#walton what are you doing to me

[tina-armani]

[new-world-mutation]

This picture is insane

[manderleyfire]

– What's keeping us apart ain't even real, your daddy, his religion, it's got nothing to do with us. – It's not just his, it's mine too. I've got the same spirit in me, why don't you see that?

Alice Englert and Walton Goggins in Them That Follow (2019), dir. Dan Madison Savage & Brittany Poulton

[winepresswrath]

I'm causally interested in basically all Fallout ship combinations, but I really need Walton Goggins/evil wife. plz make this good for me, show.

[dichromaniac]

Why in the year 2024 of the Gogginsassaince do we not have a single gif of the Justified Season 6 Episode 1 pan shot of the reintroduction of one Boyd Crowder???

[clogginbloggingoggin]

walton goggins as david marlon (csi: crime scene investigation, 2006).

[crumb]

I love all the diy horror stuff being produced online these days but the issue I have with analogue horror, or any type of ARG or indie found footage horror series online, is that as soon as they delve into using actual voice overs or acting 9 times out of 10 I lose any suspension of disbelief because they tend to be amateurish and try hard. I appreciate the hard work that goes into these projects and everyone involved but there also has to be some discernment of "is this coming off goofy and dumb while we're trying to make everything else look super realistic?" I'm unsure if some of the people heading these projects are just getting anyone to do the voice overs, not doing auditions, not properly directing the actors and getting multiple varied takes, etc or what but it's rough to watch. if you're trying to make your horror series seem as real as possible then you need to make sure your VO actors are capable of doing naturalistic readings instead of sounding like 'yandere vampire dd/lg boyfriend ASMR'

[molinaesque]

"You know what inspires me? When there's no one in the house… and I'm all alone to do whatever I want." - Walton Goggins, Mulholland Distilling (2023) (x)

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

in a turn of events that surprises absolutely no one, i watched the gruff but oddly charming killing machine tear through an apocalyptic wasteland for 200+ years, finally confront one of the guys who helped turn the world into an apocalyptic wasteland in the first place, ignore all that, and instead cock a gun at him and say where's my fucking family, and my heart immediately latched onto him like a koala

FALLOUT SHOW MADE BRAIN GO BRRRRRRR

[tina-armani]

I've never thought in my entire life I would be so excited about a Walmart commercial.

[susiephone]

wtf is dracula daily?

i’ve seen a couple people ask this question on my posts about it, so i thought i’d go ahead and clear it up here!

ok so, the classic horror novel “dracula” is an epistolary novel - that means it’s told via letters, diary entries, ship logs, and news articles. (technically the term “epistolary novel” refers to works told solely through letters or emails, but many have expanded it to mean any work that is told via in-universe documents, hence why diaries and logs often get included as well. “frankenstein” is another classic example; the whole framing device is robert walton is recounting the story he heard from victor to his sister via letter. a modern example would be “several people are typing,” which is told via slack messages, or “the perks of being a wallflower,” which is told via letters from charlie to his anonymous pen pal, which is functionally more like you’re reading his diary.)

because of the nature of the narrative, we actually know the exact day nearly everything in dracula happens - the letters, news articles, diary entries, etc. are all dated.

“dracula daily” is a substack project where the novel is broken up into parts, with people who are subscribed to the project getting emails every day something in dracula happens - for example, the novel opens with jonathan harker’s journal entry on may 3, so on may 3, subscribers are emailed that entry. the action of dracula takes place from may 3 - november 6, plus an epilogue set some years later. the project started in 2021 (i think), but fucking BLEW UP in 2022, and they’re doing it again this year! lots of us are very excited - especially people like me who fell behind last time.

why not just read the book?

valid! due to some parts of dracula being told out of chronological order, dracula daily does reorder some things. for example, the first section of dracula is told entirely from jonathan harker’s pov, then the second section switches the pov to mina murray. their sections have some overlap in the timeline, so dracula daily jumps back and forth between their perspectives.

if you want to read the book as bram stoker intended, dracula daily may not be for you. but for a lot of people (myself included!), it breaks up a very long text into easily digestible chunks (....mostly. there is one entry that is 10k words), and the fact that it’s a big project means there are a lot of people reading along with you.

i think there’s also something valuable about experience the slow revelation of wtf is going on along with the characters. the book which you might otherwise get through in a few days is stretched out into months of suspense and agony as you wait for the other shoe to drop, and it’s great.

plus, the whiplash between “jonathan harker’s neverending horror” vs “lucy is basically on the bachelorette” that you get in dracula daily is very very funny.

how do i sign up?

right here! and if you sign up and fall behind in the emails, no worries - the dracula daily website posts past entries so you can catch up.

what if i prefer audiobooks?

have i got great news for you!

like i mentioned before, i couldn’t keep up with the emails last year. part of it is that it is much easier for me to focus on an audiobook or keep up with a podcast than it is for me to sit down and read, especially with longer entries.

this year, there is going to be a podcast titled “re: dracula” that was inspired by dracula daily. every episode will be a dracula daily entry, with a full voice cast! (seriously, if you listen to british podcasts, you will recognize some of these names. the magnus archives and wooden overcoats girlies are WINNING.) you can find that here.

there is also a podcast called “cryptic canticles” that has an already-completed audiodrama of dracula that i’m told is also extremely good, and was also broken up by date. you can find that here.

why do i keep hearing about paprika/the boyfriend squad/lizard fashion/cowboys?

you’ll see.

oh god am i gonna hear about this nerd shit for the rest of the year

yes. sorry.

[nikidontsurf]

GEORGE HARRISON and PATTIE BOYD leave Kinfauns to go to the Walton and Esher Magistrates Court, March 18, 1969.

  She was at Kinfauns, their bungalow home in Esher, Surrey, playing genial hostess to a group of visitors from Scotland Yard’s drug squad. She recalled the events in her memoir Wonderful Tonight: ‘Suddenly I heard a lot of cars on the gravel in the drive – far too many for it to be just George. My first thought was that maybe Paul and Linda wanted to party after the wedding. Then the bell rang. I opened the door to find a policewoman and a dog standing outside. At that moment the back-doorbell rang and I thought, Oh, my God, this is so scary! I’m surrounded by police.

The man in charge introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Pilcher, from Scotland Yard, and handed me a piece of paper. I knew why he was there: he thought we had drugs, and he said he was going to search the house. In they came, about eight policemen through the front, another five or six through the back and there were more in the greenhouse. The policewoman said she would follow me while the others searched and didn’t let me out of her sight. I said, ‘Why are you doing this? We don’t have any drugs. I’m going to phone my husband.’ I rang George at Apple. ‘George, it’s your worst nightmare. Come home.’

