs to be in you. He's tired of waiting. Impatience burrows into him like a maelstrom.

Simon adjusts his hold on your leg, fingers curling behind your kneecap. Steadying himself. His fingers slip out of your cunt with a sloppy squelch that ghosts across his spine. Anticipatory. A touch anxious. He wants you. Wants you bad—

He takes himself in his hand, and slides the weeping tip over your slit. Taps it once, thrice on your clit. And then guides it to your centre. Your warmth bleeds into him. Eager, he shuffles forward. Feeds you his cock. Eyes drilling into the place where his head slips in, swallowed by your sloppy, wet hole. The glands make you stretch around him. Rim pulled taut.

The sight alone must have been crafted by some Luciferian dream, dangled before him in the shade of nirvana.

take a bite, it urges. and then take more—

Like this, passed out with your legs hitched over his shoulders, drooling into the pillow unawares, you're just a doll.

Made for him, and—

“Fuckin’ hell—” He presses into you—cock splitting tight, warm heat—and tries not to lose himself to the sensation of being bare, raw, inside of you.

—“A perfect fit.”

It's always been condoms. You're not on birth control. Ink blots in his eyes. He goes a little feral with it. Instincts unleashed. Unfettered.

Simon bullies his fat cock into you until his hips tap the back of your thighs, buried as deep as he can go. It's molten heat cocooning him—a warm embrace. For the first time, ever, he thinks he understands the meaning of home. Sliding home, in particular.

(Welcome home. Home. Home. He'll make a house out of your body. Sleep inside the brackets of your thighs, head pillowed on your chest—)

As good as you feel around him—slick, wet, and tight—and as much as he wants to saviour the sight of you, passed out on the pillow, cunt split by his cock, he has a goal, a mission, to see through.

His hand falls, slick and tacky, to your lower belly. Palm pressing against the subtle bulge in your abdomen, the outline of his cock. You always whine and hiss that he's too big for you. That you can't take him to the root.

Hurts, you complain, hand against your naval. Fingers knotting over the place that aches.

He presses his fingers there instead, feeling himself under your skin. Changing your anatomy to make room for him to fit—

It lights him in fire. Spurns him on. He bucks into you, pace sloppy, clumsy. Selfish. He's unrelenting as he splits you apart, drilling the full length of himself into your supine body, supple flesh relaxed under him, practically melting into the sheets.

The thread keeping his resolve, his self-control, sprung up tight begins to quiver. Each piston into you has delicate fingers drumming across the strings of a harpsichord. It reverberates through him, echoing in the stifling, suffocating, silence of the bedroom, overtaking it. Clouding it with the musk of his desire, his devotion to you, to this dream blooming in the prison of his mind.

Everything narrows into a needlepoint.

There's just your burning flesh beneath him, softer than it's ever been; pillowy. Welcoming. And the sounds of him fucking into you—lewd squelches, slick and wet; the sound of his cock finding home in the basin of your spread thighs; his heavy breaths, his groans and growls that seem to rattle the bed. The noise breaks, an incomplete requiem of sin in his head, and he loses himself in the lulling notes, dragged under in the bestial beat of taking what his—

A sudden noise shatters through the room. Beneath him, you stir, gasping wetly. The sound mangled in your throat.

There's confusion in your sleepy, hazy gaze when you peer up at him, lashes clumping together. You moan, whimpering, as you struggle to latch on to the threads of cognisance that he's content to fuck out of you. Your hand lifts, falls to his wrist still pressed against your lower belly. The grip is lax, loose. You’re not pushing him away, but clinging to him. Centring yourself.

It makes his blood thicken. Has him burning red-hot.

“Wha’s a’matter, pet?” He taunts, grinding his cock into you hard enough to make your dazed eyes water. Your hand tightens around him, holding steady. “Don't like it? Not fuckin’ you hard enough?”

“Simon—”

His name tapers off into a keen when he angles hips, and starts pistoning into you with a mean, merciless fury. The desperate noises that spill, unhindered, from your slack mouth is the perfect accompaniment to the lewd sound of him fucking your sopping cunt; the piece he was missing when this started. His requiem, complete.

It's a serrated blade to his self-control, already frayed and threadbare as it is. The pressure makes it snap.

“C'mon, sweet thing. Thought you wanted this?”

There's a place in hell just for him. It's sealed when you blink your tired, sleepy eyes up at him, mind a slurry of lingering somnolence and the heady alcohol on your breath, and offer a shuddering whimper. Always so soft for him, so agreeable when you’re drunk.

“So’ry, Simon—”

You can barely string words together. Poor, pitiful you—vulnerable under him. Breakable. Malleable. Anyone else could have tricked you into this same position when he was away. Got you beneath them like this, compliant and unawares, and took what belongs to him.

(The only thing in this destitute existence he claims for himself—)

Not anymore. Not ever again.

It's almost callous when he grinds into you. Hateful. Brutish. Furious. And dazed as you are, you barely even flinch at the snarls that spill, unfettered, from the back of his throat. The low groans of him making promises with devils unknown; constructing shackles from brass, iron.

Entrenching his future in motion, cupped protectively between the parentheses your thighs make around his hips. It's almost a vicious sort of poetry, one laid bare in the odious ruins of that broken thing he calls a heart. Etched into his rotten pericardium. Necrosed devotion. He'll see it through—however noxious, and putrid, you might find the miasmal stench of it spun tight in his web.

It's for your own good.

And as if you agree, you answer him in perfect euphony, moaning sweetly as you tilt your hips up for more.

Ghost groans low in his throat, bestial and spinning rapidly out of his control. He feels everything spinning, slipping; the trudge to the finish line narrows into a pinprink. He needs something to cling to, to hold on to with broken hands—

The only purchase he finds is in your demise.

His hand lifts, shaking yours loose. He reaches up, fingers dig into your chin, forcing your pouty mouth open. You blink at him, sluggish, but he catches the thin gossamer of awareness spooling thin cobwebs over darkened crevasses, covering the canyons in your eyes with cognisance. It makes him leer.

“Stick your tongue out, pretty girl,” he rasps, words sticking together, muffled under the mask. Crushed aggregate stone under the weight of his own desire. “Tha’s it. Open up nice and wide—”

He lets spit gather again, pooling on his tongue. It's degrading, you always say. Gross. But you swallow it down like a good girl, anyway. Always. You come at him with fangs and claws, but somehow, you always merge in a perfectly dizzying polyphony.

Ghost spits on your tongue. Lets it land right in the middle of fleshy pink. A sick, twisted pleasure thrums in his veins at the sight.

There's checking the boxes of an established kink, and this. Horrifically proprietary. Ownership that ignites a fire in his marrow, setting him alight from the inside out. Turns bone into blackened char, cinder. He can almost taste it on his tongue.

It's made worse, turned frenzied, when you—sweet, perfect, you—bracket it protectively in the curve of your tongue. Completely dazed, head filled with a heady slurry of somnolence and alcohol, but still aware enough to know, even if only through muscle memory, what you're meant to do when he spits in your mouth.

If anything, you're more obedient like this. Little doll. Coddling it lovingly, this little piece of him that he gives you.

And it might be the madness speaking—these fraying thoughts take on a vitriolic edge, corrosive aqua regia pooling in his throat—but Christ. He's been stabbed in the guts, repeatedly, and it somehow packed less of a punch than this.

He wants, wants—

Family never crossed his mind, was never even on the table or something to be considered, but with you it brims. Blooms in rot. Roots in tenebrous.

He has this insatiable urge to devour you whole so you'll always be with him. The waves of his desire are monstrous. The waters below are rapacious. A gaping maw eager to eat you up—

Pity it’s not an option.

But he’ll make do. Buy a ring tomorrow. Something pretty that matches your eyes. The curve of your smile. Sanctioned ownership. A collar in gemstones and gold, glimmering and shining bright enough that should any light fade from your gaze, it’ll illuminate in the gloom; twilight made in sorrow. The prettiest blues—

Said eyes water. Ghost’s hold on your face relaxes when you give a muffled keen, cheeks bubbling up against the pressure. Tongue still stuck out even as he takes his pleasure from your supine flesh. Suspended in motion, stasis. Such a good girl for him—

He swallows. Tastes poison, rot, on his tongue. “Swallow.”

You're a little sluggish, a little slow, but you follow his command all the same. He knows, then, that it could only ever be you.

No one gets under his skin like this. No one makes him itch, want, crave, as much as you do—

You make a face, twisted up in some amalgamation of pleasure and confusion. It nudges the ruins of his chest and feels almost like a heartbeat when it pulses in his flesh.

“Simon, Simon—”

His name is all you can say, and he's not sure if you're begging for mercy, or muttering it out into the scant air between your heaving breaths like an obsecration, an orison, but he eats it all the same. Bites down on your pleas, your cries, your prayers, and chews them up between fangled teeth. Takes them down into the swirling pits of his belly where they're eaten alive by what grows in the decay.

(belly full of dirt:

he heaves, and heaves, but nothing comes out even though he can taste humus in his throat, feel worms using his organs like a playground—)

“Somethin’ you want, pet?” He taunts, and shifts his hips back just enough to drag a few inches of his cock out of your drenched cunt. A tease—cruel and mean. He’d get lobbed upside the head for this had you been in your right mind. A tap to his temple, shaking the cobwebs loose. He would have bent down, and sunk broken teeth into your jugular. Merging violence with love until bloody knuckles feel like a kiss. “All you ‘ave to do is ask. Use your words, pretty thing—”

You whine, low and drawn out. A lazy whimper in the back of your throat. “Pl’se—”

You can barely speak. Tongue too thick. Sleep too heavy in your veins. Alcohol, too. A lesson, perhaps, for his willful little pet come the morning when you struggle to measure just how deep into his gullet you’ve let yourself fall.

He can’t help rubbing salt into the shallow cuts, if only because he likes the way you pout.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better’n that.”

And damn him—damn you—you do. Your hand curls over his wrist, pulling it close to your mouth where you place a kiss against his palm. Tender. Chaste. Midnight blooms in your eyes, casts shadows under pale moonlight. His breath stutters in his chest when you lean your head back, letting his hand fall to your bared neck.

Your heavy, lidded eyes gaze back at him, cutting through the shade of night that sews the air like satin. Etched in the file silk is threads of trust in stark white. The kind that bleeds for him; hungers. One that aches, always tender like a bruise. The throb of it echoes between mouldering ribs. Booms between his ears.

Ghost doesn’t fall into pieces. Doesn’t shatter. No. Something in the splintered remains shifts. Settles. He wraps his fingers around the thick of your throat, thumb notched tight against your pulse, and he feels complete. Whole. Remade from the ruins.

Your breath hitches. The sound is a gunshot in his ears. He squeezes down, a gentle press. Just enough to make the air spill out of your lungs, to let your eyes water. Lachrymose, eager. It does something to him when you cry. He feels tipped upside down, torn inside out. Left all askew, asunder. He wants to drown in the pebbling river growing against your lashline. Wants to drink it down until it quenches his neverending thirst. Wants, wants—

He feels his name spill from your lips. Brassy and broken, trembling against his palm. A plea—

More.

And he gives it to you.

Simon hitches your ankle on his shoulder. Adjusts the grip he has on your throat. He settles over your body, blanketing you under his bulk. Stygian beast devouring the maiden whole. The thought amuses him even as it knocks the air from his lungs.

He anchors himself into the mattress with his knees, steadying himself, curls his other hand around the iron ring of the headboard. All the while, you look up at him—glossy eyes burning coals in the dark, in the gloom. Wanting, hungry. Mouth held open as if you’re waiting for his scraps—

And then he bucks into you, the leverage giving his thrust a savage edge.

The whines are snuffed out under his palm. Your eyes widen, tears now spilling down your temple, soaking the pillow below your head.

He groans, head rolling back. “Fuckin’ hell—ain’t you a pretty sight?”

Tucked under him, throat swallowed by his palm. Split on his cock, slick and wet. The tears streaming down your face makes him feel wicked, foul; but the spit running down your slackened jaw quells any doubt. The hand on his wrist holds him tight, tighter still, to your flesh.

You want this. His spoiled rotten bird.

So, he gives it to you.

Simon’s almost ruthless when he snaps his hips into yours, cooing viciously into your ear about how you feel, how you look, how you sound—so pretty wrapped around him, under him; his little doll—

“S’where you belong, pet—” guttural words spill, flintlike and savage, from his mangled throat. Reinforced with the hateful way he blugeons his cock into you. Times it perfectly with the firm squeezes against your jugular, never letting you catch your breath. Your eyes roll back, legs trembling. Shaking. But you don’t move, don’t struggle. The hand on his wrist is a shackle, and it makes him smirk, scars pulling up in a gnarled mess of mirth; ugly and mean. “Right where you belong. Ain’t tha’ right?”

He leans down, babbles nonsense into your temple. Promises you the heads of gods, the ichor they bleed. Swears he’ll build a shrine for you in Durham.

But for as mocking as these words he murmurs into your ear are, they’re tremulous. Raw. A current roars beneath; a steady stream, a plea, all full of need: stay, stay staystay—

(please)

He buries his nose into your hairline to stem the ravening ache in his guts, breathes in the heady scent of you—of sex, and wine, and sweat. Drags it into his lungs in harsh, angry gasps to stain his skin with the smell of you. Of him.

It goes right to his head in a heavy rush until he’s dizzy, almost sick, with the swell of it flooding in. An animal, he thinks, drunk on merging pheromones that make him mindless. Unfettered.

It’s as if he’s driven on instinct alone; his frenzied pace ebbs, grows sloppy. The air around him feels thick. Syrupy. Stifling. The balmy breath in his chest is nearly as unbearable as it is addicting. Sickeningly sweet. Still—

His chest expands, taking as much of the potent miasma into his lungs as he can, filling them up, up, until he feels the edges threaten to brust. It’s only then, when ink moults across his vision, that he lifts his head just enough to shove his mouth against yours, a broken snarl ripping free from his throat as he forces the infectious air into your mouth, down to your lungs. Polluting you with the same sickness. The same rot.

Little hiccups tumble past your lips as you swallow it down, taking everything he gives you, and he catches them on his tongue. Plays with them between his teeth, basking in the salty tang of you—brine, loam; peatsalt. Ashes, guncotton. Molasses. He’s not sure if he wants to drown you in him, or crawl into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth that pulses around his tongue like a heartbeat.

Both, maybe. Everything. All of it.

Always—

But he’s chasing pleasure on fumes. Trying to run with broken legs. There’s nothing refined about this. About the way he cudgels the head of his cock into the places that make your mouth twist away from his greedy lips in a silent scream. His weight is crushing you, he’s sure, but you cling to him harder, holding him tighter. Almost afraid to let go. And fuck—the notion alone is a kick to the chest, harsh and heavy. He nearly gags on the litany of broken moans spiling out of his mouth, landing on your tongue.

Driven mad, maybe (or pussy-drunk, and high off of his own poison); but in that madness, he discovers this:

Nirvana exists between your thighs.

Home, too.

(well—

not yet.)

Pleasure fissions down his spine. The paroxysm taking him deeper into the battle-worn depths of his demise until the walls narrow, closing in. Crushing. No escape. But—

He won’t climb out of his hole he dug. Not until he makes a bed from your flesh; shelter out of your bones. He wants to ingrain himself as deep within you as he can, arsenic subsumed down to your marrow. Poisoned with the fill of him, too sick to let go.

(Bone nausea.

A death sentence.)

It metastasises inside of him, filling the barren spaces up until it leaks from his pores.

He wants it: this dream so tantalisingly close.

Simon lifts his hand from your throat, and reaches out, grasps at it with a shaking paw—

All it takes is a few crass, careless swipes of his calloused thumb across your clit, cock angled toward that spot that makes you rake your broken nails down his back, yowling in his ear for more, there, please, Simon, please—

You clench like a vice around him. A pretty bow tied up at the base of his cock. He bows over you, grunts spilling from his chest as he sinks his teeth into your nape, splitting skin btween his teeth. The warm, ozonous tang of your blood flooding his tongue is euphoric, eclipsing his mind in a haze of pleasure that crackles and burns at the base of his spine, spitting smoke up his body and into his skull.

The harsh whine you let out—all prey, all animal; wounded, stuck under his muzzle—has some part of him, basal and inborn, rearing up. Roaring in his ears, ripping talons across the jagged remains of his head.

(mine, mine, mine—)

He answers your scream with a growl, one caught in the smoke clogging his throat. It sounds inhuman when its wrenched out of his mouth—more animal than man: the devastating howl of a forest on fire—but the feel of it vibrating between his teeth is connatural. Innate. It belongs between his incisors; fits like a puzzle piece in his broken muzzle. Unleashed now. Finally free from this ill-fitting cage he housed it, this goddamn box—

Cobbled together from palm ash and brimstone, ichor and salt. Sewed up with copper sutures in the shape of a man for a perfect fit.

Every cell in his body screams that he was made for this. To be over you, in you. Maw filled with your blood. Pussy stuffed full of his cock.

He might not have clawed out of the dirt for you, but this mossy, gnarled lump in his chest beats now only for you. Apodictic. Ironclad. His teeth in your jugular, your life pulsing wetly on his tongue.

It’s his apotheosis. His end.

His hips stutter. White noise in his head. It drowns out the shrill screams, the hisses. Everything is just—static. Pleasure of a silent kind, humming, buzzing, and molten. Ghost buries himself inside of you as deep as he can, until his cock is fit snug against the plug of your womb, and lays his claim by branding it with the potency of his name.

Tidally locked, you’re dragged down the summit with him, tumbling to your demise. Too dazed, too wound tight in his arms, his embrace, to see the jagged rock at the bottom of the hungry chasm thirsting for your blood, you just cling to him. Refusing to let go.

(silly girl—

His pretty little perigee.)

His body aches in ways that cruelly remind him of his age. Joints stiff, stomach quivering. His knuckles sting when he unfurls it from the headboard, skin pink and raw from the tight hold he had around the metal.

It’s made worse when he heaves a harsh breath, and pulls away from you with a long, drawn out groan. He settles back on his haunches, eyes searing into the space between your thighs. Messy with his spend. It dribbles down your slit, your ass, pools on the sheets below.

Your chest shudders, legs splayed out how he left you. He thinks, viciously, of gazelles, and wonders if the blood he feels drying on his mouth looks anything like the muddied mane of a lion after eating its fill.

“Fuckin’ hell—”

He should clean you up, hide his crime, but he burns the image of you into his head (another tattoo over scar tissue), and drops to a heap beside you. The moment his back hits the mattress and all thoughts of moving are erased in silk, in smoke and clover.

Chest heaving, slick with sweat, he feels the thrum of his victory in his veins. The high of the chase abates, and he nearly purrs with contentment. Hangs his pride on a pedestal, and doesn’t think about the absence of any guilt. Doesn’t even entertain the thought, not when victory dries between your thighs. When you roll over with a huff, reaching out for him.

It's as if you're trying to bury yourself inside of him, crawl into the safety of his ribs.

Ghost grunts, feels his sensitive, spent cock give a feeble twitch on his sticky thigh. The idea of you, blissfully unaware, seeking comfort from the man who writ your body with his virile spend, irrevocably changing your life and entwining it so deeply and so messily with his own that to severe either of you from each other is nearly impossible, floods him with satisfaction so deep, euphorically heady, that his chest seems to shudder. Resounding with some amalgamation of a purr, a grow, so utterly primal, that he sounds more beast than man.

His roots run deep within you, now, and every misaligned piece of his patchwork body seems to sag and shiver in an almost perfect parallelism. Congruence ascertained with the cupping of you between its mismatched maw. Shackled in a baleen prison. Nestled, safe and sound, between white teeth.

Ghost pulls you close, holding tight, and hums. As you drool on his shoulder, dripping with his spend, he knows he'll keep you there forever, until you're nothing but bones.

There's a cloud of confusion hanging over you the next morning, a twinge of uncertainty gnarling across the gaps in your memory. The pieces of a puzzle that belong to a different set. He watches you scramble through them, filling in blanks. Oscillating so deliciously between wariness and discontent.

“‘morning,” he greets, as if his spend hasn’t dried on your thigh last night. Tucked up nice and tight against your fertile, unprotected womb. As if he couldn't taste brimstone in the back of his throat when you wince as you walk, achy and battle-worn from the weight of his desire crushing you all night.

“Morning,” it's a sticky rasp in your throat. He wonders if you taste him on your tongue. “When did you get in?”

“Las’ night.”

You nod, but it's absent. Flickering through the timeline of events that aren’t drenched in black, shaded over like a heavy bruise. Your expression is fractured. Raw. Pensive. Something untouchable, unchartable, and yet he reads you as plainly as the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup.