The officers clearly thought the Harrisons would be at Paul’s wedding. The timing was not a coincidence. (...) Pilcher had already busted Mick Jagger, Brian Jones and Donovan, as well as Lennon and Yoko the previous year. National treasures or not, The Beatles were no longer protected from the law. - ‘And in the End: The Last Days of The Beatles’ Ken McNab

  I was with George in the office when that call came through. It was the end of a long day at Apple. Pattie rang and said, ‘They’re here – the law is here,’ and we knew what to do by then. We phoned Release’s lawyer, Martin Polden. We had a routine: he came round to Apple, and we all went down by limousine to Esher, where the police were well ensconced by then – and I stood bail for George and Pattie. They went off to the police station. We were all extremely indignant because it was the day of Paul’s wedding, a poor way to celebrate it. The police can be so nice.

George was calm about it. George is always calm – he sometimes gets a grump, but he’s always calm – and he was extremely calm that night, and very, very indignant. He went into the house and looked around at all these men and one woman, and said something like. ‘Birds have nests and animals have holes, but man has nowhere to lay his head.’ – ‘Oh, really, sir? Sorry to tell you we have to…’ and then into the police routine.

That’s how calm and how cross he was, because, as he said, he kept his dope in the box where dope went, and his joss sticks went in the joss stick box. He was a man who ran an orderly late-Sixties household, with beautiful things and some nice stuff to smoke.

 In my opinion he didn’t have to be busted because he was doing nobody any harm. I still believe what they did was an intrusion into personal life. - Derek Taylor in ‘The Beatles Anthology’

[rogersandclarke]

mutual 1: see the thing about obi wan is that even if he could get pregnant he would do a force-abortion on himself because he believes that strongly in adoption

mutual 2: do you think matt damon was seething and coping when j-lo dropped "dear ben" or do you think matt and ben were still hooking up at this time? essentially if the album dropped in 2002, the bennifer engagement is nov 2002-january 2004, and matt gets married in 2005,

mutual 3: my ebay bidding war for paul reubens's spit in a jar is going really well due to the psychic attacks i've been sending to the other bidder

mutual 4: local authorities wont let me into this abandoned hoarder house in rural wyoming. dies horribly. #i love drunk driving

mutual 5: listen ive studied rpf for years you dont understand. the homoerotic undercurrent of britpop is a different breed than what george and bob had going on. theres a playful aura facilitated by the early 90s

mutual 6: i am going to pound philip seymour hoffman into the ground so lovingly

mutual 7: im doing crazy things to davy jones pussy over here

mutual 8: thinking of writing my thesis on the evolution of rpf #no don't look at my lb diary yes i watched 10 martin & lewis movies this week

mutual 9: you see robbie and bob were having on and off trysts ever since robbie stopped him from killing himself in 1966 but it took martin scorseses tender devotion to show robbie how unhealthy that was

mutual 10: thankfully neil young started estrogen in early 1970. otherwise she never couldve made harvest

mutual 11: how minutes of semi-truck sound effects do you guys think i can play on my radio show before people start tuning away

mutual 12: put this post underwater sorry. but i just feel so angry when people post about their mutuals like they're people they never talk to. i've moved to different countries three times for my mutuals.

mutual 13: [picture of orson welles and anthony perkins laughing on the set of the trial] do you think they ever fucked #hot! #who said that

mutual 14: i think i could fix norman bates if we got married and adopted the eraserhead baby together.

mutual 15: [picture of a computer fucking itself]

mutual 16: m sooooo girl drink drunk daveeeeee

mutual 17: eroticism of the machine? uhhh yeah only if the machine is a sexy car #STOP PUTTING THOSE COMPUTER PICTURES ON MY DASH

mutual 18: my warriors in maine are one step closer to slipping cocaine back into stephen kings food so he can be a good writer again

mutual 19: you don't understand. walton goggins isn't just gay in the show. he also walks gay in real life. you have to understand this.

mutual 20: im going to kidnap mike stoklasa and only release him when he makes a post coming out as bisexual

EDIT: ETHAN LET ME POST THIS: mutual 21: do you think lana del rey and joan baez are hooking up. why is lana with her everywhere and introducing her documentary and doing all these things. we KNOW joan is bisexual. do you think

[ghoulsbounty]

needd lee russell being edged, whimpering and begging all that good stuff !! i love your writing sm, you do all the walton boys so much justice 😭💕

The Edge

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), office sex, oral (f receiving), pussy job, thigh riding, sub/dom dynamic, soft!dom reader, power dynamics/power play, brat taming (kinda), all porn little plot, nipple play, bratty lee, multiple orgasms, cum eating, manipulation, begging, fluff.

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: Anon! Lee Russell whining and begging to cum is seared into my brain forever now. Thank you sm for your lovely words about my writing of the Goggins gang🥲 I hope you enjoy! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Lee rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against his office chair as you continued to grind down onto his muscular thigh. His expression was almost bored, feigning indifference to your ministrations. However, you occasionally felt him shift under you, seeking friction for his painfully hard cock that you had left unfairly untouched inside his slacks.

Your movements were deliberate and slow, savouring the way his thigh flexed beneath you. The heat between your legs intensified with every grind, the rough texture of his pants adding to the sensation that made your breath hitch. Despite his bored appearance, his hands gripped the armrests tightly, knuckles white from the effort of staying still.

You could see the conflict in his eyes, a dark storm of lust and frustration. He fought to maintain his composure, and it thrilled you to know just how close he was to breaking. Every muscle in his body was taut with tension, his veins bulging and the strain evident. The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the quiet creak of the chair, the air thick with unspoken need.

“You think you can just tease me like this?” he muttered, his annoyance clear in the tightness of his voice. Even though you were tired, the intensity in your gaze challenged him to meet you on your terms. With feigned reluctance, he gripped your hips and guided your movements, each one growing more urgent as you rode him.

His lips pursed in dissatisfaction, teeth gritted as you trembled around him. His gaze, dark with lust, followed your every movement, drinking in the sight of you. Each drag of your heat across his thigh brought a fresh wave of pleasure, mingling with the remnants of your previous climax.

Goosebumps prickled your naked flesh as you rode him with abandon, undeterred by the prospect of a colleague walking in on you so late past the last bell. Ever since your class had ended, you had been pleasuring yourself on his thigh, anger from an earlier spat still simmering within you as you sulked into his office. The lingering resentment fuelled your movements, the depth of your need overshadowing any thoughts of forgiveness.

But resentment didn’t mean you weren’t ready to take what you needed. The heat between you was almost unbearable, the tension from your unresolved conflict only adding to the vigor of your movements.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied coyly, feeling his muscles tighten and retract beneath your touch. A smile spread across your face as his fingers tapped impatiently at your hip.

Despite his apparent nonchalance, you could feel the evidence of his arousal, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, desperate for attention. Every shift of his hips, every slight adjustment, betrayed his need. His eyes, though half-closed and rolling in exaggerated boredom, couldn’t hide the smouldering desire within them. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, but the thrill of it was intoxicating.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot near his ear as you murmured, “Are you sure you’re not enjoying this?”

His eyes bore into yours, impatient and intense, as he dug his nails into your hips, the pain intertwining with pleasure. You smiled, running your hands over his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt contrasting with the hard, sinewy muscle beneath. His impatience only fuelled your hunger, the mix of sensations heightening your awareness of every touch.

“You like this, don’t you?” you teased, your voice a low whisper, your lips grazing his ear. His breath hitching in response was all the confirmation you needed. You leaned back slightly, savouring the friction, the way his cock strained against your leg, craving release.

Despite him concealing it effectively for the longest time, you discovered Lee’s enjoyment of being taunted and denied after an office romp was interrupted. The memory of that moment still sent shivers down your spine. Later, he sought you out, his eyes dark with unfulfilled desire, moaning about how difficult it had been not to touch himself before getting his hands on you. The timbre of his voice was thick with longing, every word a testament to his struggle. A barely audible plea slipped from his lips, begging to feel you.

He had never sounded so desperate before, and it drove you wild. Something primal ignited within you from the raw need in his voice and the way his body trembled with restraint. It was exhilarating, the power you had over him, the ability to reduce him to a state of pleading desperation like he did with you. It was a revelation, a crack in his façade that you eagerly explored, knowing that beneath his rough exterior lay a vulnerability that only you could coax to the surface.

“I apologised, didn’t I? You always blow tiny, insignificant things out of proportion,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

“Hardly,” you countered, your lingering anger fuelled by his blasé attitude. “And for the record, I haven’t forgiven you yet,” you added firmly.

“Then why are you riding my thigh like a bitch in heat?” he laughed cruelly, watching you maintain your unfaltering rhythm against him. His eyes gleamed with amusement, his mocking tone only spurring you on.

“For my enjoyment,” you shot back, breathless but defiant. “Plus, I think you like it when I use you.”

The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, daring him to deny the pleasure coursing through him as you came on his thigh again and again. Each movement, each grind against him, furthered the power struggle between you and the stimulating connection you both craved.

You trailed your fingers down his torso until they reached the bulge pressing hard against your leg. Teasingly, you hovered your hand over his arousal, revelling in the sharp intake of breath he made, before finally resting it on his knee behind you. Using it for leverage, you fucked yourself against him harder, bringing yourself close to the edge again.

“What do you want, Lee?” You asked, amusement lacing your inflection at the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face.

“You know what I want,” he growled, his voice low and filled with despair as his eyes dropped to the apex of your thighs.

“Let me hear you say it,” you said, squeezing his knee. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

His jaw clenched as he drank in the sight of your pussy gliding over him. The fabric of his pants was dark with your juices, the skin beneath damp and warm. “I want to feel you,” he finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Wanna fuck you until you can’t take anymore.”

“If you ask nicely,” you purred, your hand tracing back to the bulge in his pants, teasing him with a tantalizing amount of pressure that caused him to groan.

“Just let me fuck you, and let’s go home,” he demanded, rough but desperate.

You could see the raw need etched across his face, his control hanging by a thread. Seeing him so close to breaking only solidified your resolve to get what you wanted.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” you tutted softly as you continued to grind against him, savouring the friction. A breathy whimper escaped his lips when you dropped your hand from his straining erection. His fingers left your hip to wrap around your wrist as he glared up at you.

His grip was firm, his irritation clear in the way it tightened around you. “You’re torturing me,” he growled, eyes blazing with a blend of fury and hunger.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “don’t you think you deserve it?” Your hips continued to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the pressure building with each tantalizing grind.

His hand on your hip slipped around your back and pressed you tightly to his chest. Your breasts were firm against him, nipples hard against the cotton of his shirt. He looked up at you through long lashes, his hardened stare softening as he placed a tentative kiss on your chin. “Didn’t mean to upset you,” he mumbled, his voice low and sincere.

You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and slightly ragged. The vulnerability in his eyes tugged at something deep inside you, momentarily easing the tension. His hand on your wrist relaxed, sliding up to gently cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that he rarely showed.

“I’m not upset,” you said, your jaw set and brows furrowed. “I’m angry,” you clarified, the ferocity in your voice matching the hard lines of your expression as you mentally fought against his change in demeanour.

He peppered light kisses from your chin to your lips, his touch gentle yet insistent. “Didn’t mean to make you mad, either,” he murmured softly against your skin. His tongue traced your bottom lip with intentional slowness, a subtle plea for forgiveness as he patiently waited for you to grant him entrance.

With a sigh, you parted your lips to allow him access. His muscle slipped inside, exploring with a slow, deliberate warmth that made your heart race. You could feel the sincerity in his actions, the way his lips moved tenderly against yours, each kiss an unspoken apology. He released your wrist, his hands roaming your body with a newfound reverence, his gentle persistence wearing down the edges of your anger.

Your fingertips intertwined at the back of his neck, drawing him nearer as you briefly surrendered to the moment. His touch was everywhere, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves, each caress a promise of his intent to make things right. His kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, as he sensed your resolve weakening.

You broke the kiss before  you gave in any further. “Show me how sorry you are,” you commanded, your voice a low whisper. The undeniable authority in your tone was clear, and you saw the flicker of devotion and submission in his eyes. You had him right where you wanted.

His gaze never wavered, a mix of determination and need burning in his expression. He nodded, his focus entirely on you. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice a hushed promise as he fumbled with the zip of his pants. To his chagrin, you quickly swatted it away.

“Not like that,” you ordered, eyeing him sternly as your fingers entwined around his tie. You gave it a gentle tug, delighting in the flicker of alarm on his face as it tightened slightly against his throat.

The authority in your gaze held him captive, and you could see his appetite intensify as he complied with your unspoken command. His hand reluctantly found your hip again, the grip firm but reverent as he waited for your next move.

“Show me how sorry you are,” you repeated.

“Well? What do you want me to do?” he huffed, impatience and resentment evident in his tone as he dropped his head back against the headrest again.

You maintained your hold on his tie, leaning in closer until your lips were just inches from his ear. “I want you to beg,” you said, your voice low and commanding. “Take what I give you, no more, no less.” You planted a soft kiss on his earlobe, feeling him shiver beneath you. “I want you to be grateful.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze flicking to your grip on his tie as he swallowed hard against the restriction. He responded with a dark chuckle, but his eyes showed his insatiable appetite at the prospect of you taking charge. “You want to play? Fine. But don’t forget who’s really in control,” he growled, the underlying challenge clear in his voice.

A sly smile played on your lips as you tightened your grip slightly, feeling the tension between you heighten. “We’ll see about that,” you replied, authoritative and mocking.

With a swift, practiced motion, you unzipped his fly and released him from the confines of his slacks. His hard cock sprang free, curving against his abdomen, the red, shiny tip glistening with pre-cum. Lee’s eyes darkened with anticipation, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he watched your every move.