You don’t remember. Don’t know what to make of this chasm, this fissure, that looms, icy and deep, before you. There’s no anger, though. You don’t demand recompense for what he stole, what he took. The lashings he deserves are tucked quietly between your teeth. Hidden under layers of normalcy to prevent yourself from seeing him as is: a beast.

“Well, um. Some homecoming, huh?” You joke, but it's hollow. Flat. Fragile like fine glass. You're digging for more. Rooting around to connect these vague, absent dots that linger, lost in the vacancy of your memory.

He almost purrs.

He wants to chew you up. Spit you in the palm of his hand. Maybe tuck you in his breast pocket, nestled against the lump in his chest—the one those silly enough to dream might call a heart. Keep you there forever. Hidden in the barrel of his loaded gun.

“Bit rowdy.”

It’s horrifically vague, but you cling to the prevacation he proffers to you; a lifeline in the turbulent sea, letting it overwrite the absence, the itching in your skull that must be clanging on the walls, begging for you to run.

“Sorry,” it's sheepish. He knows the ferality in which you sometimes come at him when he's buried deep inside you is something that makes you twinge with embarrassment. Little kitten clawing at the old dog trying to get it to play. Rolling over immediately when it growls. Docile, sickeningly sweet.

But even naive kittens know to watch out for the frothing, foaming maw.

“Did you use a—?”

He dips his chin. “I might ‘ave.”

And you take it as gospel. As truth. Why would Simon have any reason to lie to you about this?

Relief shudders over your shoulders. You relax, inching toward the seat across from him. Gazelle making a home for itself in the lion’s den.

The spell of unease is broken, now, and you quickly fill the chasm with chatter about your day. Your plans. Asking him how he’s been.

You shove at the warning signs until they’re hidden away, and ignore the bones of your brethren scattered around you. All because you trust him.

He aches with the urge to crush it between his teeth.

And he will one day soon, he’s sure, because it’s just as easy to enact his plan as it was to get you to open the door.

It starts with him convincing you to drink with him after dinner. Jus’ a glass. Got this fancy bottle. Reckon we should ‘ave some.

But—

Can’t drink forever—no matter what his dogshit dad thought.

So, he pokes holes in the condoms you hide in the bedside table, a little wary now. A touch fretful about your contraceptives in a way that makes him preen. You have good instincts, but rarely do you listen to them. Your head must be filled with sirens, but it's futile, he supposes. He's already stuffed cotton into your ears.

It only feeds into that gaping chasm that bellows up from the depths that this world is not good for you. That it will tear you into pieces, into shreds. You need him. Need the Ghost to protect you.

Case in point:

You’re needy beneath him, panting and mewling into the sheets as he teases your clit with his thumb. So wet, it almost feels like hot oil on his skin. Syrupy thick.

In your desperation, you cling to him, throat bared. Fragile fine china. Belly up. Vulnerable.

You barely notice when he pulls off the condom, crumpling it up into a ball and shoving it in the pocket of his slacks.. Don’t even react when he shoves his bare, raw cock into you.

You don't even notice.

(or when he slurs in your ear about how badly he wants to knock you up—breed his pretty girl until she’s stuffed full of him, making life with what he offers. salvation in the form of creation. ain’ tha’ a thought? he huffs into your ear, humid mirth curling over your skin. a stain. and the way it unfetters you—tightening around him, gushing slick—he finds his answer, one reinforced in the rolling of your eyes as your common sense, independence, trickle out of your ears and down your slackened jaw—)

And when that fails, he just slips you a sleeping pill. There's always an easier way to the finish line, he finds.

(stupid fuckin’ mutt—)

Nothing bleeds from the cracks he wrought, or slinks from the shadows cast by his machinations until weeks later.

Life just goes back to what it once was—Simon coming and going, letting himself into your home with the door you leave unlocked. You go to work, and chatter aimlessly about this vision you have about a home in the countryside, near the ocean. Saving up—uselessly—for sheep and goats, and the sought-after Highland cows. Chickens and ducks first, you say, and barely notice when his gaze drops, drilling holes into your stomach. Watchful. Leering.

He can almost scent the change on you. Nose pressed to your skin; bloodhound sniffing the ground.

Ghost keeps time in the slow, susurrus drawl of your voice sifting through the cotton in his ears, waiting for those precious decibels to catch on, to tilt up at the end as your eyes skim the calendar he keeps scratching x’s across in red, almost delicate, innocent even though it's from his sanguinary hand. A countdown to something you haven’t yet caught on to.

And it’s all so sweet.

—the waiting game, the subtle changes, the desperate way you cling to normalcy—

Sweet, like the way you carve this life out for yourself, filled with stuffed animals full of idealism. So much so, that it's almost bitter. Acrid. He watches the light glow in your eyes as your plans take shape, moulding putty between your hands, and like a pit viper, he coils in on himself. Frenzied. Fearful—

But only just.

The excitation has run its course. He’s drifting, languid, into his scheme. Content. The notion of you slipping from his fingers is a thought that rarely crosses his mind these days, especially when that house on the prairie grows from an occupant of one to two—

“And, you know… when you're not out saving the world—” your eye roll and air quotes make his lips twitch, tugging at the scar tissue, the acid burns, splashed across his mouth. An ugly fucking Pollock. “—maybe you can come visit.”

“Never fancied myself a rancher,” he drawls, just to watch you squirm. Brow furrowing into a deep ravine as you struggle to make your intentions known without actually giving them sound. Skirting around the issue of wanting him there, of planning a home with him.

(Too much, maybe? Or too soon—?

if only you knew—)

He finds it charming, really.

Still—

“It's just a thought,” you mutter, downcast. He wants to choke on your misery. Your sadness. Drown himself in your anger. Float in your happiness.

Fuckin' Christ—

All this playing daddy in his head has thrown him off his rocker. Made him soft. Sentimental. It's probably why he yields to you. Offers a lazy shrug and another smarmy twitch of his lips.

“Sounds like a plan,” and the way you brighten is a dagger to his chest.

And the thing is. It does. It sounds like a dream, a perfect vision. Just—

Maybe not in the way you'd want.

He's been looking into places unmarred by human hands. Ghost towns, uncharted territories. His home here isn't perfect for it, not like the vast geography of Mexico. The uninhabited wilderness of Canada, places so remote that it's almost untethered to modern civilisation. Islands of forest, mountains, all on their own.

Vast corners and crevasses where someone can disappear and never be found.

But those won't work in tandem with his flighty lifestyle. While he plans on keeping you barefoot and pregnant (common sense in the back of his head screams that he's foul, vile, monstrous—), he will continue to work. Has to, really, to avoid suspicion.

So—

Home it is.

But he gets inspiration from the Highland cows you coo on about and purchases a plot of land in the Western Isles. Gives this whim of his—yours, really—a concrete foundation made of the abstract. The filament provided by his newly christened Sergeant—an overeager mutt that bleeds warning signs from his pores.

(don’t get close, reactive dog. will bite—

the little mutt is a great pyrenees, ain’t he?)

But bless Johnny’s bleedin’ heart, he thought as the man prattled on about this cabin he owns. A place of solitude. Could fire a gun and no one would even peek out the curtains. Beautiful, the way all of Scotland is. The highlands, he breathes in that shade of catholic madness only the dutiful soldiers of god's right-handed wrath can be, is where he keeps his home. A place chiselled from stone, surrounded by wilderness that eats tourists alive.

(he didn’t ask at the time why Johnny was so keen on finding these places scattered around Scotland, ones with little traffic and a nearly negligible amount of souls within the vicinity, but he finds its best not to get too close to mutts crossbred with wolves.)

But Simon is nothing if not devoted, and so.

You’ll get your fantasy ranch in the middle of nowhere. Your highland cows, your billy goats, your chicken, sheep, and ducks. A baby in your arms, too. One that shows its hand the next morning, dashing all your carefully laid plans. These paths of independence of yours run parallel to his whims but never converge. There’s the potential in this for these fraying threads to split, and diverge. Separate.

(But it’s all put to rest at the sound of you heaving in the adjoining washroom. His path eats yours until it’s overtaken. Consumed.

The evasive, unfettered little bird trammelled, caught. Wing-clipped, and all his.)

Any misgivings the part of his gyri not buried under the frothing mess of his polluted grey matter might have is vitiated by the unwavering certitude that, despite his own gains in this, it really is in your best interest.

And maybe it's something that should have come earlier in your relationship—however threadbare that word is in conjunction with the unhinged desire blooming in the pit of his chest; madness masquerading as love or some obsessive, desperate facsimile of it. Maybe a proper man, a better one, might have dug down and fully laid out the reality of intertwining your life with the living dead. That the idea of danger, death, and revenge are all everpresent threats scratching at the walls of this sickeningly sweet fantasy you wrap around yourself.

He’s a dangerous man. A creature of devastation—manmade, bent into, or congenital is yet to be unearthed—which, in itself, brings about a certain lifestyle. One with fewer people around, and always shrouded in secrecy. Friends, family—none of that matters when death curdles gnarled fingers around his jugular.

You’ll get used to it. Eventually. The only other choice is to let you, his now flightless bird, go. Released back into the wild vulnerable and reeking of his stench.

You’ll be devoured before daylight, ripped into pieces—only if they’re feeling generous, that is.

Simon has his own twisted remora. Ones with claws and fangs and a hunger that runs deep. Insatiable. Any scraps that fall from his mouth are devoured before they can touch the sea floor. They’ll crush you in their maw and dangle your mangled body from the gaps between their teeth.

You’re not made for the wild. Not anymore. You’re meant to be protected. You—this fragile, delicate thing. He’ll hold you close, keep you secure and safe in a mausoleum of your own making.

This little glass jar domicile.

A billet in the mountains.

He’ll fill it with the finest things—silk linens, fine china; mahogany and teak, pink ivory; a bed of soft, downy feathers, sherpa, Egyptian cotton; (sticks and stones and grass and moss). Buy you whatever you need. Chickens and ducks. Sheep and goats.

They’ll keep you company when he’s away.

(and if that fails, he can always plan playdates for you with whatever dirty secret Johnny’s been keeping tucked away in the woods.)

He draws an x in the empty, white box of the calendar, the tip of his red marker gliding silkily across the glossy surface. Something unfurls in his guts. Blossoms in his bones. There’s an almost indescribable sense of satisfaction—primal and animalistic—that grows from the upturned dirt in his head. Life composted from rot.

Ghost hums to himself when he turns, the sound nearly a purr—bestial as it is, suffocated under sulphur. It reverberates through his chest, trembling across the brackets of his ribs that expand with his deep, heavy inhale—breathing in the sight that greets him like a lover’s kiss

The kebab he ordered lays untouched on the table across from the television—some trashy reality show playing in the background while you tried to eat; a dating show, you’d said when he merely shrugged, having other things on his mind over what to watch while you ate. It all seems to be preserved in time. Frozen in on the exact moment when you’d sniffed the döner kebab he got for you—the same thing you order each time—and then promptly wrenched yourself back, gagging. The sandwich was flung back in the takeaway box before you slapped your hand over your mouth, rushing into the washroom.

If his phone wasn’t in the other room, he might have taken a picture. A little memento to remember this moment. Framed it in iron and perched it on the desk they gave him back in Hereford, the one just down the hall from Price.

(ah, speaking of—he’ll have to send that caustic bastard a fruit basket, or something, won’t he? maybe some pretty flowers for his lady.)

His reverie is shaken when the door to the washroom creaks open slowly, and you emerge through the gap with sweat on your brow, knots across your forehead, and a shaking hand resting over your churning stomach.

Shame, he thinks. He really should have brought his phone—

You lean against the wall, taking in deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself, confusion and worry knitting over you like a thundercloud. It tastes of ozone when he inhales. An approaching storm. In the blue gloom of the living room, illuminated only by the light flooding out from the washroom behind you and the static glow of the television, you look etiolated. A wilting flower.

His budding rose.

He coos. “You alright?”

You glance sideways at the kebab on the table, mouth pinching into a grimace as if to stem the nausea still rippling through you. You stare at it for a long moment, seemingly trying to make sense of the reality sitting in front of you on scratched, old pine; confusion runs laps over the dawn cresting in your eyes. This puzzle is too unfathomable for you to piece together; the keys and slots all askew.

The air around him grows still. Silent. Anticipatory. A tiger crouched low in the tussock. A little fawn roaming too close.

There’s a heaviness in your eyes when they flicker back to the wall where he stands, drilling holes into the x. Something implacable frissons over your threadbare expression, fracturing across sallow cheeks.

The air is electric. It pulses across his bare flesh, irritating scar tissue, acid burns, and scorch marks. His skin prickles at its whisper.

“Feelin’ sick, pet?” He ponders, playing pretend. He’s viciously, deeply amused at the desperate denial splashing across your cheeks. The thin shade of askance that unfurls like the leaves of a flytrap when you look at him. “Mus’t’a been the kebab. Bad meat, I reckon?”

You offer a weak nod in response, pinching your lips tight together. The matter seemingly concluded, brushed aside. Pocketed for later.

And you say nothing else for the rest of the night—gaze unseeing, turned inward; pensive—but he purrs in contentment as if everything was alright, sprawled across the couch with his head pillowed against your churning stomach as if he could hear the whisper of another heartbeat from within.

In the saturated blue light, he catches your eyes listing toward the calendar every so often. Wary. Nervous. He thinks you might say something, might ask, but you don’t. It’s caught on a stilted breath. A harsh swallow.

All you do is bring your hand to his shorn head, and raze the stumps of your clipped claws against his scalp. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soothe the madness from within. Scratching that itch deep inside until it goes away. Gentle hands play pretend and dress up as a panacea. Affection to scrape the illness away.

He thinks you should know better than that, even as he leans into it with a soft exhale, more relaxed than he'd ever been his entire life. Content. Unassailable in his conquest.

Simon has always been more scar tissue than man, and no place is damaged more than the upturned tumulus inside his head.

But oh. How you try—

His sweet, sweet girl.

The look you give him the next evening is, in parts, brumous.

A polynya of dread, worry, guilt, fear that frissons across the deep valleys in your eyes, shaded in plumes of darkness, filled in deliciously with the weight of your beleaguered uncertainty. It yawns out before him, this heavy gloom.

So close he catch the embers in his hand.

“Simon… We should—talk. I, uh—”

You hold up a little rectangle, dismay, misery, etched in the blue tinge spreading across your face. It seems to steal the words from your throat, turn them into ash. What else are you meant to say, he supposes, when you look out at the world now from the gape in his maw?

But there’s a veil of wonderment that hides below the tidal wave; this precious, deadly, undercurrent that rents the air, splits his chest in two.

The happiness, however meagre, thin, it is right now (just a sunken boat on the seafloor), is there. Ripe for salvage, and he sees that it’s handled with care. Cupped between his palms, nurtured by his own conviction to do what’s right, an’—fuck, pet—know this ain’t what we planned, but—

but:

The howling quiets, turns to a low growl, and then a susurrus hum, when you shakily utter the words he was waiting for.

“Yes, Simon—”

You shudder when his fist closes over your wrist, pulling you into his purring chest. Shaking like a prey animal in the jowls of a beast, bested and ensnared. It has a profound, almost predatory, sense of satisfaction curling over his bones. He knows this was the right choice, and is sure, in time, you'll come to realise that, too. You’re in the early stages, he knows. Prodromal. You need to be handled with care to curb the lacrimation, the hyperesthesia.

And there’s no one better than him to guide you through the throes of it. To lead you to the unequivocal end.

He leans down, and whispers in your crown—

“Good girl—”

—and the sound of his voice is gravel encased in sticky, sweet honey. Dark, smokey molasses. The very same cadence as a key sliding inside of a lock; metal grazing metal. Turning—

“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Tommy.”

Click.

(he gives you that ring he promised when he takes you to the mountains. you smile wide, and tell him it fits like a gyve.)

Simon stops shovelling his want under the cold dirt and starts burying it inside you instead. Makes a domicile from your flesh; a place where he can rest his aching head every night until the howling scraping down fractured bone stops— (paralytic)

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #goddd this is foul #and was supposed to be up hours agooo but Nahanni closed at 5 today oops #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty x reader #ghost cod x reader #in many ways this is a psa on the symptoms of rabies

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flowersandbigteeth · 8 months

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Orc boyfriend with what he thinks is a tiny, smol mate who's so smol, so delicate, so sweet... They're actually pretty firmly built for a human, while a bit short, along with being stubborn and sassy and ready to bite heads off for their adorable XL size boyfriend.

I've got so many orc stories going right now, but you know I'm not mad about it ^_^ I love Orcs <3 There are so many different ways to write them. I have another couple of Orc asks I'm working on, as well 🥵

Orc (Cedar) x thick f reader

Word Count: 5K

Tw: sfw orc fluff, some brief descriptions of battle, brief mention of sa, size difference

More monster fluff here

“Put the stick down, sugar. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You scoffed at the soldiers circling you, their eyes dark with lust.

“We just want to have some fun,” another said, his eyes drifting over your shapely hips. “Don’t you owe us a debt of gratitude for rescuing you?”

You squeezed the iron fire poker that you had gripped in your hand.

“Rescuing me? You didn’t get your rocks off burning down the damn village?”

“It was a strategic maneuver,” the leader of the armored men said with an oily smile. “We are here to liberate you.”

“By assaulting me?” you snapped.

There was not a doubt in your mind that the second you lowered your weapon, they were going to drag you into some dark corner and act out all of the sick thoughts they had echoed on their faces.

Your King’s soldiers weren’t good guys. When they heard there was an Orc camp nearby, they couldn’t be bothered to attack it directly. Instead, they burned down your village. They said it was to prevent them from resupplying.

It was true you did business with the Orcs, who were technically your enemy, but they never acted like enemies. While big and quite scary-looking, they paid in gold and were always polite to the women running the shops. You never felt the least bit unsafe alone with one, and occasionally, they’d help you out with things that needed done– fixing roofs and cartwheels. The men of the town had all been conscripted for the war, so it mostly the ladies keeping the village afloat. The soldiers had made a whole lot of children and the elderly homeless.

“Come on, sweetie, this game is getting tiresome.”

One of the soldiers dared to approach you, and you didn’t hesitate a second, swinging your poker and smacking him so hard in the head that his helmet crunched. He collapsed on the broken boards that had once been the floor of your little noodle shop.

“Now that’s a crime!” the leader barked.

He waved to his accomplices.

“Get in there and restrain her!” Their eyes fell on the collapsed soldier, and they looked between one another, trying to sort out who was next to get a whomping.

You flexed your wrist, preparing to swing at whoever came at you next, when you heard the heavy steps of an Orc approaching. The soldiers were too inexperienced to know what that sound meant. You’d heard them approach every day at dinner time for several months. It wasn’t until he was shouldering his way through what was left of your door that they took notice.

“The enemy approaches! Your swords!”

The Orc you knew as Ash, wrinkled his brow and let out a lilting call to gather his brethren. The ground rumbled as more heavy feet ran towards you.

Wood splintered, and what remained of the ceiling creaked as they tore the walls away, making more room for a fight.

Faced with five nine-foot Orc barbarians armed with axes almost as big as their bodies, the soldiers tried to run for it. You screamed as they threatened to trample you, trying to force their way through the back wall, but they never reached you.

The Orcs didn’t need to draw their weapons, grabbing every soldier and smacking them against the ground until they stopped moving—a gruesome way to die, but practical.

When the danger was crumpled into a wet gnarl of bones and metal, their eyes turned to you. Ash said something to his friends in their own language before he stomped across the room and plucked you up like a kitten, cradling you in his arm.

“Hey, What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Quiet, little one. You’ll give us away.”

You puckered your lips at him, annoyed, as if the stomping of five tons of muscle was quiet. When you tried to wave your poker at him, he plucked it out of your hand but didn’t drop it, tucking it instead in his belt. He said something else to his friends before turning to split away from them.

You had no reason to panic. The Orcs had never harmed you, but being taken away from the group put frightening thoughts in your head, and you instinctively started screaming.

The Orc sighed, sounding tired, when four more soldiers came skidding around a corner, swords in hand. You looked up at him apologetically, smacking your hand over your mouth to stay the scream that didn’t want to stop.

He set you on the roof of what was left of a building and pat you on the head, a gesture that you read as “stay” before pulling out his axe. You weren’t going anywhere, even if you wanted to. The drop was fifteen feet down, and the stairs were just charcoal at the base of the building.

“Attack!” the leader of the soldiers shouted, but their moves in their heavy metal armor were slow. Ash swung his arm in a sweeping stroke that sliced four of them in half where they stood. The other one, eyes wide with horror, turned tail and ran.

Replacing his axe, he picked you up again and headed into the woods. This time, you had enough sense to keep quiet.

You’d never been to the Orc camp before, but you heard it before you saw it. The brassy sound of a grinder and hammers on metal rang through the trees, blended with the shouts of the Orcs in their language. There were lots of huge tents and fires spotted here and there. The camp was buzzing with activity. Orcs ran around shouting at one another, some gathering weapons, some sending groups in the direction you came. You recognized many of them as some of your customers. They often came in groups and hauled away vats of the noodle stew you sold.

A few Orcs waved at Ash but didn’t pay you much mind as he carried you to the nicest-looking tent. It had a banner outside of it with a gold bear embroidered into the fabric. Ash set you on the ground at the door and handed you your poker before patting you on the back, indicating you should go in.

“What’s in there?” you asked.

He said something in Orcish that you didn’t understand and walked away. There were too many other giants around to attempt an escape, so you pulled aside the fur covering the door and peeked inside.

“Hello?”

Your question was returned with a deep voice, smooth as a glassy pond.

“Enter, little one.”

Taking a few steps inside, you were faced with what you could only describe as the most handsome Orc you’d ever seen. His skin was a deep olive, and his hair fell over his shoulder in a long, dark sheet with small braids here and there. His tusks were large, but they seemed only to highlight how well his lips were formed. His features were harsh and defined but not unattractive, with a straight nose and deep-set gold eyes. The only thing you could point out as a flaw was a dark scar from his forehead to the right corner of his jaw.

You assumed the Orcs were blunt tools, sprinting into battle with no real plan, but this one was sitting at a high table examining maps with a book in his hand.

“I’m…I’m not sure why I’m here,” you said, brandishing your poker, though you didn’t feel like you were in any particular danger.

“I asked Ash to fetch you,” he said without looking up. “You’re the noodle shop woman.”

“My name is (Y/N), not “noodle shop woman,” and I don’t have a shop anymore. The soldiers burned it.”

He put his book down and turned his gold eyes to you.

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes drifted over you before they settled on the poker you were still holding up.

“You were feeding most of the camp. If there’s no shop to visit, you can make noodles here.”

You blinked up at him.

“Oh…Am I your prisoner?”

He chuckled.

“If you’d like to go back to your people, I won’t stop you, but judging how they burned down your village without hesitation, I think you’re safer with us.”

You had to admit that made some sense, but you still weren’t buying it.

“I can’t stay here with you!”

He tipped his head, the corner of his lip twitching up slightly.

“Why is that, little one?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“First of all, I’m NOT little, and second, an Orc camp is no place for a lady.”

A shudder that had nothing to do with fear shot down your spine as his eyes moved over your body. He crossed the room, scooping you up, and setting you on his table. Your feet dangled far from the ground.

“What- What are you doing?” you snapped, waving your weapon at him.

“My neck was hurting from looking down at you. You’re very short.”

The sparkle in his eyes told you he was teasing you, which drew heat to your cheeks.

“Maybe compared to you. You’re unnecessarily large. What are you doing with all of that muscle? Are you going to arm wrestle your books?” you pouted, eyes drifting to the massive bicep peeking out of the fur vest he wore.

He laughed out loud, gracing you with a wide smile.

“You’ll fit right in here.”

You raised your nose at him, trying to look unconvinced.

“Where will I even sleep? All of your tents are big and drafty.”

“Since you’ve declared your intention to court me, I wouldn’t mind if you slept here.”

“Declared my intention to— Where did you get that idea?”

He flicked a fingertip at your poker.

“In the old days, Orc females came to their males' tent and threatened them into submission with their favorite weapon.”

Your cheeks burned like hot irons, and you almost dropped it.

“Well…I’m not trying to court you. It’s for protection.”

He snorted at you but nodded his head.

“If you say so, little one, but it will be much warmer in my tent if it’s drafts you’re worried about.”

“I don’t even know your name. Ash called you something in your language. I didn’t understand…”

He examined one of the feet you had dangling over the edge of his table. Compared to his big hand, it was tiny.

“Cautalin, it means something close to general in your language, but you can call me Cedar. That’s what my mother named me.”

Your eyes traveled over his barrel chest and thick arms.

“Seems about right,” you said, finally setting your poker down.

He picked it up, looked it over, and tested the weight in his hand.

“Not a bad choice,” he said. “Light but effective.”

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, feeling cheeky.

“Do you feel like submitting?”

You watched a flicker of heat ignite in his eyes, and he slowly set it down.

“Come on, let's get you to bed, killer.”

He picked you up again, walking you over to a large pallet covered in furs.

“This is your bed.”

He gave you another smile.

“We’re in the middle of a battle; I won't be sleeping tonight. It's all yours.”

Though you weren't quite sure about sleeping in his bed, weariness overtook you at the sight of the comfortable, cozy furs, and you crawled in, wrapping yourself up to your chin in blankets.

He put your poker next to you and blew out the candle, slipping out the front flap as you dozed.

—

You woke to yelling, but not the sound of battle. Crawling out of your furs, you picked up your poker and peeled out of the flap Cedar used as a door. Another Orc you didn't recognize was the one yelling, and Cedar had his arms crossed, looking bored.

Your eyes drifted to about twenty women, elderly, and children, cowering in the chilly morning air, their faces streaked with soot from the fire.

“They’re our enemies!” the strange Orc barked.

“Really, Asvoth? Are you really afraid of a handful of children and their mothers?”

“This is a war camp, not a nursery.”

“It's my camp, not yours. They stay.”

“I outrank you. I can take your command.”

Cedar snorted.

“Yet the King hasn't trusted you with a unit of your own. You're nothing more than an errand boy with a fancy title. Any of these children could take your job.”

Asvoth’s face turned a deep forest green from both embarrassment and indignation. He yanked the sword he wore on his back to his hand. Without thinking, you hopped in front of Cedar, waving your poker at the intruder. You had no idea why, a fact you only considered after you’d already put yourself in harm's way. Still, you'd made your move so the only thing to do was follow through.

“You heard Cedar! We’re not leaving! Get on if you know what's good for you!”

Asvoth sprung forward, dropping his sword toward your head. Your eyes squeezed shut, preparing for pain, but there was only the clang of metal. Opening one eye, you glanced up to see Cedar’s axe blocking the other Orc’s blow.

There was a moment when you thought Asvoth might overtake him, but Cedar’s muscles weren't all for show. He shoved the other Orc back, and he toppled over, landing on his butt in the dirt. His sword landed in front of the children with a CLANG.

“Woah!” the little ones cheered, circling around it like it was a strange animal.

A few of them tried to pick it up, but it was far too heavy, making their eyes pop even wider.

Cedar nodded at him, and a pair of Orcs from the camp dragged Asvoth up by the collar of his tunic, pushing him towards the forest.

“I'm reporting this!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stumbled towards the woods.

Cedar waved a hand at one of his Orcs, beckoning him closer.

“You and Orin follow him and make sure the King gets our side of the story, not his.”

When the situation seemed settled, Cedar looked down at you and patted your head.

“Thank you for your protection, little suitor,” he said with a smirk.

Your cheeks blew up in flames, but you puffed your chest and looked at the children watching Ash pick up the abandoned sword. They hopped around him like little bunnies, begging him to teach them to use it.

“I have no idea what you mean! I’m here to make noodles! Point me in the direction of my kitchen! These little mouths are probably hungry.”

He chuckled, but guided you with a large hand on your back to a large tent filled with whatever food supplies they had rescued from the village. You wrinkled your nose at the primitive workspace, but there were enough flour and eggs to work with. You were surprised to find someone had stuck in a lower table, perfect for your height. After washing your hands in a water basin, you got to cooking.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked Cedar, who had plopped down in a chair and was reading a book.

He smiled.

“Reading.”

You blinked at him, putting your floury fists on your hips. “Are you surveilling me? I’m not going to poison you all! I have to eat this too, you know.”

He tipped his head to the side, his gold eyes sparkling in the makeshift hearth.

“The sound of cooking is soothing. I liked to study in the kitchen while my mother cooked when I was a boy.”

You looked him up and down.

“I can’t imagine you as a child.”

You thought for a second, tapping your chin.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Orc child, actually.”

He looked back down at his book, shifting in his seat to get comfortable.

“You will,” he said as he flipped a page.

Your brow wrinkled at that nebulous statement, but you knew everyone was hungry after the long night, so you got back to work.

By midmorning, you had a stewpot big enough to feed an army filled with noodles, vegetables, and what little bit of venison the Orcs had been able to hunt between the battle.

“All done,” you said, clapping your hands and creating a puff of flour in the air.

Cedar got up and shouted something to his men, and two Orcs appeared to carry the big vat into the central circle so it could be served. You felt a sense of satisfaction when all the bowls were passed out and the children, tired humans, and bloodied Orcs were eating. The mothers spoke quietly between one another, while the children could hardly sit still, their big eyes following the Orcs every movement.

“Here.”

You looked up to find Cedar holding a bowl out to you. A grumbling stomach had you accepting it, and he patted the seat next to him for you to sit down. The two of you ate quietly for a moment before you asked him a question.

“What are you going to do with all of us?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Well, I mean when the battle is over. We have nowhere to go. Our town is destroyed.”

He looked at the children who, after scarfing down their bowls, were engaged in some game with Ash.

“I was hoping you would all return to our capitol city with us. That’s where we live when we’re not fighting.”

Your eyebrows jumped.

“To the Orc city? We’re humans. Don’t your people hate us?”

He shrugged.

“There are some weak minds who reveal their own fragility with their hate, but the rest of us like your kind. This whole war started because we wished to create allies amongst the humans.”

“What? The soldiers said you attacked!”

He chuckled.

“Your king has a very effective propaganda engine. That’s probably the only thing about him that is effective. We sent a delegation party to him to discuss our interest in mingling with you humans. You all are prolific; despite your size, you’re a sturdy bunch. We thought marriages would bolster our numbers and strengthen your stock. Your King attacked, and we were forced to defend ourselves. The force that attacked us was decimated, and he declared war.”

“You mean…you wish to mate with us?”

His eyes slid down to you, and he gave you a sharp nod.

“Is that so surprising?”

You thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t know…Maybe a little. You’re so strong. You’re not afraid we’ll diminish you?”

His thick hand cupped your chin and rubbed some flour away with his thumb. Your heart raced at his touch.

“Size is not what makes us strong. Our strength lies in our unbreakable bonds. Your King will be defeated, not because his forces are less than ours, but because he orders his men to betray his own people.”

He nodded towards the children, who were playing chicken fight on Ash and another Orc’s shoulders.

“They will remember it was men who burned down their village, stole their fathers from them, assaulted their mothers and Orcs who took them in, fed them, and helped them smile again.

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed.

His smile widened.

“I will remember you took up arms to protect me against an enemy twice your size. You belong among the us.”

Suddenly the wool dress you wore was much too hot.

“I should go wash these before the next meal,” you squeaked, grabbing his empty bowl and scurrying away.

Once safe in the kitchen tent, you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to still your heart. Why did Cedar make you feel so fluttery? You’d never felt this way around anyone before. You usually kept to yourself and steered clear of romance. It had to be the battle, you decided. You were still hyped up from the night before. In a day or so, you were sure it would pass.

Dunking empty bowls in ice-cold river water helped cool your thoughts as you tried to focus on what to make for dinner. The Orcs stocks were pretty hefty, but they and the children ate a lot. You’d noticed many of the parents tipping some of their bowls into their little one’s, making sure they were fed properly in case the next meal didn’t come.

It saddened you it had to be this way. What horrible person decides to burn down their own citizens' village? Who was the King even protecting you from? Not the Orcs, that’s for sure.

A loud rabble outside dragged your attention away from the dishes, and you picked up your poker before peeking your head outside.

A few Orc scouts were speaking in rapid Orcish to Cedar. When they paused, his eyes immediately looked around for the children and frowned before he spoke to you all.

“The human King has sent reinforcements. They will close on our camp by nightfall.”

The mothers all gathered their children to their skirts, looking weary.

“Women and children to the kitchen tent! We will keep you safe, but you must stay hidden!”

You made way as a small stampede of humans rushed past you, many pushing their children to hide under the table.

“What’s happening?” You asked Cedar as people and Orcs rushed around.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking disturbed.

“Someone ran back to your King with a story that we’d kidnapped you, not taken you in from starving in a burnt-down village. We will win this fight, but then we will have to make the journey back to the capitol. They will keep attacking if they think you’re within their grasp. Do you think you can explain this to your people? We don’t intend to take anyone by force, but I wouldn’t trust the King’s soldiers.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”

You hurried back to the kitchen, where the humans were muttering to one another.

“Should we flee to the forest?” Isla, the former town candlemaker, asked. “Can we depend on the Orcs to protect us?”

Another woman scoffed.

“We can’t trust anyone. These Orcs are kind now, but they’ll sell us out at the drop of a hat.”

Linda, a quiet woman who worked as a weaver, whimpered.

“But we’ll starve in the forest alone. Word is the King’s men have raized every town for fifty miles!”

You inserted yourself into the conversation, holding up your hands.

“No one needs to escape to the woods. The Orcs are going to take us back to their capitol to keep us safe.”

Linda squeaked in horror.

“The Orc capitol?! Where they can enslave us?!”

“They have no plan to enslave you. Don’t you want your children to be safe? We will be safe behind their walls!”

“Or…when the King takes the city we’ll all be hung as traitors!”

“Shawna, don’t put that in her head. Linda, we’ll be fine. I trust Cedar.”

You paused on that thought, realizing not only was it true, it didn’t make any sense. You’d only just met him. Your conversation was interrupted by the shouting of men outside.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you hissed, “Here, take this.”

You armed the humans with whatever haphazard weapons you could find, mostly butcher knives and skillets.

Outside, you could hear the clang of weapons and the squelching sounds of metal piercing flesh.

“What's happening?” Linda asked, trying to get around you so she could peek out of the tent flap.

“Stay back!” You barked. “If they see us, we’re in trouble!”

You could tell she was losing it, hopping from one foot to another, her hands getting slippery on her knife.

“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to go with the Orcs. Even a human monster is better than them!”

Before you could grab her, she skipped through the doorway, running wildly into the fray. The other humans gathered around you, their opinions spilling out like loose marbles.

“What is she thinking?!”

“Linda, come back!”

“Let her go, she’s nuts.”

You clenched your jaw, squeezing your iron poker.

“She’s scared. I’ll go get her…you all stay put!”

Before anyone could stop you, you darted after her, trying to catch sight of her red skirt through the mess of armour-clad humans and massive Orcs. The King had sent a much larger force than the one that had burned down your village. The battle around you was brutal. You almost slipped on a puddle of blood, your eyes frantically searching for Linda.

You found her pointing her knife with shaking hands at a human soldier.

“What are you doing? I’m a human, too!”

“The King ordered you all dead!” he snarled, raising his sword at her. “No witnesses! Come on, do your duty to the kingdom, and die quietly!”

Panicking, you launched yourself at him, whacking him with your poker as you barreled into him. The two of you went down, metal clashing as you fell and dropped your weapons. Both of you scrabbled for purchase in the blood-soaked earth. You could hear Linda screeching beside you as you tried to overpower the soldier. His armor, now slick with mud, made it impossible to get a hold of him, and he triumphantly dragged himself to his sword, clumsily grabbing it by the blade and flinging it in your direction. You saw the metal flash in the firelight before pain exploded between your eyes, and your vision went black.

—

“Please tell me she’s not dead,” you heard Linda’s voice from far away.

Isla scoffed.

“You’d better hope she’s not, Linda. This is all your fault!”

“I'm sorry!” she simpered, “I made a mistake! I thought the soldiers were here to free us!”

“Free us from what? A good meal and a safe place to sleep?”

You dragged your eyelids open, vision blurry for a moment before it cleared.

“What…what happened?” you murmured.

“She’s awake!” Isla gasped.

You felt her cool hands against your cheek.

“Take it slow, here; have some water.”

She pushed a tin cup into your hands, and you wet your palette with a few sips. Looking around, you were surrounded by the humans, all looking very concerned.

“Is everyone okay?” you asked.

Isla smirked, and the other women tittered a bit.

“Thanks to you, I suppose. That chieftain or warlord or whatever saw you get knocked in the head and went berzerk. He killed most of the soldiers all by himself.”

Another woman poked her head out of the tent.

“She’s okay! You guys can untie him!”

“Untie who? Is the battle over?”

Isla nodded.

“Yeah, all the soldiers are dead. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up so we can move the camp before the King sends anymore. Can you believe he ordered them to kill us? I guess so he could claim the Orcs did it and get more support for the war.”

She smirked at you.

“And as for who's tied up, your Orc friend thought you were dead. The others had to tie him up so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. He was ready to storm the King’s stronghold! You ought to see the ropes they had to use…thick as your waist!”

You heard the roll of stomping feet, and Cedar burst through the tent flap. His hair was wild, and his tunic was red with blood. He fell to his knees in front of you, holding his hands as if he couldn’t decide if you were safe to touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully prodding the bandage you had wrapped around your head. “That monster didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?”

“She’ll have a scar,” Isla said, “but I think she’s fine.”

Cedar’s face lightened, pulling you towards him, his big arms wrapping around you.

“Thank the goddess,” he sighed with a heavy breath. “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

He cupped your cheeks between his palms when he finally let you go.

“You are so stupidly brave, little one,” he gasped, eyes wet. “You have more honor than your people deserve.”

Behind him, Isla waved the women out of the tent, leaving the two of you alone. Not used to so much intimate attention, your cheeks warmed, and you weren’t sure where to look.

“I just didn’t want Linda to get hurt,” you muttered.

He gave you an odd smile, scooping you out of the cot you’d woken up in.

“Once I get you to our home in the capitol, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for your own safety,” he said, patting your head.

You looked up at him from where you were tucked, leaning on his bicep.

“Our home?”

He grinned at you, counting on his fingers.

“First step to Orc courting: Threaten your desired with your weapon. Done. Step two: Allure them with your cooking skills, cooking or hunting something delicious. Done. And the final step: Display your honor through a grand act of bravery. Done! You’ve effectively and thoroughly seduced me, little one! All that’s left is to take you home!”

He tipped your chin up with one thick finger and dipped his head to press his lips against yours. Your whole body felt like it was made of butterflies, every nerve flickering with excitement. Despite being covered in blood and mud, his kiss tasted like honey and sage. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning. Your eyelashes fluttered shut and you sank into his warmth, despite yourself, happy to be alive and in his arms.

“Oh!” you gasped as he straightened his neck.

Your mouth fell open, unsure what to say. Before you could think of anything, Cedar carried you out of the tent, shouting orders at his men to pack up the camp so you could leave for the capitol.

#monster x girl #orc x reader #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster fluff #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere romance #monster boyfriend #orc #orc romance

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seventeenpins · 1 year

Text

bad girl

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: you're staying in your hometown for a couple of months with your mom and relatively new stepdad. he walks in on you masturbating, and is surprised at the sort of porn you've been watching. no outbreak. very smutty. 18+

warnings: ooh god where to begin??, reader is kind of a detached menace but in a fun way?, masturbation, porn watching, infidelity, choking, pussy slapping, pussy eating, unsafe piv, dirty talk, big dick, daddy kink, bit of breeding kink, age difference (unspecified, but reader is late 20s, joel mid-40s or whatever you like really), begging, slight dom/sub vibes, readers mum is a ho, somewhat degrading language (probably other warnings????)

a/n: honestly don't know what happened here. one minute i was working on what i intended to be a lil daddy kink drabble and then it turned into a whole other beast. also--i'm a recently out nb person but feel most of my writing has focused on fem readers. any nbs out there who'd want smut more tailored to us??? doesn't come up in this fic, but in my heart joel miller is bisexual and would make for some gr8 gender play ahhhh

you had only met your stepdad twice before he married your mom, and only a couple of times since, and you could never quite get a read on him. he seemed quiet and gruff. upsettingly hot with his salt and pepper hair, and his biceps, and his little bit of tummy, but seemingly entirely unattainable (how your mom pulled him, you'll never know). your mom didn't have the greatest track record as far as not cheating on her husbands, and you didn't know how much or how little he knew about her past, but you were incredibly curious how long this one'd last.

he's polite. enigmatic. a man of few words. he had two kids, who you hadn't actually met yet, but they were a few years younger than you and away at college--one daughter from a previous marriage, the other adopted when he was a single dad.

you'd only been staying here for a couple of weeks, usually only home for two months out of the year to do some freelance work and catch up with friends, but since your mom got remarried (again) you're adjusting to the new dynamic. you didn't have the best relationship with your mom, but you didn't argue. didn't fight. didn't have enough interest or passion to try and make her angry. you had a mutual understanding--you'd stay here for a couple months of the year, rent-free, and you wouldn't get into it with her about how her four husbands and a dozen boyfriends in between them in the nearly thirty years you'd been alive had simply made you impassive towards most men, knowing they'd never be able to stick around, and instead you took what you wanted and then ditched them before they could ditch you. to say you had daddy issues was just the tip of the iceberg.

there's only been one family dinner night since you've been back, but calling it awkward was an understatement. you were sat in almost total silence, as your mom scrolls on her phone and joel scoops up some mashed potatoes and slaps them onto his plate.