You savoured the moment, letting the power you held over him wash over you. His breath hitched as you wrapped your hand around his shaft, the heat and firmness of him palpable against your palm. The lingering defiance in his expression only spurred you on.

His eyes never left yours, following every movement with rapt attention. Your thumb swirled over his tip, spreading the pre-cum over his length as you pumped him. You could feel his body tense beneath your touch, each stroke drawing a low groan from his lips.

Lee hissed through his teeth, hypersensitive to your caress after being denied for so long and forced to watch you cum repeatedly on his leg with no release for himself. You revelled in the sight of his face contorting in pleasure, his mouth falling open as he panted. The raw magnitude of his need made each of your touches electric, heightening your own arousal as you watched him teeter on the edge. The power you wielded over him, the ability to elicit such a reaction, was intoxicating, and you savoured every second of his torment and longing.

Slowly, you leaned in. “You like that?” you asked, your voice dripping with seduction. He answered with a barely audible moan, his hips bucking in response to your touch.

You manoeuvred yourself on his lap, straddling his waist as you settled your ass against his thighs. His length nestled snugly between your wet folds and his abdomen, the material of his shirt already damp from the slick of your arousal and his pre-cum. His eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of you, a deep groan escaping his lips.

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought to contain the moans that were on the verge of escaping. You didn’t want him to know how amazing it felt as your swollen clit grazed against the thick veins of his shaft. Your nails bit into his shoulders for leverage as you languidly stroked him back and forth with your pussy.

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he tentatively dragged you across him. You could see the desperate longing in his expression, the way he ached to bury himself fully inside you. Every time he moved you over him, the tip of his cock kissed your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. The intensity of it all hurtled you toward the edge, and you threw your head back, overwhelmed by the sensation.

As you bit your lip to muffle your cry, your orgasm crashed over you. Your muscles tightened as you bucked your hips, determined to extract every ounce of enjoyment from him. The waves of ecstasy rippled through your body, each movement drawing out the toe-curling ferocity as you rode the crest of your release.

Lee cursed at the feeling of you gushing over his cock, using your temporary mind shift to push at your entrance with his tip. The pressure brought you back to the moment, breath heavy as you shook your head, readjusted so that you were gliding over him again.

“Can’t even say my name when I make you cum?” he huffed, irritation mounting with each time you reached your peak in silence. It was the least he deserved, he reasoned, for letting you deny him in so many other ways.

“I made myself cum,” you said, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. He shot you a piercing look, jaw tight as his nostrils flared. “Calling my name would be a little odd,” you joked, breath heavy as you set a leisurely rhythm with your hips.

His eyes darkened, silently demanding the acknowledgement he craved as he watched you, every movement a deliberate tease. “Fuck you,” he muttered, though the flicker of admiration in his gaze was unmistakable.

You were growing tired, spent from riding him for so long previously, but you weren’t about to give in. Each grind was slower now, more teasing, as you savoured the sensation of his cock twitching beneath you. You were resolved to keep control, to extend every bit of the pleasure that he owed.

The sight of Lee looking so on edge, so dishevelled, his cheeks flushed a rosy red and sweat beading his forehead, had you grinning. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, briefly flicking them to yours. Then, with a defiant thrust of his hips, he timed it perfectly to catch himself against the ridge of your cunt, seeking the pressure he craved to reach his peak. Pissed off and well past the point of playing your game, his movements became more urgent, determined to find release despite your teasing.

His jaw clenched, each thrust becoming more forceful as he battled against the frustration bubbling inside him. The room was flooded with the sounds of your bodies moving together, a symphony of your multiple releases coating him, and the deep grunts of pleasure rising from his chest. You could see the determination in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed with every push, his distress to reach his climax clear in the urgency of his movements.

“Just... let me cum,” he gasped, his voice a mix of anger and pleading. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding you over him with a renewed vigour. The friction, the heat, the sheer need in his movements sent tingles of ecstasy through you.

You felt his muscles stiffen beneath you, heard his breath hitch, and knew he was close. Just seconds before his impending release, you lifted off him, your cunt suddenly cold against the air without him nestled inside. He whined in defeat, looking up at you in disbelief, his eyes wide with surprise. The sudden loss of contact left him trembling, his need for you palpable as he struggled to comprehend the abrupt interruption.

“Do you deserve it?” You asked, your voice exuding seductive authority, breath warm against his ear, enjoying the way his body shivered in response.

You could see the internal conflict in his eyes, dominance warring with submission, as he reluctantly replied, “No.” He leaned forward, hesitantly reaching for you, and a small smile flickered across his face when you didn’t move away. You allowed him to pull you back, guiding you to straddle him once more.

He sighed at the warmth as you settled against his cock, the tension in his body easing slightly. His arms snaked around your waist, holding you close as he awaited your next move. The intimacy of the moment, the blend of power and vulnerability, sent a shiver through you.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, the rapid thud mirroring your own excitement. “You know what I want,” you whispered, your voice firm yet tender, brushing your lips against his.

He groaned in reluctance, then dipped his head to catch a hardened nipple with his teeth. His wet tongue circled the bud before sucking, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your body involuntarily arched into him, seeking more.

His hands roamed your back, holding you securely as he continued his ministrations. Each flick of his tongue and soft bite of his teeth drove you wild, the sensations building an irresistible pressure inside you. The soft moans escaping your lips only spurred him on, his own desire clear in the way his cock throbbed against your wet heat.

You grabbed the back of his head, pressing him closer to your breast, craving more of his touch. “Lee,” you breathed, your voice a husky whisper of need. “Say it.”

He responded with a low growl; the vibration adding another layer of pleasure. His other hand moved to your neglected breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple, perfectly complementing the sensations from his mouth.

A moment later, he left you, trailing wet kisses up your chest and throat until he reached your lips. He captured them in a fierce kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming you with a passion that left you breathless.

“Just give it to me, baby,” he breathed against your mouth. Your fingers found their grip in his hair again as you tugged him back to look at you, the tension in the air crackling between you.

The pet name was a deliberate choice, one he used sparingly, either in rare moments of genuine praise or as a sure-fire way to get what he wanted. The combination of his tone and the intimate nickname pulled at your resolve, the manipulation in his voice blending seamlessly with his anguish.

“Is that how you ask nicely?” You said with a mocking pout on your lips.

“That’s how I’m fuckin’ askin’,” he replied, hissing through his teeth when your fingers tightened in frosted tips. His mouth gleamed with spit and his eyes blazed with defiance. You were determined to quench that fire, deliberately sliding your cunt over his pulsating shaft.

“You sure there’s nothing else you wanted to say, Lee?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful menace. He shook his head, muscles tensing and breath caught as you moved in agonizing slowness. He was so close to giving in, his defiance betrayed by the pleading flicker in his eyes.