"so, uh-," he begins, clearly not sure how to start a conversation, "how's your work been going? guessing it's pretty slow these months since you're able to take the time away? your freelance stuff going well?"

"sure," you agree, "it does get slow this time of year. freelance has been good. got a couple of projects i'm enjoying working on."

there's another silence.

"your momma said you'd been dating someone you met at your work? how's that been going?"

you laughed, thinking back to one of the only guys you'd mentioned to your mother, less out of a closeness to him and more because you wanted your mom to get off your case, "honestly, that ended a while ago. he was a pretty terrible lay."

joel clearly wasn't expecting that, and you smirked at him as he choked on the beer he was sipping, coughing and trying to cover up any spittle. your mom gently pats him on the back, still staring at her phone, not even listening. typical.

not sure how to follow this up, joel just shrugs and puts on a stoic face. "sorry to hear about that, sweetheart. what a shame."

you'd be lying if you said that didn't make your heart flutter just a little.

you've attuned to the general framework of home again. you've noticed a few other things, too. first, your stepdad seems to be taking a whole lot of evening shifts. second, your mom seems to be out when he's out, too, but always manages to slip in just before he gets home. finally, if there's one thing you know about joel, it's that if he's working an evening shift, you can pretty much guarantee that he's gonna be at least an hour later coming home than he says he'll be. more often than not, two. you've been here for sixteen days, and in the eleven days he's worked late, he's been late late. and this morning, joel said he wouldn't be home till at least 9pm.

it's only 5pm, so you think absolutely nothing of it when you pull up your favorite porn site, careless about keeping your bedroom door closed.

sometimes it takes you a long time to decide on what porn to watch. sometimes you want the release, and just need something that'll get you there quick. and then there are some days where you know exactly what you want. you know exactly how you want it, and you know just where to find it.

you've got an incognito browser up as you scroll through the page till you find the section you're looking for. click open a couple of videos in separate tabs. skip the ads.

place the laptop beside you, choose one to start with, and watch as the scene unfolds.

you need this. it's only been a couple of weeks since you've gotten laid, but you and your most recent fuck buddy have more or less broken up and you are extraordinarily horny, with no outlet besides your hand (and, technically, your trusty magic wand, but you forgot to bring your charging cable and she's only got so much life in her).

you focus on the scene, slowly dragging your fingers along your pussy lips, your other hand pinching and twisting at a nipple. you listen to the moans on screen as you tease yourself, dipping a finger into your tight, wet heat, and then adding another. the friction begins to build, and the pressure you're putting on your clit is just right.

"fuck", you let out a breathless moan as you start finger fucking yourself in earnest. your hips are stuttering and you feel it building so deliciously and you absolutely don't hear the knock on your door and the slight clear of a throat.

and then you register it, a couple of moments later.

you look up from your laptop screen and towards your door and you see your stepdad, cup of coffee in hand, and he's staring at you with an expression you can't parse, one eyebrow raised.

you buffer, taking a moment more for you to react to him, and you manage it in the worst possible way.

"fuck!!" you shout, slamming the laptop shut and practically flinging it away from you, pulling your hand from under the sheets and not-so-subtly wiping your slick on your duvet, and pulling your top back down over your tits. it's all done in a split second, and it was neither low-key nor quiet. you know your face is growing more flushed by the moment, and you can swear joel is actually smirking.

you stare each other down before you finally speak, "what are you doing home so early?"

"i live here," joel shrugs, takes a sip of the coffee, and then realises he might sound like a bit of a dick. "just- uh. just found out some... shitty news. decided to take the day off."

you almost forget the situation, quick to voice your worry--"are you okay joel? what's going on?"

he snorts. opens his mouth and closes it, as if he's decided better of it, and then opens it again. "just found out your mom's been stepping out on me. well. thought it was true for a while, but my brother just saw her with some guy. guess that's all the confirmation i need." he laughs, wryly, and his smile is dangerous.

"well shit," you say. it doesn't surprise you in the least, but you're not sure if it'd be better or worse to acknowledge that, and then you immediately remember your newest stepfather just caught you masturbating and you're deeply self conscious again.

"i'm really sorry, joel, but you've clearly-" you clear your throat, "caught me at a bad time. is there something i can help you with?"

he looks you up and down for a moment, and you can swear he's looking at your mouth for a second longer than you'd expect.

"well," he says, "i'd come up to see if you wanted anything for dinner. i was gonna order takeout."

there's a long pause.

"but now i'm curious about what i interrupted."

your eyes widen.

"let me see your computer. i wanna know what you were watching that you're so embarrassed of."

you immediately grab your laptop close to you and shake your head. this is something joel cannot see. "absolutely fuckin not," you tell him, and his smile gets sharper.

"i wasn't askin', sweetheart."

there's something dangerous about him now, and even though it frightens you, it's somehow exciting, too. commanding. persuasive.

he puts his mug down, and you barely think about what you're doing when you hand him the laptop, type in the password, and turn it around towards him.

you can't bare to look at the screen at the same time as him. it's fucked up and weird and he'd have every reason to avoid you forever after this, but there's a small (but persuasive) part of you that's telling you that this is a line he's willingly crossing, and there's a charge beneath it, and maybe you could get from him exactly what you want.

you study his face as he scrolls down the page. you hear him click, but no sound starts playing--he must be looking at the other tabs.

his eyes widen, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding as you watch his face.

you want him to say something. you need him to say something.

he hits play on one of the videos and the room is immediately fills with the sounds of slick flesh and moans and cries of "oh, daddy, oh daddy please--"

it's only then that he looks at you.

"well aren't you a filthy girl, hmm?" joel ridicules, "and don't think i don't notice the trend with these little videos of yours."

it's humiliating. you almost expect to die out of embarrassment right on the spot.

"look at some of these titles," joel continues, "stepdaughter gets fingerfucked by stepdaddy, stepdaughter's pussy pumped with daddy's cum ASMR, jesus christ girl-" he laughs, incredulous, "letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole".

joel's staring you down and you still haven't said anything, and that just won't do.

"these the usual kinda thing you like to touch yourself to? or is this a new subject now that you're home, spending time around your stepdaddy?"

"i-" you start, "i don't know, i-"

it's not an act, you're pretty fuckin frazzled, practically cocooning yourself in your covers and you shrink back in shame, and this seems to amuse joel to no end

"how's this, sweet girl," he says, and you realise he's been getting closer and closer to you and now he's seated only inches from your bare legs and pussy, still covered up with your blankets, "you tell me to stop, and i'll leave this room right now and close the door and we can pretend i never saw anything here-"

"no!" you cry out, and then slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide at yourself while joel starts to chuckle.

"or," he continues, "you can let your stepdaddy make you feel real good."

"yes-" you cry, and not a moment later, the blankets are being pulled back and he's stroking two thick fingers along your cunt.

"there's a good girl," he says, and actually groans as he dips into you, collecting your slick, "so fucking wet for me. it is me you've been thinking about, ain't it?" he asks.

"yes joel," you say, because it's the fucking truth. you've been thinking about him nonstop for a while now, thinking about how his muscled arms look in those stupid threadbare t-shirts, thinking about the sigh he makes when he's had his first sip of a cold beer, thinking about the silver of his hair, the brown of his eyes, and the mere idea of what his cock might taste like. "i've wanted you to fuck me since i first met you."

he lets out a fuckin growl and presses his fingers into you. "such a cute little pussy, already dripping for me, huh?" he moans, and it's two digits pressing into you, but you've been working yourself up for a little while now and you're already swollen and wet and they slip right in. he finger fucks you for a moment before turning back to the laptop.

"which one's your favorite?" he nods at your screen, "which one do you watch and wish it was happening to you?"

you swallow and click back to another tab.

"letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole?", he snorts, "you really are a dirty girl, aren't you? get up off the bed." he commands.

you obey, standing up and kicking off the panties still around your ankles.

"and take that top off," he commands, and you do, pulling your top up over your tits and melting at the sound of his groan at seeing you bare for him.

he sits down on the bed with his legs spread, jeans still on. "you come sit here by daddy's lap," he says, and you do, sitting in between his thighs, inching back ever so slightly until you could feel his hard cock straining against his pants.

he runs his fingertips down your body, down your breasts and torso, dipping into your bellybutton, before drawing little circles on your hips.

'hit play," he says, and you grab the laptop next to you and resume the video.

he copies the video, rubbing one hand along your pussy and the other holding your thighs open.

"that's it," he coaxes, "keep those legs open for me, yeah?"

you're about to agree, when he starts stroking little circles around your already stimulated clit and the ability to speak leaves you. all you can do is focus on trying to keep your legs open, but your thighs are already almost quivering and he only chuckles.

"barely even touched you and you're already stupid."

you tried to nod and let out a sad whimper, tipping your head back and resting on his shoulder. he keeps his thumb pressed on your clit while he pumps his middle and index fingers in and out of you. it's so wonderfully, deliciously wrong. it feels addictive.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart, fucking on daddy's fingers like that," he praises, and it sends another spark of electricity building in your centre. encouraged, you start rocking your hips towards him, meeting each thrust of his fingers. "ready for another one?" he asks, and you nod vigorously.

he takes a moment to hold open your pussy and lean over you to look at it, stroking his fingertips along the outer lips, gathering some of your arousal, and prodding back your hood to get a little direct contact with your clit that leaves you writhing and gasping. he's smirking again, and presses a third finger into you. he curls them upwards, fucking the digits into you so nicely, and you enjoy the sensation as your arousal builds and builds and builds and-- as you come, you white out for just a moment, and as you come back into reality you can hear him speaking to you, "oh you're clenching so tight on my fingers, messy girl, look how you're dripping so nice down my fuckin' wrist. you're a nasty little slut, just like your momma huh? but i know you're gonna be a good girl for daddy, ain't ya?"

you continue to grind on his hand as his fingers stay buried in you, as you ride out the rest of your orgasm. only when you still does joel pull his fingers out of you.

as if hypnotised, he examines the arousal coating them. then, quick as anything, he pops his fingers in his mouth and sucks off your slick, immediately looking sheepish as though this was the only line he'd just crossed.

as quickly as he had become shy, he switched back to overt confidence. "y'just taste so good, sweetheart," he says, and then starts stroking your pussy again. "you're gonna let me have a proper taste, aren't you honey?"

you nod helplessly. it's so fucking good, it's too fucking good.

he scoots out from behind you and you buckle a little, toppling back onto the space he left. he's in front of you now and presses your thighs apart again, dropping to his knees on front of the bed's edge. he runs his tongue up your inner thigh, chuckling at your whimpers as he bites and nips at the sensitive skin. he takes a tentative lick, drawing his tongue towards your clit, circling it gently, and then dipping back before pulling off you for a moment.

"y'taste so fucking nice," he breathes, and his exhale on your slick pussy is exquisite. "i could just drink you up."

he presses the hood of your clit back once more, leaving his thumb there, applying perfect pressure as he flicks his tongue directly on that bundle of nerve endings and you feel like you're on fire.

"fuck, joel, yes-" you cry out, but he pulls back and shushes you.

"shhh," he says, "you don't call me joel right now, baby."

"i don't-?" you say, taken aback by the sudden lack of contact. then it clicks. "daddy-"

he smirks, "that's a good girl, sweetheart. wasn't too hard, now, was it?"

"no, daddy," you agree, and he's already diving back in, pressing his tongue into you in long strokes, letting you grind against his nose, his lips, the scratch of his cheeks, every movement he's making is so fucking perfect.

as he devours you, he presses his fingers into you again, and then you can't help yourself. you rut up on him, totally unable to practice anything resembling self restraint. in between strokes of his tongue, he pulls back and tells you, "i'm gonna need at least one more from you, baby, before you even get to think about sitting on this cock."

you let out a crazed whine, feeling joel's chuckle as he dives back in, eating your pussy like he was made to do only that.

he continues to build you up and up and without warning, you reach your peak again and come all over his face, your wet pussy drenching him and he closes his eyes and eats you through it like a man starved.

"fuck, baby," he says, "you taste so damn good, i could do that all day long."

you're splayed out, totally bare, the slick on your thighs cooling with the lack of contact. joel's looking you up and down, admiring your flushed body as he starts to undo his belt and drop his pants, your stomach flipping at the soft thunk of his belt hitting the floor.

you could feel, through his jeans, that his cock wasn't small, but you sure as fuck didn't anticipate just how thick and heavy it would hang between his wonderfully muscled thighs.

"you'd better get over here and fuck me, old man," you tease, and he snorts, before pulling you towards him by your ankles and landing a smack on your bare pussy.

"watch your manners, girl," he sneers.

"fuck!" you cry as you ride out the sensation, and he moves to slap you again, but your thighs are so slick his hand slips when he makes contact and accidentally presses you just right on your overstimulated clit, and to the surprise of both of you, you come again instantly.

he watches you, wide eyed, as you scream and your pussy clenches around nothing.

"you're just too easy, sweetheart," he laughs, "can't believe that little boyfriend of yours was such a bad lay when you're so goddamn easy. barely have to touch you and you're coming again and again for me."

"he'd just put it in, give it a couple thrusts, groan, and roll over," you snorted, loving the way joel's jaw clenches at your words, "besides, i prefer an older man."

"that's a damn shame, honey," he growls, "but i'm sure we can get ya taken care of."

you both realise at the same time that the video is still playing, as some particularly loud moans come through the speaker. you look over, and you swear you can see joel's eyes dilate as he watches.

that's a good girl, the man in the video croons, taking all of daddy's dick. wanna breed you full of me, fill you full of daddy's cum, you'd like that, huh?

you swallow and look back at joel. he looks ravenous.

"you love watching such dirty shit, don't you, baby?" joel asks, and starts teasingly rubbing your swollen clit again with his forefinger.

"yes daddy, please-" you agree, trying to chase the sensation, "please, i need your cock daddy, fill me up just like that-"

he lines himself up, notching the head of his thick cock at your entrance, and you're practically vibrating with need. it's not a want, it really is a need, if you don't have his cock right now you're probably gonna die and you need it you need it you need it so fucking badly

he laughs, and you realise you said all of that aloud, but you don't even have the capacity to feel truly shameful right now, you just need to feel him.

"c'mon, jo- daddy," you whine, "gotta feel you-"

"uh-uh, sweet thing," he chides, "i think you need to beg for it. you've got no manners, and knowing it's your momma who raised you it's pretty clear why, but you need to learn how to be a good girl. daddy's gonna teach you how to behave right here and now. got it?"

you let out a sharp exhale. "yes daddy."

"now beg."

two words shouldn't have such an ability to wreck you, but they do, and before you know it, you're rubbing your drooling pussy up against his cock head, rutting against him, begging and pleading-

"please, daddy, please fuck this wet pussy, you know how wrecked you've made me, turned me on so good, made me drip for you, made me come again and again on your fingers, i just wanna make you feel good, wanna take that cock, take everything you have to give, fuck me hard and fast and please, daddy, please--"

he cups your chin for just a moment, stroking a thumb along your jawline.

"that's better," he soothes, "what a good girl," and then he's slamming into you.

good fucking god he's huge, and you can swear you can feel every ridge, every vein, the swell of his shaft, the notch of his head, he's stretching you out deliciously.

you tilt your head back, leaving your throat bare, and let out a rough plea of, "choke me, daddy," and he doesn't need to be told twice, wrapping his hand around your neck and putting pressure in exactly the right spot. you can already feel the haziness building, and his thrusts keep coming fast and deep and you can feel the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

"jesus christ, girl," he whines, and his thrusts start to falter a little, "you're gonna be the death of me. letting daddy use this nice little pussy just so he can feel good-"

his words begin to tip you over, and you know what you want-

"come inside me, daddy," you choke through the pressure around your throat, "fill me up, make yourself feel good, give it all to me-"

that does him in, and he lets out a strangled moan, coming inside you right as you come one last time, walls clenching tightly around his throbbing cock.

he releases your throat, and you both lay there for a minute, both totally fucked out.

after a minute, joel gingerly pulls out of you and lets out a weary groan.

"gonna be the death of me, woman," he snorts, and walks to your bathroom to clean himself up. he comes back a minute later with a cloth. you're expecting him to wipe you up, but first, he takes a moment to examine the cum that's dripping out of you.

"look so pretty like this, sweetheart," he smiles, presses his cum back into you, and then wipes down your slick thighs with the cloth.

"shit, joel-" you say, "who'd have thought you had that in you, old man?"

he rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, and then you sit together for a minute in comfortable silence. joel stands up after a while and grabs his coffee mug. takes a sip that you know must be cold by now, but he seems unbothered.

before he can leave, you stop him. "so-" you ask, "is this a one time thing, or?"

he shrugs, seemingly indifferent. "no reason i need to let your momma know what i know yet. and i reckon there's a lot more fun we can have before that happens."

you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and your shoulders relax.

"good." you say, and joel smiles.

"good," he repeats. "now, i know i've worked up quite an appetite and i'm guessing you might have, too. you pick the takeout, i'll go pick it up."

"thanks, joel." you smile, and you're already thinking of the next time as you scroll takeout options on your phone.

that's it. you're fucking addicted, and goddamn you can't wait for your next hit.

#joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x f!reader

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userlando · 1 year

Text

cherry wine — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [6.8k] summary: this is what you got for humouring him. lando was bored during the break and needed something to latch onto, it was just unfortunate timing that he’d become weirdly obsessed with your journey to… climax. warnings: 18+ best friends to lovers, explicit smut, experimental masturbation, sex toys, public sex, oral sex (f receiving), inexperienced reader a/n: okay so HEAVILY requested and it was a lot of fun to write this so i hope you find this equally enjoyable to read it!! thank you for all your love lately, it makes my heart sososo happy. as always, don't be a ghost reader, i'd love to hear your thoughts :) ily enjoy

You walked quickly, one foot in front of the other to put some space between you and the restaurant you’d just been spending the past godforsaken hour in. The shoes you were wearing pinched your toes uncomfortably and you willed yourself to hold out for just a few more moments as your phone vibrated in your hand.

I see you, the text read and you looked around the dark street before landing on the McLaren parked by the curb on the other side of the street. It wasn’t hard to miss, given how incredibly flashy and shiny it looked under the street lamp.

You hurried over, like the guy was going to come out of the restaurant and chase you, opening the door and taking a seat with an exaggerated sigh, happy that the night was over and you were in a safe space again. You reached over and slipped your shoes off with a grumble, sitting upright and finally looking over at your best friend behind the wheel.

Lando was giving you a half-amused look, eyebrows raised with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone. His jaw was working incessantly on the piece of gum, and it was annoying you how it seemed to add to the smugness he was radiating. You gritted your teeth and gestured with your hand to the wheel.

“Couldn’t you have picked another car?” You asked, referring to the over the top McLaren you were currently sitting in.

“You say that as if I have more cars to choose from.” Lando turned the key in the ignition. “Besides, you’re the one who hates the Jolly.”

You grimaced because he was right, it was a humours looking thing and though your friend drove for a living, it was the most unsafe you’d felt while sitting in it. The car didn’t even have seatbelts or doors.

“Can we get smoothies on the way home?” You asked, changing the subject and it didn’t go unnoticed by Lando who threw you a sideways glance as he pulled out of the parking spot. “I’m dying for something cold.”

“Sure.” He nodded slowly and you knew what he was waiting for but you weren’t in the mood to indulge him just yet.

The date had been a disaster, as had all the other four previous dates. You’d let him choose the place, not expecting the extravagant restaurant with the overpriced menu but you’d brushed it off because you - quite frankly - refused to have another failed date. The night hadn’t gone better though.

“So, are you gonna make me beg?” Lando broke the drawn out silence, shooting you a half smile. “What was wrong with him this time?”

“He claimed to have forgotten his wallet.” You sucked your teeth in mild irritation. “We only had drinks before he was shamelessly staring at the waitresses arses and making them feel uncomfortable.”

Lando made a sound in his throat that sounded a lot like sympathy and you were grateful for it. He had a habit of poking fun at your disastrous dates and sometimes you allowed it because they were comically bad. But he could also recognise when the time wasn’t right and it definitely wasn’t, this time.