“That’s a shame,” you sighed, releasing your fingers from his hair as you shifted to lift yourself again, leaving him aching and regretful. His expression shifted to one of despair as the reality of your actions sank in, the loss of your warmth making him shudder. You hovered just above him, the heat of your cunt a tantalizing tease, waiting for him to break.

But losing contact was too much for him, and a deep growl gave way to a pathetic whimper as he scrambled to stop you. “Stop,” he pleaded, his arms tightening around you, holding you close. His chin rested on the swell of your breast as he looked up, his gaze filled with desperate longing.

You eyed him expectantly, waiting for more.

When he realized you would not give in to his manipulations, he sighed deeply before sucking his teeth. “Please,” he mumbled, barely audible, impatience and insincerity dripping from his tone. His eyes flickered with frustration, but beneath it, you could see the genuine desperation breaking through, the raw need he could no longer mask.

The power shifted subtly back to you, your control over the moment reaffirmed. You watched as his defiance wavered, the façade of power slipping away to reveal the true depth of his craving. He was at your mercy, and the realization brought a thrill of satisfaction.

“I didn’t hear you,” you lied, cold and teasing.

“Fuck, please! Let me fuck you, baby,” he whined, the petulance clear in his tone. “Just need to be inside you, please.” His voice was frantic, the raw need in his plea evident as he clung to you, every inch of his body straining towards yours as he licked and sucked at your clavicle.

His words were like music to your ears, a sweet tune that you’d composed from his defiant lips. “Maybe,” you smiled, cupping his cheek as you grazed a thumb over the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “If you beg a little more.”

“Please,” he grunted, hand slipping between your bodies to run a finger through the expanse of your slit, gathering the sopping wetness before circling your swollen clit. You moaned softly, guiding his mouth to yours for a kiss. “You know I’m sorry,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm as you nibbled his bottom lip.

You felt tempted to deny him further, to see how long he could go without release while you continued to use his body for your own satisfaction. But your thighs burned, your pelvis ached from the ministrations, and his fingers dancing over you had you craving more of him.

“Making me feel so good. You’re being a good boy, Lee,” you praised, amusement lacing your voice. His eyes gleamed with longing, the praise only intensifying his need. He sighed against your skin as he rested into the curve of your neck, vibrating through you as his fingers continued their gentle, teasing circles around your clit.

You could feel him trembling with restraint, every fibre of his being focused on your approval. Sliding your own hand between you both, you grasped his thick cock, hard and wet from your juices, pulsing against your palm as you stroked it firmly. He let out a pitiful cry as you worked him.

“I’m not gonna last,” he whined, teeth grazing your skin as his fingers on you faltered with the overwhelming pleasure engulfing him. “Let me fuck you, please,” he drew back, looking at you with pleading eyes, face warm.

Wordlessly, you shifted your hips, aligning yourself perfectly over his throbbing shaft as you held him at your entrance. His eyes widened with a mix of relief and renewed yearning. He took your nipple into his mouth again, a delicious whine escaping his lips as you slowly pushed the engorged tip of his cock inside.

With your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to you, you exhaled slowly before lowering yourself onto him. You felt every inch stretch and fill you as you buried him to the hilt, the sensation exquisite—a perfect blend of fullness and resistance that made your breath catch. The heat of your bodies melded together, each movement drawing pathetic whimpers from him. The intense pressure and friction caused tingles down your spine, nerve endings alive with pleasure.

Your movements became more urgent as his nimble fingers found your sensitive clit again, each grind pushing you further to the edge. The friction of his cock against your inner walls, combined with his hips bucking to meet your every move, was rousing. 

His hands skilfully manipulated your clit while his tongue flicked over the hardened bud of your nipple, driving you wild with pleasure. Your fingers gripped and pulled at his hair, delivering the small tinges of pain you knew he craved. The synergy of sensations was overwhelming, each touch, each thrust, each drag of him sending you spiralling closer to release.

Moans, gasps, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin filled the room, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. He released your bud with a pop of his lips. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of adoration and raw, unfiltered need. You rode him with everything you had.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he sighed, his voice a desperate whisper as he clung to you. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, the connection between you deepening with every thrust, every shared breath.

“Are you gonna cum, Lee?” You asked, fingers releasing from his hair to cradle his face.

“Yes,” he panted, and you smiled against his skin, placing a gentle kiss above his brow. His body shook, nearing release again, and you stilled your hips, forcing yourself upwards until he slipped out of you.

“Fuck!” he shouted, eyes wide and pleading as his chest heaved. He’d been so close, and as you looked down, you saw his angry, red cock throbbing beneath you.

“No more, please,” he whined, fingers of one hand still working your clit and the other digging into the flesh of your hips, willing you to sit. He looked up at you, eyes glistening with discomfort. “Please, I need to cum,” he begged, voice thick with need. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please.”

The sight of him, so vulnerable and pleading, sent a thrill through you. The raw emotion in his voice, the genuine apology and longing, tugged at your resolve. “Alright,” you murmured softly as you brushed a thumb over his lightly stubbled jaw. 

You guided him back to your entrance, the heat and slickness enveloping him once more. He gripped you, leaving pleading kisses against your throat, his groans vibrating through you as he bottomed out. You moved together, the rhythm quickly becoming frantic as both of you chased the edge of release.

“Come on, Lee,” you whispered, your voice a breathy encouragement. “Give it to me. I want it.”

His response was immediate, hips snapping up to meet yours with renewed vigour as desperate pleas fell from his lips. “Fuck, I’m cumming, I’m... oh, fuck,” he whimpered, the tension that had been building between you finally breaking. You felt him pulse inside you, and then, with a strangled cry, he came in hot spurts of milky white, filling you to the brim. His body trembled beneath you, every shudder and gasp evidence of the intensity of his release.

The sensation of his warmth spreading within you, combined with the pitiful sounds of his sobs as you clenched around him, sent you hurtling towards the edge. Your climax washed over you with a force that left your legs shaking, nerve endings alight with pleasure.

“T-thank you,” he mumbled, lips crashing onto yours in a sloppy, appreciative kiss as he continued to rut into you, getting every bit of satisfaction from you he could. You moaned into his mouth, your mind reeling from his gratitude for finally giving him release.

Lee’s hands continued to roam your body, gentle and grateful, as you both rode out the aftershocks together. With a ragged breath, you fell against him, tired and aching as you found comfort in his embrace. His head fell back against the chair, gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought for his breath to slow.

“Have you forgiven me now?” He whispered, smiling devilishly against your hair, tracing patterns over the expanse of your back.

“Almost,” you replied, lifting yourself from him slowly with a shared groan, your cunt contracting as you stood and braced yourself against the desk. You placed your feet on the arms of his chair, spreading your legs wide.

Lee eyed your swollen pussy, wet and messy from your many orgasms, his load dripping down your ass and pooling on the desk below you. He licked his lips, eyes glazed over as the fucked-out state of you spread before him held him captive.

“Clean me up, Lee,” you instructed, and he didn’t hesitate. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the desk as he dove into your sopping heat. Your nails dug into the skin of his arms as you grasped at him, his tongue lapping over you with fervent passion. A lewd slurping sound filled the air as he devoured every drop of your mixed releases, his mouth working tirelessly to give you what you desired.

You leaned back against the desk, enjoying the sensation of him between your legs and the satisfaction of having him under your control, even if only briefly. He would soon return to his familiar brash self, but the anticipation of his hidden submissive side excited you for the next opportunity to bring it out. Until then, you would savour the ecstasy found in his usual rough handling and sharp words of degradation that consistently left you spellbound.

Eyes fluttering shut, you surrendered to the pleasure of his tongue. With fervent devotion, he moved, drawing you into bliss with each lick and suck. The room filled with the sounds of your cries as you finally called his name, his grateful murmurs of thanks against your skin following soon after.

Lee taglist: @its-in-the-woods @lolaalee @megangovier @coolranchdavidian @justme12200

@ivyinthesun @ladygreylavender11 @crowley--aziraphale @its-a-show-stoppin-number

@muschimuschi @serrantsaloto @catclaw1 @staarboyyy @shinydixon

@spookysquids @inthemercifuldark @itsyellow @caspersshadow @honey-tree-evil-eye

[charnelhouse]

I feel like Joel would be best at ‘you almost got yourself killed and I’m so angry at you but I love you also’ fucking

A/N: Joel Miller x F!Reader. Lack of CPR knowledge. Smut. Hypothermia. I used this gif bc he looks really fucking hot ok

Joel dreams of you often. He doesn’t tell you this, refuses to admit it as if the confession of dreams would somehow weaken his defenses. In the foggy, wooly vortex of sleep, he sees you:

Dead.

Broken.

Covered in spores. 

It irritates him. He has learned the brutal, ragged details of loss and having nightmares about the girl he’s fucking is not good. It means that some tiny unconscious piece of him fears for you-to lose you would sting. It is a chip in his armor. A weakness. 

He lies in his makeshift bed as he stares up at a ceiling speckled with moss and water damage. You’re curled against him, bare ass snug against his thigh. He takes deep pulls from a bottle of dust and whiskey. Between his legs, his cock is soft and damp from fucking you into the mattress. His back smarts from your nails and he doesn’t understand how their sex is so aggressive and yet he finds you in his head afterward. He’s fucked countless people. Never cared. It’s his psyche that worries about you when it should be flat, pulse-less and numb in the dark. 

His gaze slides to you sleeping beside him. Your face is buried in the sweatshirt serving as a pillow, your mouth parted around steady, even breathing. Swamped in moonlight, you’re beautiful—the kind of beauty that would get you killed or worse out there. That’s why I keep, right? Some leftover smugness at having someone like you with someone like me?

He leans over your body, the bottle swishing its dregs of old whisky. With gentle fingers, he maneuvers your hair away from your face, he touches your lower lip before abruptly pulling away. 

Not good. 

***

Being who he is, Joel keeps fucking you. He tries to be a little meaner—colder—but he’s not man enough to release you in order to find someone less complicated to warm his bed.  

You stick by him like a barnacle. A very pearly one. Smooth and shiny. 

“We have things to do,” he declares one morning, the slip of red dawn drifting over your skin from the narrow window. 

“Alright,” you murmur as you roll out of bed and shove on your jeans. 

You don’t complain or whine, which he hates. He’d love for you to backtalk him. He’d die for an ounce of sass or bitchiness, but you’re too fucking smart for that. You know what it costs. You know that he’ll use it against you and then chastise you for wastin’ time because this is what they do now. This is how the world works. 

Someone took something from us and I intend to get it back.

Us. 

When did it become us? 

Fuck.

***

They follow the road at the edge of the forest. The woods stink of loam–sweet and dark. The first snow has powdered the ground.

The cold is wicked, binding his limbs together and reminding him of his age. He’s not really that old. It’s only been eight years since the outbreak (his birthday). 

“I hate winter,” you grumble, the subtle evidence of your frustration that you’ve been forced out here to begin with. Most of the time, he thinks he should keep you at his place when he runs these missions, but he’s decided that you’re safer with him. He doesn’t miss the way the creepy old fucks look at you and there’s no such thing as locks. Not now. Not here.

“Fuck!” you yelp and Joel hears your boots skid, knee cracking on asphalt. “Shit. Shitt.”

“C’mon,” he grunts, not even looking. He doesn’t want to. He thinks that if he sees you in pain, he’ll go to you.

You curse a few more times before your footsteps sound again.

You catch up to him with alarming speed, casting him a violent glare. “What if I’d broken something?”

“I’d come back for you after I handle the Waltons.”

“Sure,” you reply flatly. “Probably drag me back home by my ankle.”

His lips twitch. They’re making good time, maneuvering rapidly through the dense woods toward the lake. His adrenaline is spiking, his fingers curling as he prepares himself for the inevitable fight. “Hardly, sweetheart,” he replies. “I’d wrap a rope around your waist—pull you that way.”

“Cruel.”

“You’ve always known that, darlin’.”

“You’re–”

He freezes and then abruptly grabs you before pulling you against a tree. One of the Waltons is outside their cabin, chopping wood. Behind him, the smoke puffs from the chimney. Black-gray against the too-blue sky. 

“We wait until he goes inside,” he whispers against your ear. You’re bleeding-hot and his hand is secured right under your breast. Surprisingly, your heart pulses at an easy rhythm. You aren’t scared or nervous. You’re calm as can be and really that’s probably why he keeps you around.

And maybe the sex. 

***

It’s fucked. The whole damn thing. 

Joel is covered in blood, two fingers definitely broken. The man on top of him has him in a chokehold and he’s shoving back against him, trying to find some leverage to flip him over. 

He hasn’t heard you for a minute and when he lifts his head, he sees one of the Walton boys—the greasy, blonde one—pinning you against the dock. You’re too far away from Joel as he watches you kick and spit like a feral cat. 

You don’t call for him. You don’t scream his name or beg him for help and it’s because you’re too fucking proud and you probably think he’d get fucking mad at you or something, which isn’t the case. 

So, he shouts your name. Why? He doesn’t know. It bursts out of him as the head Walton punches him in the ribs.

“Ss’fine,” you yell back and then the sun catches the silver blade of your pocket knife. It flashes once before disappearing and the blonde Walton squeals.

Thatta girl, he thinks. The expression feels tender—sweet with pride and he’s so caught up in watching you stab the kid that he doesn’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late. 

The blonde snags your jacket and rolls you both into the frigid lake. 