“He sounds like a twat.” He took a turn into your favourite convenience store and shot you a searching glance. “Don’t tell me you paid for him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course not, I paid for my part and then hid in the restrooms to call you.”

Not to mention the fact that the man had become so pissed that he wasn’t even there when you’d gotten out of the restrooms, not even bothering to stay around to hear your well rehearsed excuse. They had started to flow so naturally, with how many times you’ve had to use them.

Something about that made you very bitter and also hopeless.

“Good girl.” Lando reached over to pat your thigh. “Don’t let fuckheads like him walk all over you.”

You huffed out a humourless laugh, swatting his hand away and watching him unbuckle his seatbelt before reaching for his wallet between you. Lando paused and glanced up at you.

“The usual?” He asked, rather uselessly because you never picked anything else than mango flavoured smoothies.

But you still humoured him with a nod and watched him climb out and head for the store. You watched him in silence, tearing your eyes away when they started drifting down and scolding yourself for checking your best friend out. What the hell was wrong with you?

You told yourself it was because of the long line of failed dates. Monaco was full of twats and rich snobs who couldn’t see past their noses. It was hard to not take it personally though and you were starting to enter the dangerous territory of self doubt. Maybe you were the one who was too picky, or boring or even too inexperienced to know what to do with men who showed an ounce of interest in you.

Adulthood was truly a rude awakening.

The scuffle of shoes against pavement drew you out of your thoughts and you looked to your side just in time for Lando to open the door and climb inside. He was juggling two cups and a inconspicuous plastic bag so you hurried to grab the cups from him before he ruined the beautiful and expensive interior.

“What’s that?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you, nodding at the plastic bag as you took a sip of your drink.

There was something in Lando’s face that unnerved you a bit, making you frown when he plucked his cup from your hands and thrust the bag into it instead. Whatever was in the bag was a little heavy, but your interest was piqued enough to set the cup in the holder and peer inside.

It took a second for you to realise what you were looking at, feeling your body go up in flames when your eyes finally registered what was sitting in front of you.

“Lando!” You yelped, letting go of the bag like it had burnt you. “Why — What —“ You scrunched your nose as your friend cackled, rather amused by your reaction. “Did you get that from the store?”

He nodded with the straw between his lips, looking all kinds of cheeky and you reached over to slap at his arm.

“I didn’t even know they sold things like these in there.” You looked down at your lap where the bag was resting, frowning a little dubiously at it like it was gonna come alive and bite you.

“They do.” He said, rather unhelpfully. “I won’t be able to look Mr. Lorenzi in the eyes after that but it was worth it.”

You let out a small laugh at the thought before you went quiet, separating the flaps of the bag and reaching inside.

Bullet vibrator, discover a happy you.

The slogan made you snort unattractively, waving the packaging in your hand and hearing it rattle as you gave the curly haired man a bemused stare.

“Why would you buy this?” You asked, letting him grab the offending thing from your hand when he reached for it.

He turned it in his hand, looking all too happy about it that it made something weird swirl in your stomach. You busied yourself with taking a sip of your smoothie, but it tasted like ashes in your mouth all of a sudden.

“It’s for you.” He said and you rolled your eyes. “What? It’s a neat looking thing. It’s in coral and it’s got… Twenty functions! Fuck me.”

His voice went up in slight wonder and the whole situation felt so bizarre that you couldn’t even find the right words to use.

“Why would you buy that for me?” You asked, a little irked and Lando must’ve sensed the shift of tone in your voice because he glanced up from where he’d been reading from the packaging, eyes a little wide in the darkness.

“You’ve told me about your problem.” He said, slowly like he was choosing his words carefully. “This might help you along a bit.”

“You promised not to throw that in my face!” You squeaked, feeling your face warm up and Lando jumped when you shot your hand out to slap him.

“I’m not!” He loudly protested. “I’m not making fun of you, I’m just saying. This will make you come.”

You slapped your hands to your face, not even caring about the makeup you’d spent hours putting on, and groaned loudly in hopes to make him shut up. It wasn’t like this was the first time you talked openly about sex, but you didn’t really like it when your masturbation habits were the topic. It was odd.

“I’ll never drink again.” You promised but you both knew it was a lie.

It had been a small moment of vulnerability, one that you barely remembered but you could recount the embarrassing parts and that’s what made you feel a little sick to your stomach. You’d come home after a late night of drinking and the both of you had sat face to face on his couch and talked about anything between the heavens and earth. You didn’t even know how it came up in conversation, but Lando wasn’t gonna stop you as you confided in him about your issues.

Okay, so maybe you had a hard time making yourself finish. Maybe you were more inexperienced than the average twenty something year old, but you weren’t ashamed of it. You were well and truly aware that everyone were in different stages of their lives but it still made you a little sad sometimes.

Especially when your dates turned out to be pits.

“Just take it, bug.” Lando slipped the package into the plastic bag and placed it in your lap. He started the engine and you took some comfort in the rumble of it. “Let me know how it goes.”

* * * *

it’s a 2/10

You fired off the text before you could overthink it, letting your phone fall to your stomach as you glanced at the offending phallic shape on your bed. Maybe you weren’t in the right headspace, or maybe it was just wrong for you. But it definitely didn’t feel right and you’d given up after twenty minutes of nothing but frustration.

The vibration of your phone made you jump slightly and you picked it up.

nooooo

did you give it a real try though?

of course I did, you melt

it’s just not working

The next time you saw Lando, was when Max had invited your group of friends for a pub crawl. Max had already ordered a round when you came stumbling in, a little late and warm from having hurried all the way over from your apartment. You went around to greet everyone with kisses and pats to the shoulders before taking a seat in the booth beside Lando.

He draped an arm over the backrest and poked you in the shoulder, prompting you to look up at him.

“I have something for you.” He said and you frowned at the smile on his face, shaking your head when recognition struck you.

You glanced around the table to make sure no one was listening in before leaning into him. Lando’s eyes flitted to your mouth when you got close and you did your best to ignore it and the flicker of heat in your belly.

Christ, you really needed to get laid. There was no way that you were finding your best friend hot. The very same best friend who’d burp in your face after having fizzy drinks and pee with the bathroom door open because he knew the sound of the stream made your skin crawl.

“Not again.” You whispered, a little sternly because you weren’t going to be put through that again.

But you figured that this is what you got for humouring him. Lando was bored during the race break and needed something to latch onto, it was just unfortunate timing that he’d become weirdly obsessed with your journey to… climax.

“This one’s supposed to be better.” He said, like that’d help you change your mind. “It’s a… stimulator.”

“Do I even wanna know what it’s supposed to stimulate?” You asked quietly, like your cheeks weren’t already fifteen degrees hotter.

It was clear that Lando was enjoying this way more than you were, smile too cheeky and happy and his cheeks were flushed. It could’ve been from the alcohol he’d consumed, judging by his breath but you knew that he wasn’t a lightweight.

Lando glanced down at you and your eyes widened at the smirk playing on his lips, placing both your hands over your crotch.

“I think you know.” He whispered, giggling a little when you pushed at him.

That’s how you found yourself staring at the new packaging on your bed, eyebrows knitted together in contemplation. You didn’t really know how something called a clit sucker was supposed to get you there and you really didn’t want to know where Lando had gotten it from.

You knew that if he kept this up, you’d end up with a nightstand drawer full of sex toys that did absolute fuckall to do their job. Maybe the few drinks you’d had earlier would help you relax a bit.

So with that in mind, you yanked your pants off and laid back on your bed, legs a little spread and eyes fastened on the ceiling. You tried to ignore the dread filling your stomach as you brought the toy between your legs, holding the button with the pad of your finger until it buzzed to life.

“Shit.” You swore quietly as you directed it between your legs, kind of enjoying the buzzing as you moved it around.

The moment it touched your clit, you jumped and moved your hand away. That hadn’t felt as good as you’d hoped, and you sighed in slight irritation.

It was like the universe was in on some kind of sick joke to make your life a living hell, because your phone vibrated on your nightstand and you glanced over to see Lando’s name on your screen. You ignored it, turning yourself around and laying down on your stomach to give it a second try.

The toy was still buzzing, making a sound that was a little bit distracting but also easy enough to ignore as you went under your panties this time. You knew that you should’ve probably worked yourself up or even invested in lube because you were everything but turned on at the moment. And not to mention how the dry silicone only made it all the more unpleasant.

Your phone vibrated again, another incoming text and you buried your head into your pillow to groan out loud before tossing the toy away. You watched it roll over the edge of the bed, landing on the floor with a clatter that made you grimace.

you tried it yet? ;)

I’m guessing by the silence that you have

It took a great amount of control to not roll your eyes at the winky face. You also refused to smile at how you could’ve easily imagined his face right now.

you’re taking an awful lot of interest in my sex life, it’s creeping me out

I’m guessing you didn’t….

???

get yourself all the way over there

Jesus. The amount of embarrassment you felt could probably be seen all over your face and you were suddenly grateful that this wasn’t a face to face talk. You sat up and leaned against the headboard with an exhale.

How were you supposed to say no, I didn’t fucking come, without actually typing the words? Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

1/10

The reply was immediate, like he’d been sitting with the text conversation open and waiting for your reply.

oh what?! disappointing! we’ll do better next time

You pulled a pillow into your lap and hid a smile in it.

The next time, turned out to be five days later when he’d managed to pull you out of another horrendous date. The date itself had been fine, but the guy was everything but aware of his personal hygiene and it made you grit your teeth every time he smiled and flashed those murky chompers at you from across the table.

Lando laughed until he cried on the way home when you recalled the date, and you had to calm him down before he veered you both off the road. He’d only just gotten his car and you weren’t too keen to see it in a ditch.

“I’m swearing off of men.” You said when he turned into your street, making Lando snort. “What? I am. I’m convinced all the good guys are taken.”

Lando reached a hand out without taking his eyes off the road, pinching you in the side and making you squeak in indignation.

“Thanks for that.” He said sarcastically, referring to himself and his very available relationship status. “And you’re not swearing off of guys, are you mad? You just need to have patience.”

“I’ve already had plenty of patience, thank you. I don’t have any more in me to spare.” You rooted around in your bag for a hair tie, huffing when you found one to tie your hair up and out of the way. “I already put up with your stupid arse.”

“Hey!” He pouted and you smiled in apology. “You love me. And you’ll love me even more when you see what I got—“

He paused to reach into the backseat, and you watched with a slight bemused smile as he dug around until he made a sound of delight, sitting back in his seat. Your eyes zeroed in on the package in his hand, shaking your head before he even said anything.

“Not again.” You said in a whine, pushing the cardboard package away when he went to hand it to you. “We’re not doing this.”

Lando blew out a breath, pushing it more insistently until you relented and grabbed it from his hold. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small box.

“I’ve read that this is a game changer.” He said, looking a little too proud and it made you grin despite yourself. “Look, it’s even shaped like a rose, how cool is that?”

“Mate, you’ve got way too much spare time on your hands.” You giggled when he narrowed his eyes at you. “Fine. But you have to promise to let it go if this doesn’t work out.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, shutting it quickly at your stern look and nodding once. It didn’t look believable in the slightest.

“Okay. Yeah, promise.” He said and you nodded, reaching over the console to press a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek in thanks for saving you yet again.

You climbed out of the car and closed the door, waiting until he’d rolled the window down all way. There was mischief written all over his face and somehow you knew he was gonna say something obnoxious as parting words.

“I expect updates tonight.” He said, wagging his eyebrows and you smiled, turning around before he could see how absolutely flustered you became.

“Don’t hold your breath.” You shouted over your shoulder, walking up to your apartment complex.

Once you were inside, you grabbed a quick shower to wash the night away and poured yourself a sad looking bowl of cereal before getting into bed with your laptop in your hands. It was still early, too early to sleep so you figured a few episodes of a show wouldn’t ruin your sleep too much.

It proved to be too boring for your overactive mind. You’d devoured the cereal and was now laying, sunken down in bed with your mind wandering and attention not at all on what was happening on the screen. You hit the space bar button to pause, eyes drifting to your nightstand where the newest toy sat, innocently but so mocking.

You narrowed your eyes at it, staring for a minute before you reached for it and pushed the laptop off to the side.

“Fucking Lando.” You cursed him quietly, ripping the package open and fishing the innocent looking rose out.

It was pink, on the verge of red and it looked very pretty to be a vibrator. You located the button, holding it down until it came to life and your eyes climbed to your forehead as you pressed on the button again; cycling through the different powers and rhythms.

It felt like clockwork, sinking down into bed and closing your eyes with a deep breath. A frown etched itself on your face when you reached into your sweats and underwear with it, feeling it buzz away until you located your clit and the strength of the vibrations made you gasp.

It wasn’t too much too soon, but kind of perfect and a spark of hope flared in your chest as you thought that, maybe this was it. Maybe you’d found the toy that would bring you high enough and tip you over the edge.

A little moan left your lips as you closed your eyes, letting the toy do its work and you couldn’t help but smile slightly at the pleasant feeling. You’d never really gotten the joys of female masturbation when your friends talked about it, but you were starting to.

Your newfound hope didn’t blossom into anything bigger though, because it took about ten minutes before you realised that you wouldn’t be taken much further than you already were. It felt good, but it wasn’t mind blowing. And frustration started to seep into your pores before you angrily yanked your hand out and tossed the toy away after switching it off.

You reached for your phone, teeth gritted because you wouldn’t cry out of frustration. You wouldn’t.

maybe a life of celibacy is healthier for me

The response came in a minute later.

don’t be stupid

was it that bad?

it was… fine. but it wasn’t enough

There was no reply after that, and you chewed your lip. Maybe you’d gone too far with discussing your masturbation and lack of orgasms with Lando. You’d been best friends for so long that the lines were starting to blur. You’d never known any boundaries between the two of you, and that’s how you both liked it. But there was something different about this whole thing. It felt different.

Your phone vibrated once again and you glanced down.

I’ll do more research

The text made you smile despite yourself.

we won’t give up

A week later, you found yourself up in the mountains overlooking Monaco. Lando was sitting beside you, dressed nicely in a suit that he’d definitely ruined by sitting on the grass and you were in a dress that looked pretty but was a little stifling to wear. There had been a gala earlier tonight and Lando had begged you to come with him, even though the both of you despised anything that had to do with overpriced champagne and snooty people.

You’d had a good time despite yourselves, bumping into a few friends from the grid and dancing the night away before it was time to call it a night. Lando hadn’t been ready to go home just yet though, so you’d driven out to your favourite spot in the city.

The lights from the houses and the marina was glittering, the water so mesmerising that you couldn’t tear your eyes away. It was a beautiful night, not too hot but pleasantly nice.

“I have another date on Wednesday.” You told Lando, breaking the comfortable silence.

The man in question turned his head to look at you, and you saw his eyebrows furrow in mild intrigue.

“Another loser?” He joked, but his tone felt a little too flat and it made something weird turn in your stomach.

Usually he was way more interested and would fire off multiple questions before asking to see pictures. You chalked it up to him being tired from a long evening and hummed, scooting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder.

He immediately turned his head and pressed his lips against the top of your skull, like he was on autopilot. It was something he often did, but it still managed to make your heart jump a little.

“He seems nice.” You told him truthfully. “Probably not a relationship type, but he seems like a good time.”

Your hair ruffled when Lando huffed out a humourless laugh and there was something so off about it that it made you pick your head up from his shoulder and look at him in confusion.

“What?” You asked, feeling a little defensive all of a sudden. “I’m trying to think positive.”

“Why don’t you hold off a bit on the dating? Let the guys come to you instead.” He suggested, glancing away from your probing eyes.

You could read him too well and it unnerved Lando beyond belief.

“I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work. I either get someone who doesn’t know what basic hygiene is, or someone who flirts with other people in front of me, a guy who snaps at waiters and not to mention the men who find out I’m friends with the Lando Norris and will go above and beyond to have a chance to meet you.”

“Don’t say that.” He grimaced and you pulled back a bit, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t say what?”

“My name like it’s something inconvenient for you.” He took in your pinched facial expression and softened his tone a bit. “I’m just saying you deserve way better than what these tossers can offer you.”

You stayed quiet, opting to lay down on your back with a sigh instead. He was right, but you weren’t about to say it out loud.

Lando wouldn’t have that though, laying down on his side and propping his elbow on the grass to stare at you. You tried to hold back the smile threatening to spill, because he was hovering over you and looking adorable that it was impossible to stay annoyed.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked, smiling like he knew the answer was in the negative because he was well aware that you could never stay angry with him. “You can’t stay mad at me, I’m too cute.”

You placed your palm against his face and pushed at it, hearing and feeling him laugh against your hand until he reached to grab and yank it away from his face.

He turned your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm, the gesture all too intimate for it to be between two best friends and it took everything in your power to not read into his small gesture. You held your breath when he turned your hand over and gazed at it, face contemplative; Lips downturned in thought and brows knitted together.

“Have you used your hands before?” He asked and you smiled in slight confusion, not expecting the odd question.

“No, I use my feet.”

Lando pinched the thin skin of your wrist in retaliation and you squeaked out a laugh.

“I meant for… Your experiments.” He grimaced at the words and you knew he used that to lessen the embarrassment from your part. It didn’t do much though, not with the way he was staring at you like he was looking into your soul.

You held your breath, staring at his face and you knew that yours was heating up faster than you could blink. But it was hard to look away from the way his pupils were starting to expand, trapping his bottom lip with his teeth in what you knew was a nervous tick.

“I wouldn’t know how.” You told him truthfully after a long stretch of silence. There was no way for you to correctly use your fingers on yourself when a toy couldn't give you an orgasm.

"Do you want me to show you how?" He asked, voice quiet and you could feel your eyes widen before you could stop them.

There was a moment where you thought you'd heard wrong, that your sanity had finally gone out the window but Lando was looking at you like he was waiting for a response and there was some conflict in his eyes that you were sure that your eyes were reflecting.

What did this mean for your friendship? Would this ruin everything? What if he just wanted to satisfy his own fucked up needs and then pretend like nothing happened? Those were questions that you wanted to ask, but it wasn't what came out of your mouth when you opened it.

"Yes."

Lando looked as surprised as you felt, like he hadn't expected you to agree to his insane proposition but it didn’t mean that he felt immense relief. He hadn’t really thought of how he’d react or what to even say if you had turned him down. All he really knew was that this had been playing in his mind ever since that damned night when you’d confessed to him. He couldn’t get the image of him between your legs since then.

He hadn’t expected to feel a surge of jealousy when you started going on your dates, but he’d hated every minute of it. It had only lessened the sting a bit when he realised that they were all essentially going nowhere and that Lando was the one who got to pick you up at the end of the night. Minus the fact that he hated how down you were after the dates. But he had the opportunity to be there and cheer you up whenever you needed it, so he counted that as a win. Anything that involved your smile that he was the reason for, was a win.

They were new feelings, but Lando suspected that they’d been laying dormant since your teenage years. They’d only ever surfaced when you talked to potential boyfriends, but he always managed to squash those feelings before they grew into something ugly and act like nothing was bothering him.

That’s probably why Lando’s hand was shaking a bit when it found a home on your thigh, slowly pushing up the silk of your dress and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from your face; caught in your stare. He could see how nervous you were, bottom lip caught between your teeth and chest moving with every quick breath you took.

Lando stopped momentarily because maybe you didn’t really want this. You looked almost scared, and that was enough for him to withdraw. What he didn’t expect was for your hand to find a place on the back of his head, messing up his perfectly styled curls and bringing him closer to your face.

It didn’t take much to get him where you wanted, and he found himself so close to your face that he could feel your breath against his lips. Lando was convinced that nothing was as intoxicating as that.

“This is mad.” You whispered, lip touching his as you spoke and Lando struggled to not groan out loud at that one brush.

“Definitely.” He nodded in agreement, watching your lips curl up into an enticing smile that calmed his nerves down. “Do you still want this?”

Your eyes flickered between his, like you were trying to gauge his reaction when you nodded.

“Do you?” You asked and Lando couldn’t dig deep enough to find the words, so he did the next best thing.

The small whimper you let out against his lips rattled something in Lando’s chest, pressing his mouth against yours in a kiss that had your toes curling and your hands grabbing desperately at his hair. The slight sting in his scalp made him open up under your lips, and he swore he must’ve died and gone to heaven when your tongue brushed his. It was like his skin was cracking open and you were touching his exposed nerves, feelings so on edge when you hadn’t even done anything but kiss him.

You were so into the kiss that you almost forgot where you were, thighs tensing a bit when your dress was pushed up and cool air hit your naked thighs. Lando pulled back enough to look at you, giving you an encouraging smile as his hand travelled up your inner thigh.

It was a struggle to keep your eyes open and on him when his fingers brushed over your clothed pussy, but it was worth it to see his mouth hang open when he felt the lace. You were warm against his skin, and he had half a mind to say fuck it and bury himself deep inside your warmth.

But he had to remind himself to slow down, take a breath and focus on you because you may have relaxed a bit; But Lando had known you for so long that he could read your body.

“This feels nice.” He commented, running his fingers over the material and you couldn’t help but laugh. “What colour are they?”

You knew it was his way of breaking the tension and hopefully relieve the anxiety blooming in your chest, and it surprisingly worked when you tilted your head up to give him a kiss that he was eager to respond to.

“Why don’t you find out?” You murmured and Lando’s eyebrow jumped, cheeky and excited as he placed his other arm on the other side of your body to straddle you.

He probably should’ve cared that his fancy dress pants were rubbing against the grass when he knee-walked down your body, but he was too preoccupied with staring at you. Your chest was heaving, and he could almost see the pebbles of your nipples against the satin material of your dress. He wondered if you wore a matching, lacy bra or if you’d opted to go without, eager to find out later.

Lando was a man on a mission, pushing your dress up to your abdomen and kneeling between your legs. He glanced down, heat flaring up in his body when he got a peek at the cherry red lace, hiding so much but so little.

He stroked a finger down between where he presumed your lips were, hearing you take a shuddering breath above at the sensation. You were looking at him, feeling turned on beyond belief and the feeling was so new that you didn’t know what to do with it.

The feeling only intensified when his finger located your clit, caressing the sensitive nub in small circles until your legs were shaking, thighs tensing.

Lando was like hypnotised, taking in every hitch in your breath and every jerk of your body until he felt like he’d burst if he didn’t get his mouth on you. He probably should’ve warned you beforehand, but he took a little pride in the surprised squeal you let out when he opened his mouth and slotted it over your pussy, sucking until he tasted your slick through the lace.

“Lando!” Your voice was breathy, scandalised and you put a hand over your eyes when you looked down and saw him staring at you.

He looked… depraved. And it did something funny to your stomach. You'd never seen him like that and you didn't really think you'd ever get to experience it.

You'd thought about it, even allowed yourself a night to fantasise about the way he'd look and what he'd say if you were ever in this position, but those were thoughts you didn't let yourself drift into too often. It was a dangerous thing to imagine having sex with your best friend, yet here you were - experiencing it. Outside, nonetheless.

"Oh, fuck." You stuttered out when he hooked his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulled them to the side, the cool air hitting the very slick center.

The unexpected feeling had you squirming, bucking your hips up and huffing out a laugh when Lando glanced up at you, feeling a little embarrassed to be so needy.

"You're so sensitive." He pondered, sounding a little amazed before he stuck his tongue out in a crude fashion and licked up your pussy. "You're gorgeous, bug. Those guys are missing out on something great."

That got an eye roll from you, but it didn't stop the zip of heat from racing up your back at his words. You could feel him flattening his tongue to lick every part of you, like he couldn't get enough of your taste before he got your clit into his mouth and sucked.

He tried not to feel too smug when you moaned, head tilted back and facing the sky, like you were praying to whatever was up there. The stretch of your neck was gorgeous, so spotless that he had the sudden urge to sit up and mark the sensitive skin of it with his mouth and teeth. But he sat put, focusing on eating you out with an eagerness he'd never really felt before.

It didn't take you long to really become vocal, and it honestly surprised Lando because he'd always pegged you for a quiet one. Not that he complained; the sounds you were making had his pants feeling tight.

"It feels—" You trailed off into a stuttered moan that made Lando reach down and squeeze himself through his trousers, moaning into your pussy at the slight relief he felt. "Lando, fuck, I'm gonna..."

You didn't finish your sentence, too lost in the multiple sensations you'd never felt before but Lando could guess what you were trying to communicate. He kept at it, watching your face as it scrunched up and your mouth dropped open, groaning out your climax as it washed over you.

It felt better than you'd imagined, stomach clenching up and toes curling as you shut your eyes so tightly that you saw stars behind your eyelids. You weren't sure how long you were out of it, or how your hands had managed to find their way to your best friend's hair. Lando laved his tongue over your center, steering clear of your sensitive clit but he couldn't help but bump against it a few times just to hear your breath hitch.

The third time he did it, you pushed him away with an exhausted grumble, hearing him laugh as he stretched up to kiss below your navel. The pecks were so tender and sweet, a stark contrast to how he'd ate you out like a depraved man just minutes ago, and it filled your belly with so much warmth you didn't know what to do with it.

You made a confused sound in your throat when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drew them down your legs, bunching them up in his hands.

"These are mine now." He said casually, cheek deepening into a dimple and you raised your eyebrows.

"No..." You dragged out the word, reaching out your hands to grab the flimsy material from his grip but he was quick to turn away, batting your hands away with small, teasing tuts. "Those are my fancy pair, you twit."

Lando shoved the underwear into the pocket of his trousers, ignoring your protests and silencing them rather quickly by leaning over to kiss you. And shut you up it did, because that was the last thing you expected but it wasn't necessarily unwelcomed.

He opened up his mouth under yours, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself and something about that made your legs tighten up around his body where they'd been previously splayed out.

"I'll buy you more underwear." He promised after pulling away slightly, giving you a smirk that made your head spin. "Only if I'm the only one allowed to see them from now on."

You huffed out a laugh, pushing his face away with your hand. He rolled over and laid down beside you, and you sat up with the help of your shaky arms.

"You're a walking cliché." You said, shaking your head slightly. "But I won't say no to free stuff.”

He reached a hand out to pluck a leaf off your hair, flicking it away before turning his attention to you.

You suddenly became aware of what you’d done, nerves humming just under your skin and your conflicting emotions must’ve shown on your face because Lando scooted closer to you and grabbed your hand.

“We’re okay?” You asked quietly, staring down at your intertwined hands and how his thumb brushed across the back of your hand. The way he always did when your anxiety was acting up.

“Of course we are.” He assured you, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your naked shoulder.

You knew that you’d have to have a longer talk about what this meant for the both of you in the future. But you pushed it to the back of your mind for tonight, snuggling up to your best friend’s side and laying your head on his chest.

You did believe him though. No matter what, the both of you would be okay.

#lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x you #f1 fics #f1 #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris x reader

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ptolomia · 3 months

Text

To the rescue

Summary: Hotch and Y/N go to an UnSub’s Storage Facility to try and catch him, Instead they find themselves trapped in a storage unit alone.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Shameless Smut, Unsafe sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLS), Oral( F receiving), Praise, Degradation, Semi-Public sex, Sir kink.

Word Count: 1.5k

You were so fucking close to catching this bastard, you and Hotch had decided to take the riskier location, his family’s storage warehouse. Aaron had sent you through the back of the warehouse as he entered the front, you were met with emptiness, the air felt damp and you were shrouded in darkness, your flashlight rendering itself useless, The darkness that had caused you to blindly stumble into a unit, shrieking as the unit closes in on itself. You hear Hotch panic through your earpiece. “L/N? Where are you?” He says, the rasp in his voice betraying him. “I-I don’t know.” You say, holding back tears, “I- my flashlight wasn’t working and I stumbled in.” you continue. “Wait there,” he says softly, his tone laced in urgency.

It seemed like hours before you heard the unit open, seeing him through the sliver of brightness that his flashlight had provided. You watched as he slowly cascaded to you, reaching for your hand and preparing to pull you both out until you heard the all familiar sound of the metal door slamming against the concrete. “Fuck!” you curse, feeling defeated. He shushes you, pulling you to him. “We have to focus, okay? For all we know the UnSub could very well be here. Can you calm down for me?” He says, his voice and tone is soft and soothing. Slowly he reaches for his flashlight, turning it on and scanning the room, you breathe a sigh of pure relief when you spot a light switch. Tugging on the string you watch as the room fills with light.

Smiling, you reach for the door, thinking maybe — somehow it would open; that somehow it would free us. Obviously it didn’t work. You were still trapped, stuck in an UnSub’s storage unit with the most attractive man alive — your boss. Your thoughts however, halt as you hear feet scraping the pavement, you and Hotch look at each other realising that this could very well be the UnSub.

Not wanting to give yourselves away, you took several steps back. With your back pressed into him, he simultaneously covered your mouth, masking your breathing. As if things couldn’t get worse for you two, a bigger problem arose when your skin pressed onto his and you gasped. Gasped is an understatement, you moaned. You feel his body stiffen behind you. “Is that how you want to play this?” He whispered in your ear. You could barely focus on listening to the UnSub’s actions over the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. A mix of arousal and fear as you melted into Aaron. His free hand now around your waist while the other remained on your mouth.

Whatever thoughts you had left had seized when you felt something on the small of your back. In a stroke of brainless fluidity you moved against him, trying to see if you could elicit a reaction from him. A moan, or groan, another whisper in your ear that’d make your thoughts run wild; but instead you got something far better.

He grabbed your hips, stopping you from moving; then he whispered in your ear, “Y/N stop. You’re not helping the situation.” He sounded so desperate and feral. It made you want to fuck his brains out even more. The next few moments were a blur of you either grinding on each other or something of the sort. Still, the second the sound of footsteps had stopped lingering Aaron flipped you around making you face him. Before you could even process everything that was happening his lips were already burnt into your neck.

Then he moved lower, searing his lips onto your skin, basically marking you as his. He travelled even further, nibbling at the skin of your collarbone and undoing the velcro of your vest. Throughout all of this your gasping never stopped, your fingers had even found their way to his hair. You felt amazing, you chuckled slightly as he pulled away to throw your vest on the floor. He was losing his control and that excited you; the fact that you had that power over him felt heavenly. He was losing his mind over you.

Without the confines of your vest, Aaron’s hands had travelled beneath your shirt, unclasping your bra and reaching for your chest in a split second. Lifting both off he reached for your slacks next, undoing them before practically ripping them off. He fell to his knees, stopping right between your thighs, he looked up at you. Rubbing your inner thigh he finally broke his silence, “Are you sure you want this?” he asked as if he didn’t know you did.

“Because I’ll let you know that once this starts, I won't stop, once this starts you’ll be mine.” He whispered against your thigh. You looked down at him; meeting his gaze, his intense, needy, desperate gaze. “I want you to fuck me, Sir.” You whimpered, pouring whatever was left of your confidence out and into the air.

Without saying anything else he pulled your panties off. Once he managed to free you he wasted no time in shoving his face between your thighs. His tongue landed on your clit and your eyes started to water. It felt amazing, heavenly, it was unlike anything you’d ever felt. Most men could barely even find a clit, let alone please it. But Aaron wasn’t just any man, he was yours, and he was about to make sure of it.

“Sir!” You whimper, tugging at his hair. “Fuck, love, you sound so damn pretty. Moaning for me like a bitch in heat are we?” He rasped, digging further into you with his fingers.

“Fuck I’m gonn-” he cut you off at the edge, withdrawing his tongue and fingers. The motion made you cry, “Please,” you beg him. “As fucking hot as you sound you’re not cumming yet. The first time you’re doing that for me it’s going to be around my cock.” He says, his voice dropping an octave.

He quickly undid his suit pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock. You tried to think of something other than how badly you wanted him. But the only other thing your brain was fixated on was how big he was. You imagined he’d be well ‘equipped’ but you hadn’t thought that he’d be this big. Your thoughts ceased when he picked you up, wrapping your thighs around his waist he lined himself at your entrance.

He looked at you, waiting for some kind of approval. You nodded slowly at him, watching as his eyes filled with lust. He sunk into you. You felt him through every inch of yourself. You felt so full, you were practically overflowing. Tears welled into your eyes from the sheer pain of being stretched so wide. You stayed like this for a few seconds, he waited for you to adjust, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Tell me when you want me to move sweetheart.” He reassured you.

After a few seconds you slowly whined, “Move, please sir.” you said, clenching around him to get your point across. When he started moving it felt like a portal to the heavens, the way he moved inside you was like he was made for you. He sped up, hammering inside as you screamed for him. “Wrap your arms around me. That’s it baby, good job” he moaned into your ear the words made you clasp around him. He was fucking you like a god. He thrust up into you in long hard strokes; ones that had your legs shaking, your voice trembling, lewd sounds slipping off both your hips.

You screamed his name for what felt like the hundredth time, but that didn’t stop him from fucking you faster each time his name fell off of your lips until finally. “Aaron!” you moaned louder than ever tightening around him; letting what felt like every ounce of cum in your body spill out and onto him. You buried your head in his shoulders. You stayed like that for a few moments, his thrusts softening as he slowly pumped you full of him. Slowly he pulled out ass he kissed you.

You were both dishevelled until you remembered your ear pieces, repositioning yours you pressed slowly to turn it on. You’re both bombarded by the worried voices of your colleagues. “Where are you guys? We caught him, he fled to his house from the storage units?” You heard Spencer speak, “Guys? Are you there?” Kate followed and you finally spoke, “We’re okay,” you said, “I got stuck in a unit because my flashlight broke and when Hotch came for me we both ended up trapped. We didn’t hear you guys there’s barely any signal in this box.” You said, continuing on. Slowly smacking Aaron’s shoulder as he stifled a laugh.

“Oh, okay do you want us to come get you?” Spencer once again spoke, “That’d be great, Spence.” you said before Aaron finally speaks, “We’re in unit 1713, Thanks Reid.” The conversation ends as you pick up your clothes.

Before you were dressed Hotch stopped you, pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket he knelt again, cleaning you up before helping you slide your pants on. While he buttons you up you slide your shirt and vest back on. Just in time since you hear feet scraping the pavement and you realise they’re there. Slowly, you and Aaron kiss, pulling away just before the team opens the door.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #fanfiction #praise k!nk #praise and degredation #degrading k1nk #sir kink #fanfic

667 notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 1 year

Note

Joel/Reader

Free Use - Joel fucking the reader while she’s doing some other task like cooking. They have an agreement that he can fuck her whenever he likes so he just slides into her without preamble 😭

Making dinner (free use)

700 words, Joel x f!Reader.

A/N: The way I said hell yeah out loud . . . You had me at “without preamble.” Click the "#free use!Joel☠️" tag for more. Wanna use Joel? Free Use HCs (post-outbreak/TLOU).

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ Unsafe PIV, consent for free use has been pre-established, pre or non-outbreak. Master List

You’re making dinner for Joel’s birthday and expect him home any minute. Tommy will be staying for dinner, too. You’re wearing Joel’s favorite sundress, the form-fitting one that drives him wild, with no bra. He’s been working with his hands this week, really building something himself, as opposed to overseeing other workers. You love seeing Joel when he gets home from a hands-on job. Sleeves rolled up, shirt blotched with perspiration, forearms smudged with dirt. You get wet just thinking about it and even wetter when the truck pulls into the driveway.

When the guys walk in, they’re as dirty as you expect. Joel gives you a little kiss hello and Tommy greets you politely. The only shower is upstairs, and Joel says Tommy can use it first. Meanwhile, Joel goes to put his tools away in the garage. The door closes again, then Joel’s boots are slow and heavy on the linoleum as he crosses the kitchen. You glance up from the potatoes you’re slicing, and he’s unfastening his belt as he walks. His lips part as he looks you up and down like a piece of meat.

You keep chopping the potatoes while Joel washes his hands right next to you, his jeans grazing your dress. He dries his hands on a lemon-print dish towel, then throws it down on the counter and gets in your space. The shower turns on upstairs. Joel grabs your ass with a quiet “Mmmm.” He steps behind you, crowding you against the counter, and you feel him hard against your ass. He inhales your hair. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day” he whispers to himself in a near-growl. You keep chopping, but slow the knife as his hands hook around your thighs. His large fingers skim up your legs and take your dress with them. He leaves your dress resting on top of your ass, now clad only in a thong. He rocks onto his tiptoes as he frees his stiff cock from his pants. His boot gently kicks the inside of your sandal, prompting you to spread your legs a little more. Then, he pushes your thong out of the way with his pinky, nestles his tip at your dripping entrance, and begins to push inside.

He wraps an arm around your waist, giving you a whiff of sawdust mixed with sweat. His masculine scent never fails to make you weak in the knees. His arm tightens around you, then his stiff manhood plunges into you. You gasp softly as his girth parts your core. You pause your task for only a moment, taking a deep breath as your bodies are joined. His cock retreats, then sinks even deeper into you, bottoming out with a grunt. He gropes your breast, and your nipple hardens. You start chopping the vegetables again.

Joel buries his cock inside you, jerking himself off with your tight, wet cunt while you cook. He growls and grunts and gropes where he wants. His thrusts intensify and the momentum propels you onto your tiptoes. His fingers dig into your hips and his strong hands hold you down while his thick cock fills you up again and again.

The shower water turns off upstairs. Joel quickens his pace, and both his big arms tighten around you as he pistons into you. This isn’t for your pleasure, not at all, but the intensity of the situation, the strength of his arms around you, the waft of his scent, it all comes together and something rapidly builds within you. Your core tightens, his breath becomes ragged, and he twitches inside you. He pulls out all but his massive tip, then slams into you again, filling you to the brim. His cock pulses powerfully, tipping you over the edge into your own climax, and you let the knife clatter into the sink. Joel holds you down on his cock as he comes and you clench around him.

The bathroom door opens upstairs. Joel slides out of you and puts his cock away as Tommy’s footsteps start down the stairs. Joel’s cum trickles out of you and he hands you the lemon-print dish towel. Your face burns as you quickly wipe your inner thighs. When Tommy walks into the kitchen, you’re all disheveled and your dress is filthy from Joel’s arms.

If you like this one, I recommend Speakeasy, Speakeasy Bartender, and Picnic Table.

all Joel - @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea i feel like I'm leaving someone off who asked lmk if you still need on

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#free use!joel #free use!joel miller #free use!Joel☠️

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vaultdwellerbarbie · 1 month

Text

happiness is a butterfly

(gif credit to junkfoodcinemas on tumblr) :-)

cooper adams (trap)/f!reader (5.5k wc)

summary cooper keeps his promise to return your security clearance card after escaping police custody

content warnings smut, unsafe sex, morally dubious main character, mentions of murder and violence, guns, not really cheating but still kinda cheating i guess, dark i guess but everything is consensual

i know that this is like a twisters blog but i needed to get this off of my chest i don't have any other blogs sorry to everyone who has my post notifications on i'm in love with josh hartnett fun fact. i actually giggled out loud in the movie theater when he took his shirt off it was kind of humiliating. this is named after the lana del rey song, but has notes of velvet crowbar and dark but just a game too.

When you and everyone else you worked with were informed that Lady Raven’s show was going to be used as a rouse to catch The Butcher, a man who had been keeping everyone you knew awake well into the night for quite some time, you weren’t so sure that you were equipped to handle the responsibilities that you were being given.

Most people, when asked to picture a security guard, didn’t picture you. You weren’t intimidating, physically or in terms of your personality. You were rather disarming, but that unassumingness made you an asset because you were equipped to handle threats, you could fight back if need be, and you knew that most people would feel comfortable enough around you to not worry about doing something wrong like they would around a big, strong man.

That was the whole point of your role at the arena, you were undercover security. If you needed to take someone down, you were able to do so. If you needed to call something in, you were able to do so. It wasn’t exactly a unique position, plenty of security personnel worked in plain sight. Up until that meeting, you weren’t even so sure why so many people in your life were so concerned that you were putting yourself in danger.

You’d claim that it’s ‘really not even more dangerous than being a secret shopper at Target’, and for the most part, you never really got put in super dangerous situations. You were allowed to escort people off the premises, and if someone did get a little aggressive, there was often a way for it to be handled without you getting hurt. There were so many procedures in place that you were never worried.

It was difficult to not be worried when you were told that you were going to take part in taking down a serial killer, someone who you knew was killing people indiscriminately. Someone who you were being told was partially your responsibility, as security detail. When you were given your card, you felt as though it was going to play a part in your life in some way. You were just under the impression that way was something simple, though. It was important because it was going to be there during a day that you could tell your family about for years to come, surely?

Not so.

He was tall, charming in an awkward way, devilishly handsome, and one of the best sexual encounters that you had ever had in your life. You couldn’t forget the way that he pressed you against the wall, the way that he touched you wherever he pleased but wouldn’t let you even get a taste of him beyond one fleeting kiss when you agreed to lend him your card for the day. He had promised that he would get it back when he was certain that he was safe, and at the time you were too charmed by him to actually process what you were doing - who exactly you deemed it appropriate to get finger-fucked by at your job in return for him taking your one-way ticket throughout the arena.