Joel doesn’t think. He may have roared or bellowed, but he wouldn’t know. He can’t recall. Instead, he plants his hands and snaps his head back into his attacker’s nose. It cracks. Splatters. He feels heat on his scalp and in his hair. The weight on him is gone and he twists, finding his knife a few feet away in the snow. He snatches the handle, flips it and plunges the blade forward. It goes through the guy’s chest—finds bone. He rips it back and does it again. A third time in a more vulnerable spot beneath the bastard’s jaw. There’s blood on his face, but he can’t worry about that now.

He runs to the lake. 

***

“C’mon, girl,” he whispers frantically as he performs CPR. Your lips are cold as a fish belly. Your lashes wet and stuck together in clumps. He presses against your chest so hard that he worries he’ll break a rib. 

You weren’t even under that long.

He pumps and then pinches your nose and breathes into your mouth. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. 

You twitch. Yes. You choke. Better.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he urges.

Your eyes fly open as you sputter, coughing up icy lake water that dampens Joel’s jeans. Relieved, he sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving too quickly. His fingers have begun to smart, the knuckles swelling to purple.

He’s not sure what to say as you blink up at him—incredulous and a little frightened. WIthout thinking, he darts down and kisses you hard. It might not even be considered a kiss. Just an angry collision of teeth and a hint of tongue. He tries to warm your mouth with his own before pulling away. He didn’t intend to do that.

“Joel?” you rasp, lids drooping heavily.

“You almost died,” he states in a flat voice. Should he comfort you? Reassure you that you’re fine? He’s not sure how to do that. He’d done it before with Sarah, but–

He shudders, stuffing that thought somewhere he’ll not touch.

“J-Joel.” Your teeth are chattering in your mouth. Your eyes slightly unfocused. “Mm cold.”

“Well,” he replies matter-of-factly. “We can go in the cabin and figure that out.”

He says this like you couldn’t potentially die of hypothermia. 

***

Inside the house, a fire still burns. It’s orange-yellow as a Texas peach and his mouth instinctively waters. He hasn’t had fresh fruit in a long ass time. 

Your fingers are curled into his shirt, your cheek pressed flat to his chest. You’re freezing—stiff and unyielding as a corpse. He places you on the rug in front of the fire before scouring the house for blankets and sheets. When he finds them, he makes a nest on the floor and then crouches down behind you to rub your shoulders. 

It doesn’t seem to do much because you’re still trembling. Your hair is soaked and your clothes–

Jesus. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“Lift your arms,” he murmurs, but you keep on shaking, seemingly unable to move them. He does it for you. He gets your jeans off, mindful of the areas where bruises will begin to form. “Did he hurt you?”

“S’nothing-g bad.” Your words are staggering into each other like you’re drunk. Not an ideal sign.

He scrubs a hand over his face, his beard. He exhales sharply as he watches you stammer and ripple like a ribbon in the wind. 

He’s on his knees in front of you—staring like a damn fool. “What do you need?”

Your hands fumble in the blankets, your expression puzzled. Shit. What are the symptoms of hypothermia? Confusion? Exhaustion?

He says your name softly and you make a broken noise that startles him.

He doesn’t know how to provide you reassurance. He understands actions. He understands pleasure. Isn’t the best way to heat someone up through skin contact?

He wrenches his jacket off before finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head . He unbuckles his belt, shimmies out of his pants. You stare up at him, your eyes glassy and red. 

“Skin to skin,” he explains and when he opens his arms, you fall into them. You press yourself against him, curling your cold body inward as he attempts to cover you with his own. He strokes your arms, legs and waist. He maneuvers you around so that he can press his front to your torso. He grips your thigh and hauls it over his hip before pulling the musty blankets over them. He doesn’t want to think about how unwashed they probably are, but they don’t have a choice. 

He settles as you relax against him. Your heart pounds a brush faster than before. Good. 

“Rest,” he instructs. “You’re okay.”

It’s the best he can do.

***

It takes a few hours for you to return to yourself. You pull away so you can stare up at him. He tips his chin to hold your gaze, his hand finds your cheek. “You almost died,” he says and, suddenly, he thinks of the dreams he’s had. He thinks of you gone from him, vanishing into the dark where he can’t find you. 

He’d saved you today, but the next time? Surely, there would be a next time and—

“Thank you.” You lean into his touch, nuzzling your nose into the creases of his palm. Not as distressed as he would like.

“You almost died,” he repeats. “I could fucking kill you.”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

“It was a stupid move.”

You frown. “Was there another option I had?”

“You could’ve not come with me.”

Your tongue darts across your lower lip as you lift an eyebrow. “Ah–so really this is about you.”

Of course it damn well is. It’s always him. He can’t afford you getting yourself stabbed or beaten or drowned.  

“I could kill you,” he growls as he grips your hips and flips you on your back, eliciting a yelp from your lungs. He wedges himself between your thighs, sliding his mouth over your puckered nipple and then your belly. 

You wiggle, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist. 

He kisses the scar beneath your ribs and then the top of your cunt. He licks the warm crease between your folds just to tease you before he climbs back up.

He plants his arms on either side of your head as he bears his weight above your body. He’s hard, his cock full and bobbing against his belly. He feels your small hand drift over his hip, the wiry hairs at his groin before it wraps firmly around his shaft. It jumps in your hand, desperate for you in a way he doesn’t mean to show.

“You can kill me,” you whisper and he drops his head to capture your lips. He thrusts his tongue into your mouth, slipping it behind your teeth. It’s a wet kiss–dirty and panicked and i fucking hate you so much because it’s so damn obvious that i don’t. You give him an experimental stroke, thumb pressing into the head. He grunts, jerking forward. 

“I want to feel you,” he confesses and it’s the most honest thing he can say here. Not i don’t want to see you dead ever. Not i really care about you. 

Just feel. 

You smile sweetly before guiding him into the molten suction of your pussy. It takes nothing for him to claim you. He sinks inside, straight to the hilt. He shoves his hips forward so that you’re forced to take all of him. Even when he’s buried balls deep, he leans on his arms, one hand clasping the top of your skull so he can push further. Your nails bite into his ass. You arch.

“Fuck,” you rasp, breath hitching. “Fuck–oh my god.”

They’re sealed together. Breasts crushed to his chest. Stomachs flattened. He uses his thighs to spread legs wider. He pins you there, enjoying the way your heart snaps against your ribs as if it could buffer his own.

“Thatta girl,” he coaxes, managing to plunge deeper. Something low vibrates in his throat. Something half-human. He can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the scent and feel of you, and so he sits aback on his heels, grips your knees and forces them against your tits. “You gonna take it for me?”

Your eyes roll back, cunt contracting around him. “Yes.” 

Not loud enough. He spanks you between your legs, right against the tender flesh wrapped around his cock. It hurts both of them. You whine and reach for him. Yes. Yes. Yes. Joel. Please. 