The promise that he made you to return your card was never fulfilled, and when you saw on the television that The Butcher had been apprehended, you knew that it never would be.

There was a sick feeling in your stomach. You knew that you had willingly helped The Butcher, Cooper. But it didn’t really matter, did it? He was apprehended, he wasn’t going to hurt anyone else, and the young man that he had kidnapped had survived the encounter. Lady Raven never made it to her second show, the one that had sold out to begin with, but even she had made it out alive.

Still, that sick feeling grew - because you were almost disappointed.

Not disappointed that people had survived, it wasn’t that you thrived on chaos and wished to see more violence. You were disappointed because you wanted more from that encounter, you wanted to feel more than just his fingers, you wanted him to fulfill that promise that he had made to you to return his card. That promise had come with a lot more implications than just returning something that you weren’t going to need for work anymore now that he was caught. It made you feel sick because you knew who he was, what he was capable of, and you still found yourself wishing that you could feel his fingers digging into your hips again. You wished that you could touch him, at least once. It was so very wrong to wish something like that about him now that you knew who he was - but did you not know before?

Glancing away from the glow of the television in your dark room, you raised the fabric of the tank top covering your upper torso. His fingers had dug into your skin harshly, it almost felt like the ghost of them still existed on your skin even though you knew that couldn’t be possible.

A knock at the door shook you from your thoughts, but you were certain nobody should be knocking at this hour. Leaning forward, you opened the drawer of the coffee table and grabbed the small gun from inside of it, work-issued, something that you really weren’t supposed to fire when you weren’t on the clock. They should understand if you were about to be potentially murdered, right?

Standing up, you peered through the peep-hole only to find the one person who you were certain couldn’t actually be there. But he knocked again, and you were almost sure that he had somehow made eye contact with you through the hole in the door.

“How did you figure out where I live?” You asked, opening the door and letting him in before anyone could see what was happening. “And how are you here? I saw on the news that you were in custody.”

“Well, I was in custody.” He held up a small metal object, it looked like one of the spokes from a bike that he had bent. “I got out.”

“And my address, how’d you get my address?”

“You left your wallet sitting out, figured I’d return it to you.”

You watched as he pulled a wallet out, and it was unmistakably yours. How had you not noticed that you didn’t have your wallet? It must have been the chaos of the day. When the concert ended, you were all briefed and asked to go home, but you knew that there was more that needed to be done once it was over. You were supposed to return for the second concert once they had done a sweep of the building to make sure that nobody was hiding out in there, but that had never happened.

“I shouldn’t have let you into my house.” You acknowledged, taking the wallet from his hands and tossing it behind him onto the coffee table. “But I did.”

“You did. Why?”

“You made a promise, I figure it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to keep your promise.”

Cooper hummed in agreement, pulling the small white card out from his pocket and holding it out for you. Just as you went to grab it, he pulled it back. “I’ll give this back to you, but I want something in exchange.”

“What’s that?”

“How much did the news actually tell you?”

“Just that you were apprehended, that you have a family.”

“It was my wife who turned me in, I can’t go back to that house. I can’t hide away with my children, I can’t even see them again.” He looked angry, you could see that, but his anger wasn’t with you. “I can’t run away because they’ll just look for me, but you…”

“Cooper…”

“They won’t suspect that I’m with you, they don’t even know that I know you.”

That much was true, he had pulled you into an area with no security cameras. You had already been there, and even if they questioned you, you doubted that they were actually going to be able to figure out that you’d been working with Cooper in any capacity. Still…

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Well, I don’t have any clothes in your size, so I’d have to buy those. I don’t have enough food for two, or anything for you to shower with. It would look really weird if I all of a sudden had a bunch of ATM withdrawals or mens clothes on my bank statement since they have you entering a room I was in on camera.”

“I’ll give you cash.”

“Alright, fine. But what if they come here?”

“Why would they come here?”

“At home visit. This is the FBI, they’re thorough.”

“They’re not going to come here, I walked into a lot of rooms with a lot of people. I doubt that they’re going to interview everyone, and there were no identifiers on the card you gave me.”

Glancing back over at the card, you knew that he was right, but there were still flaws.

“You’re going to get caught, and then we’re both going to be put in jail. Someone gave you a card, they know that much.”

“No, they knew that I had a card. I could have stolen that from anyone, I stole a clearance pass from someone - is he under investigation too?” He stepped forward, holding the card out for you. There were a lot of different ways he could have played this, and you weren’t foolish enough to think that he actually liked you as a person - this man just wanted to lay low and survive, even though you had been told that he wasn’t the type of person who really wanted to survive to begin with. You could only imagine that he was driven by pure spite, but by god were his manipulation tactics working. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You can see that I’ve kept my promises to you.”

“Yeah, with conditions.” You replied, but you doubted that he was going to kill you. Unless something randomly snapped in him, you had done nothing to provoke him and he, technically, needed you. He couldn’t go out in public, and he really needed to lay low. Killing you would cut off any resource he has, and he would have to come up with some way for your neighbors to not get suspicious. Cooper wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill you even if he wanted to, since you were so willing to comply with him for some reason that you couldn’t quite figure out. “What do you gain from this?”

“I live, I fuck Rachel over just like she did to me.”

“The anonymous tip was her, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“Right.”

Sighing, you fought with yourself in your mind for a few moments. This was wrong, incredibly wrong. This man was a serial killer, he had done awful things. You had a gun and you could kill him, he couldn’t fight back in time when he had nothing to protect him. At the very least, you could incapacitate him and call police. It would be the right thing to do, the moral thing to do. Yet, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but remember the feeling of his hand on your hips, of his fingers inside of you, of his brief and taunting kiss. You wanted to do the moral thing, but you couldn’t do it.

“I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I knew you’d make the right choice.” Taking the card from his hand, you glanced it over before setting it down.

“Do you want something to drink? I have water, lemonade, whatever. Make yourself at home, I guess.” Glancing toward the living room, you moved to turn the television off, figuring it probably wouldn’t be advisable to have the news on anymore. Flicking the light on, you pointed toward the hallway. “I’ve got a small house and I live alone, you can sleep on the couch. My room’s back there.”

“I’ll take a water, and the couch will be just fine.”

Nodding, you walked to the kitchen and grabbed him a bottled water, but the couch couldn’t be right, you wouldn’t be comfortable with it. “Couch isn’t fine, you can sleep with me.”

“What’s wrong with the couch?”

“I have a giant sliding glass door, I’m shocked you didn’t just break in.” He finally turned to look at it, it was very close to your couch. “I’ll work on covering it up, but you’re just going to have to sleep with me.”

“My pleasure.”

Your heart beat sped up for a second, but you brushed it aside and handed him the water, your fingers brushing his for a second. You couldn’t have sex with him, not tonight anyway. You wanted to, desperately, but your mind was running a mile a minute and you were certain his was too, considering. Everything about this felt like a fever dream, you were harboring a serial killer fugitive in your home for what reason? Because he was hot and good with his fingers? It was shameful, sinful, but not enough that you could stop it from happening.

“Promise me again that you’re not going to kill me.” You said, walking him to your room and opening up the drawer where you typically kept your gun at night. Though you lived in a relatively safe area, you were always rather cautious. Supposedly. Maybe it wasn’t very cautious to let a known serial killer lay low in your home.

“I promise I’m not going to kill you.” He stepped closer to you, his thumb on your chin as he tilted your head so you were looking into his eyes. There was a coldness in them that contrasted the naturally warm brown color that his eyes had, it probably should have turned you off. You were pretty sure it was impossible for you to be turned off by him, though. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe that you kinda need me for at least a little while, so yes.”

“That hurts.” He replied, and for just a moment you wanted to smile - he was kind of funny, but you weren’t sure that he was trying to be funny.

Cooper’s movements were swift, it was as though he was sealing his promise with a kiss just as he had the last one. But this one was deeper, much longer than the kiss that left you yearning for more in the supply closet where you had forgotten what you were even looking for. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back urged you to move closer to him, his taut frame pressed against yours in a way that made you forget every pesky worry about safety and morality. Cooper’s hand ventured lower, a gasp escaping your lips upon feeling him squeezing your backside.

But he pulled away, and he actually had the nerve to laugh at you for pouting before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“You’re gonna need to strip, you’re not sleeping in my clean sheets in your outside clothes.”

“These aren’t even my clothes, I took them.”

“That’s even worse. I’ll get you new clothes tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to see me strip?”

“I do want to see you strip, but no. Please?”

The rest of the evening was… uneventful. You should know, since you were awake for most of it.

Despite having the assurance of your gun being beside you, and knowing that logically there really was nothing this man could gain from killing you, you also knew that this was a terrible idea. He needed you for now, and probably for a little while, but were you just delaying the inevitable? People were going to assume he fled the country after a couple of months, and were you really even capable of laying that low for a couple of months just so he could kill you when he no longer needed you? But would he even want to kill you? He had the option to earlier in the arena, he had no idea at the time that it would have been shooting himself in the foot if he did. He knew that you would figure out who he was, and somehow he knew that you weren’t going to turn him in.

Even with the belief that he, at the very least, wouldn’t kill you for a while - was this right? Surely, no. He was a serial killer, he was surviving predominantly so he could kill someone who had wronged him. This wasn’t someone who was at large for robbing a bank to feed his family, this was someone who was at large for murdering people and who was hoping to kill one member of his family. Still, it struck you as interesting that it was only one member. He seemed to care about his children in a genuine capacity, you had seen him with his daughter. At the very least, he had a capacity for human emotion, but did that simply make him more dangerous than he already was?

Sleep didn’t come easy for you. If it wasn’t a worry that the man beside you was going to turn on you on a dime and kill you two months down the road, it was your moral arguments about how you shouldn’t have even let this man into your house - how the right thing to do would be calling the police now that he was asleep beside you. If it wasn’t that, it was thoughts of how gruesome the murders had been, and a morbid curiosity about why he had done what he had done and what had driven him. You’d heard the profile, you knew that it had a lot to do with how he was raised and the issues that he had with his mother, but you wanted to know more - you wanted to hear from his own mouth what it was that drove him to do the things that he did in the manner that he did them.

Eventually, you were able to fall asleep. Not that you slept for long, because just the slightest stir beside you caused you to wake up. But you did get a few hours of sleep, and those few hours translated into a sluggish day where you picked up men’s clothing and foods that you wouldn’t normally eat and hoped beyond all hope that someone you knew wasn’t going to be there. You were lucky that the arena was closed until further notice - with pay, thankfully - since it was still considered an active crime scene since Cooper was still at large.

When you returned back, he was still right where you left him and seemingly relieved to change into something that didn’t belong to someone else. While he took care of himself, you took care of dinner. It was odd enough cooking for two people when you were used to just being alone, but it was even weirder knowing what the person who you were cooking for was capable of. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually question if what you were doing was morally okay or not - it wasn’t. It was not morally okay, you had ample opportunity to turn him in without worry of being killed for doing it and you chose not to. And why not? Because he was hot? Because you wanted to have sex with him? What kind of reason was that? At some point, you really just got tired of arguing with yourself in your mind and focused instead on whether you were actually going to have sex with him.

Sure, he fingered you one time, but he did that so you’d do him a favor. Sure, he’d kissed you since then, but was that just a thank you for helping him? And, sure, he was driven to kill Rachel - but it wasn’t like he was technically divorced. Killing his wife was probably a lot more severe and permanent than divorcing her, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was looking to have sex with someone who he had just meant. At some point, you had to consider your own morality in ensuring that - if that happened - it wasn’t solely because he wanted somewhere to stay.

Once you had finished cooking, you took the opportunity to install the curtains that you had purchased while you were away. It was true that you had a fence in your backyard, but it was also true that you were still worried that - being that you were on camera in the same room as Cooper - you were being monitored, or at risk of being monitored. You’d intended on getting curtains for the glass door anyway, some sort of worry about people peeping through the glass. Of course, you hadn’t accounted for purposefully letting the danger inside of your home and deciding to look past the amorality of it.

“Need some help with that?”

“I’m good.”

“Looks like you need some help with that.” Cooper moved with such ease, adjusting the curtains so they were installed in the right place. He was incredibly tall, and had no qualms with leaning so closely behind you that you could absolutely feel him pressed against your back. It sent a shiver up your spine, but that only made him lean just a little bit closer.

When he was finished, you would expect that he’d move away. Instead, you felt his large hands move down to your hips, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched his reflection in the glass. He could see you, he was looking right at you, and you wanted to stop him and remind him that you made dinner, but the feeling of his lips against your neck had you forgetting anything else that was lingering in your mind.

“You don’t have to have sex with me just so you have a place to stay, you know.”

“I had other ways of getting your help, I’m not looking for a favor.” He replied, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin on your neck. “Unless you don’t want to… but I feel like you do.”

“I do want to,” You replied, but turned around to face him anyway. He left his hands on your hips, not bothering to move away from you. He was so close to you, you could smell the soap that he had just used in the shower on him when you looked at him. “After we eat, I spent extra money on food for two.”

“After we eat, then.”

Cooper leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you had a difficult time controlling your body’s unavoidable attraction to the man. Wetness still lingered on your neck from his mouth, and all you could focus on was how badly you wanted to look down and confirm that he wanted this just as badly as you did. But he pulled away, giving you exactly what you had asked for and joining you for dinner.

It was tense and somewhat awkward to sit down at eat with him, but it also seemed like something was was awkward for him, too. Not because he was thinking about you, or because he was even thinking about being on the run, but because he was used to eating meals with his children. Regardless of who he was, regardless of what he was capable of, it was inarguable that he cared about his children. You were certain that his mind was simply lingering on them, on what they were doing and what they were thinking of him at this very moment. Despite knowing that he was The Butcher, knowing that he really didn’t deserve much sympathy since he had made the decision to dow hat he had done, you still felt bad to see a man so desperately yearning to be with his children again. A yearning that you both knew was never going to be fulfilled because, even if he could find a way to get in contact with them again, it was unlikely that they were going to want to be in contact with him knowing what he had done, what he planned on doing to their other parent in an act of revenge.

By the time you were finished eating, the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted the man sitting in front of you - and how badly you were sure he wanted to distract himself from whatever thoughts were lingering in the back of his mind. Trying to wash the dishes lasted about two seconds before he was behind you again, and this time you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than give in.

“Finish cleaning.”

“But-”

“Finish cleaning or we won’t do anything.” He responded, but made no effort to make it easier on you as he pulled your hips against his, the rather apparent evidence that he wanted this as badly as you did pressing against your ass as you tried your best to continue washing the dishes that were in the sink. “Good girl.”

“You’re a tease.”

“Just organized.”

You knew he was organized, you knew it bothered him if things weren’t clean and tidy. Each of those things were discussed during the breakdown of the profile of the man, so you doubted that he was going to be much different from that while living under the same roof as him even if it was only temporary. You had no qualms with washing your dishes and keeping your house clean, you simply took issue with it when you were trying to do a chore and had his mouth against your skin.

It took you all of two minutes - a personal record - to have everything cleaned and to have him turning you around and lifting you onto the dry part of the cupboard. You knew that he was strong, how else would he have been able to effortlessly lift the people that he was kidnapping? It wasn’t a shock to you that he would have no issue in placing you on your own cupboard, but you simply whined out a complaint along the lines of ‘I just cleaned in here the other day’.

“You can clean again, I’m feeling impatient.”

“You really should help me clean since you’re not paying rent.”

“Sounds fair.”

Cooper seemingly was being honest about being impatient, wasting no time in pulling your shirt over your head and undoing the bra that was hooked at your back. He had a lot more ease with that than even you did sometimes, but you chose not to think too hard about it as you felt his lips against yours. He pressed himself in between your legs, spreading them a bit wider than was entirely comfortable for the muscles in your thighs, but that slight apprehension was entirely forgotten the moment you felt his hips grinding into yours.

A sigh left your throat, his hands complimenting the feeling nicely as he brought one to your chest, his thumb pressed against your nipple. He had quite large hands, but considering his overall stature, you weren’t very surprised by that. Your own hands got a bit adventurous, moving to undo his pants while he moved back slightly so you could do what it was that you wanted to do. Cooper helped you remove them, but you noted that he didn’t allow his pants to fall to the floor - that must be something that bothered him.

“Please take your shirt off.”

“Since you used your manners, I’d be happy to oblige you.” He responded, taking the shirt of but very neatly setting it down beside you. Your eyes locked on his, that familiar darkness still lingering in them as he looked at you. Bringing a hand up, he let you explore his torso, the warmth of his skin contrasting the coldness in his eyes - even when he seemed to be doing something intimate, there was never much warmth behind them. Not when he looked at you, anyway - you’d noticed that he looked very warmly at his daughter during the concert, it was something that made him stick out to you in the first place.

“I really need you to fuck me.”

Cooper huffed out a laugh at your bluntness, but wasted very little time in helping you get your pants undone and pulling them down your hips along with your panties. You watched him as he set them into a neat pile with his shirt, the coolness of the counter underneath you making you move a little bit closer to him. But any coldness that you still felt was gone soon thereafter. The head of his cock pushed against your clit first, a whimper leaving your lips as you felt him teasing you.

“So fucking wet, have you been thinking about this all day?”

“I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday.” You admitted, but you were certain that he knew that.

“I have too.” He responded, pushing inside of you a moment later and giving you very little time to process what he had said. Leaning forward fully, Cooper supported your body so you could press against him. He set a brutal pace, giving you very little time to adjust to the stretch of the size of a man of his stature. It was painful at first, but that pain was soothed by the feeling of his mouth against yours, by the sound of his moans filling your ears and reverberating against your lips.

The pain melted away into pleasure rather quickly, fingers absentmindedly roaming his body before settling on his forearm.

“You’re taking it so well, honey, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me.” Whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind were quickly forgotten as he pounded into you, and any remaining apprehensions in your own head were gone just as quickly as his were. “If I had time yesterday, I would have bent you over in that supply closet. You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck- I would have-”

“You’re sick for fucking me, you know that.” He was taunting you now, and he seemed to be getting off on it - in a weird way, you were too.

“I know.”

“But you love it anyway.”

“I do- feels so good.”

“I know, I know it does baby.” His taunts faded into coos, but his tone was still teasing and his hips were still snapping against yours with reckless abandon. Everything felt overwhelming, him inside of you, filling you more than anyone else ever could. His hand squeezing that part of your hip again, his hot breath against your lips - your breaths and moans fading together, and the feeling of the friction against your nipples as your chest was pressed tightly against his. It was all too much, but somehow not enough; you really couldn’t get enough of him. “But now I can have you whenever I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes-” You let out a squeal at a particularly harsh thrust, a coil building in your stomach as you felt one of his hands roaming down your skin before he pressed a finger against your clit. “Whenever you want.”

“Such a good girl, I think you deserve to cum. You’ve been so accommodating, so sweet.”

“Please-”

Cooper’s finger sped up against your clit, your eyes shutting and your head falling against his chest as he brought you over the edge. He let you ride out your orgasm before pulling out to finish against your stomach, bringing his fingers down to collect the cum on your skin. Your eyes felt clouded over as you opened them, gazing into his that were also still blown out with lust. He watched as you took his fingers into your mouth, his own lips slightly ajar as he took in the sight of you taking the taste of him onto your tongue.

“Let’s get you into the bath.”

By the time that you had finished your shower - a shower that was riddled with mistakes as your legs were just a little bit shaky, he had placed all of your clothes into the washer and had seemingly dug through your drawers to find you some pajamas. It was definitely not the polite thing to do, but you weren’t sure what you expected from him.

This issue with him was, as you got back into bed with him and let him hold you - which, you weren’t sure if it was more for you or for him - was that he was so normal. You knew there were things wrong with him, but he appeared so normal and tame that you were almost able to forget them. But you knew about them, you knew what was wrong with him and you knew that you were just as bad for hiding him from the police, for allowing him a place in your life even though you were well-aware of the awful things that he did, the awful things that he was planning on doing in the future.

Yet, as you felt his fingers brushing through your hair and the warmth of his body against your own, there was no part of you that wanted to change the decisions that you had made regardless of the risk and amorality of it all.

#cooper adams x reader #josh hartnett x reader #josh hartnett #cooper adams #fanfiction #trap 2024 fanfiction #i'm mentally okay i guess

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vivwritescrappythings · 6 months

Text

Yours

joel miller x fem!reader

Finally finishing the request for a Joel Miller fic inspired by "Jealous" by Nick Jonas for @prettyinpunk85 (I hope you like it)

You get new neighbors in Jackson, Joel doesn't like how much attention they pay to you so he decides to teach them a lesson.

tw: afab and fem reader, p in v sex, alludes to curvy reader, age gap (twenty years), exhibitionism, some dubcon, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex (do as i say not as fanfic writes), oral (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, jealous joel, written from joel's perspective (may be bad)

Word Count: 4.8k

MDNI

masterlist

—

Joel didn’t know what to do with himself when you’d happily announced that you had new neighbors. The house next to his in Jackson had been empty for some time, it was yours until you decided to move in with him and Ellie. He was hoping the neighbors would be a family, or maybe some older survivors. Really, someone you could be friends with, he knew you were way too extroverted for just his company.