He eases himself out to the tip before driving forward. The force knocks you up the floor, causing your back to scrape against the wooly blankets. Another sharp thrust that punches a gasp from your throat. You shut your eyes, holding your legs open for him as he continues. It’s rough in its own way. Not the worst he’s done, but his strokes are deliberate and powerful. He fucks you hard enough that he can hear it. The slick noises that accompany every stab of his cock.

He has half a mind to say what he’s trying to through sex. When he’s nearing the end, he lowers himself over you, broken fingers pinching your chin. The pain in his hand welcome, adding a bite to the act itself. “Look at me,” he murmurs and you open your eyes. He fucks you and fucks you and every slam of his hips makes your lashes flutter. “Look, darlin’.”

“What?” you hiss because he’s taunting you –holding you firmly over the edge and shit–he loves that about you. When push comes to shove, you’ll make it known when you’re pissed. He loves the fact that you never screamed for him as you tried to save yourself. He hates it and loves it and he’s really fucked up. 

He swallows hard before pressing their foreheads together. “You won’t do that again,” he warns.

“Do what?”

Another perfunctory snap of his cock.

“Fuck–Joel.”

You’re shuddering in his arms, walls spasming around him. You’re one screaming nerve of sensation. You almost died. 

“You won’t do it.”

You say nothing. Instead, you nod as you tighten around him, heels digging into his lower back. He’s certain you know what he means. He just didn’t want to say it out loud.

[mydarlingmydear]

Yandere Doctor Part 1

Warning: This post contains topics such as stalking as well as sexual themes. No minors allowed. Viewer discretion advised.

You had just moved into town and never actually found a doctor to officially go to, so you decided to set one up when you ended up having a cold.

The actual doctors office you went to wasn’t too big. It was a smaller building that was a branch off a larger hospital. If you needed a more serious doctor appointment, you had to drive to the bigger building, whereas this was just for check ups, flu-shots, and common colds.

You nervously waited for the nurse after setting up your insurance and such. She took you back and took your vitals and everything a regular nurse would do, and then left so the doctor could come in. 

You waited for about 30 minutes before he came.

“Hello, I’m so sorry about that, there’s a cold going around schools so a lot of kids are coming in.” He chuckled. He stopped to look at you, and paused for a beat, before shaking his head slightly and walking to the sink to wash his hands. He sat down in a swivel chair and scooted over to you. “I’m Dr. Walton. It’s nice to meet you. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” 

You shook your head. “I’m (y/n). (Y/n) (l/n).” You said quietly.

He chuckled a little. “I don’t bite. I promise.” He could clearly tell you were nervous by the shakiness in your voice. “So, a cold?” You nod, embarrassed. He was quite handsome and you felt awkward in this situation.

Dr. Walton was a very handsome man. He was clearly a bit older than you, maybe in his late 30s? Early 40s? He carried this energy, this confidence and suave vibe, that he knew he was good looking for his age. He wasn’t super muscular, and had a pretty average body. He seemed to be quite tall, around at least 5’10” - 6’ 2”. 

“Excuse me for a minute, my hands are going to be very cold.” He gently pressed his hands on your neck, feeling to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong. His cologne mixed in with the scent of cleaning supplies from the room. It made you feel a little dizzy. The more he was around you, the more nervous you got. 

When he had to listen to your pulse, you could feel in your chest how nervous you were, your face heating up as he pressed the stethoscope under your shirt and onto your back. He chuckled playfully. “Are you okay? Your heartbeat sounds faster than normal. Hey, I told you, I don’t bite. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”

You nodded and laughed weakly. He sat back down and leaned forward, looking at you. 

“From what I see, it seems to be a normal cold. It should go away in a few days, I’ll prescribe you some over the counter meds. Make sure you take it twice a day, every day, with food.” He crossed his legs and leaned back, looking at you. “Got that?” You nodded.

“Now listen, I don’t want to see you in here too often, I don’t want to see you ill, but I do hope you’ll come for an annual check up. The nurses told me you’re new to town?” He said, making eye contact with you. The eye contact made you nervous so you looked away. You nodded.

He chuckled again. “Well, I’m honored to be the doctor you decided to see. Here’s your after-visit summary. If you can, set up an appointment with the ladies up front.” He said, smiling gently at you. You nodded, trying to hide your blushing face. He helped you up from the observation chair. You swore his hand gave yours a quick squeeze, and once you were up, his hand lingered a little longer than it should have. Maybe you were imagining it. 

“Have a good day, (y/n). I’ll see you around.” You said goodbye and headed home that day, your new doctor lingering on your mind for much longer than the visit. 

Lets just say you also lingered on his mind, a little too much.

Being a doctor was pretty boring, and it wasn’t any more exciting when you had at least 10 kids a day coming in because of a cold. Crying, wailing, complaining…

He loved his job, he did. Being able to help others was wonderful. But when would he have the time to help himself? 

After the divorce with his wife, he struggled to find a healthy balance between life and work. He couldn’t get over her. And his two kids, well… she had full custody.

He lived in a really nice house, but he lived alone with his dog. A big house and no one to share it with. 

Well, until you came along.

When he first entered the room and saw you, something in him caused him to freeze. He didn’t expect to see such a cute patient. He tried not to linger on it, he was a doctor and he had to do his job. But gosh… you were cute. 

He never believed in love at first sight, it wasn’t logical and didn’t make any sense. But… you? Maybe you changed his mind. It’s like all his worries melted away.

When he checked your throat and back, he lingered close, and took an excruciating amount of time to do these tasks. He could smell your perfume/cologne and wanted to just hold you and take your scent in. 

Was that weird? He had never fallen for a patient before. Not only was it wrong, it was illegal. To sleep with a patient. Not that he was thinking of sleeping with you or anything… well… at least not yet. 

Something inside of him ached when you had to go, but he knew he had to do his job, so he did just that. He encouraged you to set up more appointments, but a checkup wouldn’t be for a while, so he had to find another way to see you.

He had never felt this way about someone, not even his wife. With his ex-wife, it was so soft, so fluffy, so… sweet. But with you it was like… some kind of hunger. Craving. Desire. Like drinking a refreshing smoothie versus biting into a juicy steak. Something came over him and he felt like he needed to have you. To own you. To take care of you and protect you. 

That night when he went home, he did everything he could to keep his mind off of you. He knew obsessing over you like this was… wrong. 

As he lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, whenever he closed his eyes, he saw you. Saw you smiling at him, saw you in so many scenarios with him, so many positions….

He didn’t even realize his hand was in his pants until he felt something wet all over his hand. He groaned and panted, rolling over to the side, grabbing a tissue and wiping his hand off. As he cleaned his hand, he was deep in thought about you and his feelings. 

He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how, or when, but what he did know was that you needed to be his. And there was no exception.

Authors Note: I CANT IMAGINE THIS MAN LOOKING LIKE ANYONE EXCEPT HARVEY FROM STARDEW- I gotta make an bootleg, Walmart version Harvey... sorry ya'll I'm down bad