But instead the new neighbors were his nightmare: two guys–in their twenties.

You were young for Joel, he knew that. Part of him had always attributed your interest in him to the fact that choices were limited in the zombie apocalypse. He hadn’t even known how to flirt with you, awkwardly leaving tattered books he had found during supply runs on your front porch, sometimes accompanied by wilted wildflowers. One day he had left you a bookshelf he’d built, endless hours spent in his studio sanding the wood to perfection and carving flowers into the border. You had to ask him to come over to help you move it inside.

That was over two years ago, and he still had no clue why a pretty thing like you had decided to even talk to him, let alone be with him. To be honest, no one else in Jackson understood it, either. You worked at the small bakery on Main Street and wanted to convert one of the buildings into a library. You liked to sew pretty dresses and planted superficial flowers outside of the house in the summertime.

Joel was nothing of the sort, keeping everyone at an arm’s length aside from Tommy and Ellie. He stayed on the fringes of community events, always present but never participating. Ellie was loud enough for the both of them, boisterous and friendly and everything he wasn’t. He was happy to watch her thrive.

So the first time she asked him to go to the bakery so she could hang out with a friend, he reluctantly agreed. He’d introduced himself to you like a complete idiot, blushing when you laughed and informed him that you were neighbors. Joel had become enamored with you from the second he saw your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the edges and your cheeks lifted. He could’ve died a happy man right there at the counter.

From then on, he claimed that bakery visits were firmly his responsibility.

He sucked up every piece of information you gave him, starting with your favorite items at the shop and spiraling until he knew that you loved wildflowers and what books you liked to read. Joel was greedy, he wanted to know everything about you–he wanted to be the only person that knew everything about you.

That was when he started leaving you gifts at your door, and the rest was history.

So when you swatted his hand away from the cooling cookies on the rack in the kitchen, his brown eyes regarded you with betrayal. “They’re for the neighbors,” you informed him, untying your cute, frilly little apron and hanging it on the hook he’d installed.

The neighbors.

They had already become adversaries in a war that only he knew existed. Joel sighed, heavy boots plodding against the floor until he could wrap his arms around your waist and pull your back to his chest. “Now why are you giving the neighbors my cookies?” he asked, nuzzling the tip of his nose against your temple.

“To be friendly, Joel,” you said with a giggle, turning in his arms to look up at him. His big, scarred hands were on the small of your back, fingertips rubbing gentle circles through your shirt. He swore his heart stopped every time you looked up at him, your thick eyelashes fluttering as your lips quirked into a smile. “Something that you are unfamiliar with.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “M’friendly,” he protested, pecking you on the lips as though it would prove his point.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, leaning up and kissing the corner of his lip once before squirming out of his grip. You retrieved one of the few plates that didn’t have a chip missing from the cabinet, transferring the cookies onto it with care. “It took you how many months to talk to me?”

Even if the question wasn’t rhetorical, he decided to treat it that way. He moved closer to you, a possessive hand curling around your waist and lips meeting your shoulder. “To prove you wrong, I’ll come with you to introduce ourselves to the neighbors.” He wanted to keep an eye on them, let them know that his pretty girlfriend was in fact taken before they got any wrong ideas.

Your brow furrowed, immediately suspicious of his motives. “Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He smiled, trying to be sweet and smooth like he used to be when he was younger. Before everything. “Maybe I just want to be nice, wildflower. Ever thought of that?”

Your eyes dragging across him let him know that you weren’t convinced. The two of you stared at one another, waiting to see who would cave first. Apparently it was you. “Fine, but I know you’re up to something.”

Joel’s hand was firmly planted on the small of your back as you stepped out into the afternoon sun, the whole world looking like it was dipped in gold. You went up the rickety porch stairs first, Joel only a half step behind you as you adjusted the plate to one hand to knock on the door.

He was staring at the way the blue paint was starting to peel, thinking about how no self-respecting man would let his house fall into disrepair like that. No mind that they had only moved in a few days ago, they should’ve repainted the front door by now–it was people’s first impression whenever they walked up to the house.

It took a moment after you knocked for the door to swing open, two blonde idiots who looked like they were straight out of a magazine advertisement standing on the other side. Their blue eyes lit up when they saw you, easy smiles gracing their features like they hadn’t been battle-hardened by the outbreak.

Not like Joel was.

Joel’s fingers dug into your back, his expression hardening. They tempered their excitement when they saw him, standing so close to you that he could practically be your shadow.

He loathed the way they were looking at you, his jaw set tight and flexing beneath his beard. You were talking, he could hear the notes of your voice like you were speaking underwater–he was too focused on the dopey smiles in front of you to even pay attention to what was being said. You made them laugh, they said something back to you. Probably their names if he had to guess.

Before he even realized, you were tugging him back down their porch steps and into your shared home, flitting away to make Joel his own personal batch of cookies like nothing had happened.

–

Three times that week he had come home to find them loitering outside the front door or talking to you along the edge of the freshly painted picket fence. They were always showering you with compliments, be it about your cookies or the flowers you’d carefully planted in the boxes Joel had built you. They scattered whenever Joel was there, making excuses about chores that needed to get done or errands that needed to be finished.

But he knew better.

Of course, you talked about the nice boys next door over dinner, it took everything in him to not immediately scowl at the mention of them. The fact that you referred to them as boys was laughable, they were closer to your age than he was—maybe a few years difference between you at most. Nothing compared to his whopping couple decades. He tried to brush the thought away as quickly as it sprouted.

He humored you, knowing that you just thought that everyone was kind and friendly and honest because you were. That was what he loved about you.

–

The last straw was when he was out in the back installing a porch swing for you to read on. They were doing something, near enough to the tall fence splitting the yards that he could hear them talking as clear as day.

Joel almost went over there to give them a piece of his mind, listening to them speculate about why you were with him. They were laughing as they bet that he couldn’t even get it up anymore, that there was no way he was taking care of you like a man was supposed to.

He was old, angry. And you… you weren’t.

He was seething by the time they finished up and went into their house, his hands nearly shaking when he finished screwing the brackets into the roof. Back in the QZ, Joel would have probably fought them—killed them, if he was honest with himself.

It would be easy to bust down their door and give them his retribution, he wasn’t always the domesticated beast he’d become for you. But nevertheless, he sucked it up. You would be devastated if he fought with them, as much as he would love to feel their skin split under his knuckles. He couldn’t do that to you.

—

It was a few evenings later that he got what he wanted: an opportunity for his revenge. You were on the porch swing with him, the two of you nestled together in the orange rays of the sunset. You both were reading, Joel’s arm tucked around your shoulders so your chin was pressed against his bicep.

You always were fully immersed in your books, an earthquake could happen and you would have no clue. So you didn’t hear your neighbors’ back door slide open, but Joel did.

He barely moved, didn’t bother to say a word as his broad hand moved from cupping your shoulder to gently graze around the side of your breast. It was a lazy day for the two of you, you were only dressed in one of Joel’s flannels and pajama shorts that were so loose around your thighs you may as well have never put them on.

You immediately shivered at his touch, your thumb slipping between the pages of your book to hold your place. “Joel, the neighbors,” you whispered, twisting so you could look up at him.

“Went on a hunting trip, they’re not home,” he said loud enough for them to hear. Hopefully they would have the good sense to shut up. His thumb circled your already stiff nipple, a smirk stretching across his features conspiratorially. “C’mon, Ellie’s at a friend’s house and no one’s here—let’s test out the porch swing.”

Your lips were already parted, the heat building on the back of your neck so intense Joel could feel it through his shirt. “Joel,” you whined in the way that made him get hard as a fucking rock in his pants.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly playing dumb as though he hadn’t started it.

You pouted, your brow furrowing and bottom lip jutting out as you arched your tit further into his hand. He acquiesced immediately—he always did—pinching your nipple through the well worn fabric of his flannel. His reward was a soft moan from you, your body both melting into and arching away from his.

“What’s my girl want?” Joel asked, his voice a deep rasp as he stamped his lips against your temple. The small of your back was pressed against his oblique, your cheek squishing into his collarbone as he watched your thick thighs press together. He kept toying with your nipple, his free hand setting his book aside and pulling yours from your clutch. “C’mon, you gotta tell me. Can’t read minds.”

You huffed, you always hated it when he made you ask for what you wanted. “Joel please,” you whined, pressing your heels against the cushion that covered the wooden seat and sitting up so you were flush against him.

“Please what?” His free hand skimmed down your side, snapping the stretched-out, elastic waistband of your shorts. It made you squeak, a quiet giggle coming from your throat.

“God, please just touch me,” you whined, your impatience making him chuckle darkly. His hand moved from your waist, tracing over the pudge of your stomach and dipping into your loose sleep shorts. There was nothing beneath, just your soft skin and the curly patch of hair on your pubic bone.

“No panties? You slut,” Joel teased, his fingers traveling even further down until they sunk into your cunt. You were wet and warm, almost scalding his skin as he parted the lips of your sex to find your swollen clit. “And already so soaked.”

You moaned, a hand winding around his bicep as your back arched. He kissed the crown of your head as he rubbed your clit between the pads of his pointer and middle fingers, slow and soft. He knew you’d complain, beg him for more. He just wondered how long it would take until you did.

Not long at all, it was maybe half a minute when you rocked your hips impatiently against his hand. “Joel, you’re being mean.” You were loud, louder than you would ever mean to be with the threat of someone possibly catching you.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Mean? Not true,” he countered, increasing the pressure he was putting on your clit. If he strained his ears he could hear how wet you were, a quiet squelching noise barely muffled by the fabric of your shorts. You pressed your hips further against his hand, your teeth digging into your lower lip to keep your noises to a minimum.

He dipped to gather more slick at your fluttering entrance, teasing it for a moment before returning to your clit. You were being so good for him, so sweet. His other hand unbuttoned the flannel you were wearing down to your navel, freeing your breast for him to knead and squeeze in his broad palm.

Your eyebrows bunched together, your lips parting as your gaze was stuck on where his hand disappeared beneath your shorts. “Feeling good?” he asked, relishing in your moan of agreement as you nodded.

Joel smirked, pulling his hand from your shorts. “No–oh my god,” you protested, nearly up in arms. If looks could kill, he would be struck dead. He stood, his dark eyes briefly looking over the fence to see the neighbors still on their porch, their jaws dropped to their chests.

His smile widened as he sank to his knees in front of you, your protests dropping off as you lifted your hips so he could take your shorts off. A wicked grin stretched on your features, you sucked your bottom lip back into your mouth as your gaze roved over him. You settled so your ass was almost hanging off the porch swing, spreading your legs without Joel having to direct you to do so.

“You want me to eat this pretty pussy of yours?” he asked, rough hands smoothing along the insides of your soft thighs. Joel wasn’t a man with a weakness for pretty things, but there was something about your slick and puffy pussy dripping for him that made his heart nearly stop.

“Fuck, please, Joel.” He loved the way you begged.

Joel pressed his mouth to the soaking mess of your sex, moaning at your salty-sweet taste on his tongue. He could never get enough of you, settling one leg over the curve of his shoulder as his other hand pressed your knee to your chest. The sun was shining in his eyes, but he didn’t let it stop him from looking up at your face. He lapped at your cunt with firm, long strokes, practically drinking from you.

In a moment of generosity, he pressed the middle and ring finger of his free hand knuckle-deep in your pussy, pulling a loud and broken moan from your chest. He was smiling into your pussy, suckling at your swollen clit as he pumped his fingers into you.

Your fingers tangled into his dark brown curls, grabbing at them in a way that sent shivers down his spine as you pulled his head flush against you. Joel loved the way your soft thighs pressed against his ears, almost muffling the sweet sounds falling from your pretty lips. Almost. Being outside had made you reckless, the promise of Ellie and the neighbors being gone letting you reach a volume that he hadn’t heard in a long time.

Of course, Joel knew better. He ate you like a starving man, proud that every sound you made was heard by the two men–boys–sitting on the other side of the fence.

His knees on the concrete ached, his back protesting being curled so he could keep his mouth pressed tightly against your weepy cunt. The pain was worth it, every second of it was worth it just to make you fall apart. Just to remind the world that you were his and his alone.

Your head had fallen back to rest on the bench, your eyes scrunched closed as you gasped. Joel’s fingers crooked inside of you, finding the spongy spot at the front of your cunt. It made you writhe, the hand keeping you spread apart for him pinning you down and forcing you to be somewhat still as he pressed at that spot mercilessly. His eyes remained on you as much as they could, taking in every heaving breath and the way your breasts moved under the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt.

It was only moments more until you were coming apart at the seams. You’d squirmed out of his hold, your heels digging into his broad back. Your legs clamped around his head, your back nearly broken with an arch. The sound you made was almost wounded, a desperate cry of his name as your legs spasmed and you practically gushed over his hand.

He worked you through the aftershocks, your pussy fluttering deliciously around his thick fingers. Your hold on his hair loosened just enough for him to pull away, mouthing at the crease between your thigh and your cunt. You came back to yourself, breathing again as your legs relaxed to rest on his shoulder. He peppered sticky, wet kisses on your inner thighs.

“Joel, oh my god,” you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face as you panted. A laugh left your chest, making him grin like an idiot as he rested his facial-hair covered cheek against your leg and caught his breath.

“Clean these up for me,” he requested, his soaked fingertips now pressing at her bottom lip. They glistened in the afternoon sunlight, a sticky film coating the entirety of them. You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment, your bratty streak coming through before you submitted and opened your mouth to let his fingers slide against your warm tongue.

You sealed your lips around them, sucking your slick off earnestly and rolling your tongue along his digits. “What a good girl, sucking on my fingers like that,” Joel said as he stood, making eye contact with the neighbors before looking back down at you. His knees protested the movement, cracking a bit as he straightened.

He had to check to see if they were paying attention, the blush across their faces visible from across the yard.

A hum against his fingers brought Joel’s attention back to you. You watched him through your thick eyelashes, the sight alone making him feel like he was going to blow his load.

Your hands found the tie at his sweatpants, pulling the bow apart impatiently. You let go of his fingers with a pop, your soft lips shiny with a mix of your spit and slick as you started to pull his sweatpants down. “Wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you said, almost sounding drunk on it as your fingers hooked in the elastic waist.

He couldn’t help his smirk, his hand caressing your cheek and jaw as he looked down at you. He could feel two sets of eyes burning into him as he let the silence hang for a moment. You were being so perfect for him and you didn’t even know the extent of it.

“Nuh uh, not tonight,” Joel said, stooping down to press a wet kiss to your forehead. Your whine of protest made his chest puff up with pride.

He shook his head with a smirk, kneeling down on the cracked concrete again. His poor knees–he would certainly regret the entire escapade tomorrow. Really, he wanted to get you up on his lap and have you ride him until you were crying–but he didn’t want to risk you seeing the neighbors. Or the neighbors seeing any more of you than the back of your head.

Grabbing you by the waist, he pulled you so your entire ass was hanging off the porch swing. The only thing keeping you from falling was his hands and your legs hooking around him for some stability. You were already grabbing at him, fingers twisting in the shirt he still wore. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Uh huh,” you panted desperately, nodding with a frantic look in your eye. “Please, Joel.”

He smiled, pushing his sweatpants down around his thighs and taking his cock into his hand. You moaned as he rubbed the tip of it along the seam of your pussy and pressed it against your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as the blunt head of his cock caught, Joel filled you with a quick slot of his hips.

Your head fell back, a whine pulling from your throat as you bore down around him. He almost lost his mind right there, no matter how many times you’d had sex you still were so tight. You both stilled, panting and gripping at one another as you become acquainted, blinking in the afternoon sun.

“God, I love this pussy,” Joel grunted, trying to talk you through it as he started thrusting gently. No matter how quiet he was in his normal life, as soon as he felt you squeezing around his cock he started running his mouth. The hinges of the swing creaked a little as it moved back and forth, his hands anchored to your hips.

He took you slow, wanting to savor the moment as much as possible. Bitten down grunts and grit teeth were met with your sweet mewls and dulcet moans as he split you apart. One of your hands reached for his, your fingers lacing with his before he pressed your knuckles onto the cushion of the swing. “Wanna hold my hand, sweet girl?” he asked, voice borderline condescending as he did.

You nodded pathetically, gasping every time he rutted inside of you. He’d reduced you to mush, partially formed words dying against your lips as he hit home against the spot inside you that always made your breath lock up in your chest.

“Who do you belong to?” Joel asked, squeezing your hand to get you to come back down to earth. You looked a mess, completely fucked out as you blinked slowly and took a deep breath. It took you a minute to really focus on him, your hand weakly squeezing back.

“You, Joel,” you answered, teeth scraping along your plump lower lip as you fisted the open flannel still draped around your shoulders.

He chuckled darkly, leaning down toward you as he kept up his almost machine-like pace. “Louder, be a good girl,” he murmured, pressing a wet and sloppy kiss to your throat. You clenched around him at the praise, it had always been one of your weaknesses.

“Joel, m’yours,” you gasped, words broken up by the reverb of his thrusts and the slap of his heavy balls against your ass.

He never had reason to doubt that he was who you wanted to be with, but the reassurance helped ground him. The whole week he’d been wondering if he was holding you back, if you actually wanted something else from life. But with the way you were taking his cock? The way you moaned for him? Hell, the way you looked at him was more than enough. There was no mistaking it for anything other than love.

“That’s right, you’re mine.” You shifted under him, the angle of your spine letting him hit deeper inside of you. His hand left your waist to grab the soft cheek of your ass, keeping you steady and supported. “No one else’s, right?”

“Yeah, Joel. Just yours.” The assurance was breathy, your voice faltering in your throat as you started to go rigid. You were looking up at Joel so sweetly, tears starting to glisten in your eyes as you tugged against the fabric of his flannel that you wore on the porch swing that he built you at his house. He had a mean possessive streak, but look at you–so happy to be his.

He lost himself. He worked on pure instinct, pistoning into you as he became blind with the desire to pin you down and fill you. You whined as he slammed into you, his sweaty forehead pressing against your sternum and his hands gripping you tight. He could feel you draw up like a spring beneath him.

You lurched on a wail, your cunt clenching around him so tightly that it almost hurt as you came. Joel moaned in sympathy with you, greedily taking in every expression you made beneath him. You whimpered and mumbled unintelligibly, your grip tightening around the hand you still clasped as your limbs locked up.

Joel lost all semblance of coordination and control, hitching up one of your thighs and driving himself deep into you. Instinct dictated his every move, overriding common sense as he grunted above you like an animal.

He thought his jaw would crack in half from how hard he was clenching it, mumbling nonsense to you through his teeth. There was a lurch deep in his stomach, his abdomen starting to flex as he fell out of his rhythm. It was only a moment more before it felt like his skin was too tight and everything was too hot and he was spilling inside you while groaning your name.

You were so full that you were leaking around him, come dripping down his balls and splattering on the concrete. Both of you were shaking, breathing each other’s air as your foreheads pressed together. Love filled your expression, making him smile tiredly.

You felt for him, your fingertips caressing his jaw as you brought him in for a gentle kiss. You always brought him back, reminded him to be soft with you when he nearly forgot. His tongue licked into your mouth for a moment before he ducked his head and lazily sucked at your breasts, his hips grinding against yours. You both hissed.

“Want me to run a bath for us?” he asked, his voice thick as he mouthed at the skin of your sternum.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding weakly as your fingers skated up from his beard to curl into his hair. It was sweaty at the nape, curling more violently than before.

He hummed good-naturedly, pulling out of you with a groan before tucking himself back away in his sweatpants. Joel looked down at the mess he made of you, his come already running down the crack of your ass and dripping onto the concrete. He moaned at the sight, even the shitty porn magazines he’d found on supply runs didn’t compare to this.

He helped you back into your shorts, a fist closing your flannel around your chest as you both shakily stood. You were like a newborn fawn, knees knocking together as you leaned into Joel’s chest. He chuckled breathily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and holding you close. A soft I love you was whispered against your temple, a gentle reply following from you.

Joel glanced over the fence as he walked you to the sliding glass door, a proud glint in his eye as he met the shocked stares of your new neighbors. He winked at them, squeezing you tighter before bringing you inside with him.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us x reader #the last of us #my first request!!

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