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rebeccccccaaa · 7 months ago

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Poker Face!

_______________

Spencer Reid x Reader

:: It’s game night at Rossi’s, a little pasta al dente, poker chips from Emily’s place, and a little too much Italian red wine. Poker after hours becomes a new playing field when you and Spencer decide to finish your game of blackjack back in his place. ::

:: warnings :: smuttt! and super mushy gushy fluff, sex under the influence (both parties drank alcohol), strip poker (kinda you’re playing blackjack), afab!reader, no mention of contraceptives oops...

:: authors’ notes :: i didn’t realize until i finished the story that spencer probably has his own poker set, he’s literally from vegas; anyway thanks for all the love on my last fic too sweet, hope you guys enjoy this one just as much <3

WC~ 3.1 k

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“Ok, ok! That’s enough!” Emily shouted, swinging her glass around.

“Careful, Prentiss. This carpet is fine Italian wool. Gifted from my first mother-in-law,” Rossi scolded, Hotch chuckling beside him.

“You guys are relentless,” she continued.

“I can beat him, I know it!” you shouted, your eyes comically wide.

“No shot, sweetheart. Reid is literally banned from every casino in Vegas, you think you can really beat him?” Derek commented.

“I may not be banned from Vegas casinos, but I never lose Blackjack,” you argued.

“Honey, you’ve lost eight games in a row!” JJ shouted, laughing and holding her stomach.

“Nevermind that! I’m gonna beat you Reid, if it's the last thing I do,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at Spencer, who sat as dealer with a giant grin on his face.

“I hate to interrupt this incredibly captivating game of Blackjack, but I’m kicking you out. It's late and an old man’s got to get some rest,” Rossi interrupted, erupting a series of ‘Boo’s’ and groans.

“Come on, come on. Call your DD’s, call your taxi cabs. Or if you want to stay, you can start washing the dishes,” he bargained.

Suddenly, all at once, everyone stood up practically scrambling and giggling like kids to avoid cleaning up. Penelope, Emily, and Derek hopped into a cab and Hotch drove JJ home then himself considering he hadn't anything to drink that night. That left you and Spencer, lingering on the sidewalk nudging each other in a fit of giggles.

“I assume you’re gonna take a cab?” he asked you.

“That’s the plan.”

“So we can share since I don’t live far from you. I’ll walk from your place,” he suggested.

“Oh no, no. Look what I snatched when everyone started leaving,” you pulled out the briefcase of poker chips that Emily had brought for that night out of your tote, “We’re going to your place and finishing what we started.”

“Oh boy, you have no idea how long it's gonna take. We’re gonna be up all night!” Spencer laughed, and you gasped.

“You’re an asshole,” you shoved him, before calling a taxi.

You squeezed in the back of the cab, legs bumping against each other. You felt your skin light up, you’ve always felt a certain way about Spencer. I mean who wouldn’t? Well actually, not a lot of people. You always tried to hide the pangs of jealousy or your faces of reluctance whenever the women you were working with or interviewed on cases would flirt with him, unnecessarily albeit. This happened more often than you care to admit or notice.

You walked into Spencer’s apartment, tossing your bag on the couch before falling to your knees and putting the briefcase on his coffee table. You opened it up and began shuffling the cards, quite intensely to make sure Spencer wasn’t going to cheat. You knew he wasn’t, his brain was too smart, but you did it for confidence instead.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Whatcha you got?” you asked.

“I’ve got a couple of beers, probably a little old. Oh, I still have the bottle of wine that Rossi gave to us for the new year,” he told you.

“Oh! Bring the wine! We’ll drink the beers later,” you winked at him, “Let’s get the fucking party started.”

It was late into the night now. You lost count how many times you’d lost to Spencer already. Just a couple of hours passed, and the wine was almost finished. You and Spencer couldn’t stop laughing and wiggling around. As Spencer shuffled the deck, a request you made him do after every turn, you came up with a devilish idea. One that would definitely get you in trouble should the outcome be anything other than what you would hope.

“Ooh,” you cooed, mischievously.

“What?” Spencer questioned.

“Oh, nothing, just had an idea,” you were smirking, or rather trying really hard not to burst into laughter.

“This can’t be good,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Why don’t we spice things up, shall we?”

“No, no way,” Spencer already knew what you were going to say.

“Strip Poker!”

“No!” he shouted, a big smile on his face contradicting his words.

“What, you scared? Scared that suddenly I’m starting to beat you and you’re gonna have to take all your clothes off?” you teased.

“No, I am a gentleman and I’m not gonna sit through watching you take all your clothes to prove a point,” he argued sassily.

“You are way too confident for your own good, Dr. Spencer Reid. You’re just chicken.”

“Ok, fine then. You dealer, or am I?” he asked, pouring the last bit of wine into your cup.

“Why don’t you hit me this time,” you said.

“You got it,” he responded, “Care to shuffle while I grab the beers?”

“Of course. About time we crack those open,” you smiled widely.

Now sitting down, face to face. Staring intensely at each other for a moment, hints of mischief and amusement in both your eyes. As you shuffled the cards well, Spencer couldn’t help notice the way your eyes were practically sparkling in the warm light of his apartment. How soft your skin looked in the light too. He doesn’t know when it happened. If it happened just now, or maybe he’s always felt this way about you.

Maybe it was those times where he felt a little more protective over you than the others on more brutal cases. The feeling of responsibility for you, to guide you, when you first join the team since you were the same age. Or maybe it was when you let him practically talk your ear off about peculiar facts regarding the case you had wrapped up. The small smile of your face knowing he thrived in these moments. The sweet giggle you let out when Morgan and Prentiss groaned knowing he would begin yet another tangent.

Yeah, it was definitely then he realized how special you were and how much he wanted to keep you in his life; in more ways than one.

But in this moment, when you handed him the cards with the most devilish smirk on your face, Spencer felt a wave of avidity, longing for you more than he ever has before. He felt so conflicted about the game you were about to play. He respected you so much and yet craved to see you, to have you, in this very way for so long already. He didn’t know what to do. He dealt the cards however, entertaining the idea, and you tapped the table for cards before taking a big swig of your beer.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, Spencer’s breath hitched.

You took off your earrings first and Spencer quirked an eyebrow.

“What? Were you expecting me to take off my shirt right away?”

“No,” he shrugged before giving you the deck to shuffle again.

“I swear to-” you cursed, pulling off one of your rings this time.

Your shoes came off, then your socks. All your accessories were scattered on the table before you. The last game you stood up unbuttoning your pants. Spencer clenched his jaw, averting his eyes downward as you peeled your pants down your legs. It took quite literally everything in him to not drool over you. You sank back down to the ground, the bottom half of your body shielded by the table and Spencer looked back at you again. He dealt the cards. You asked for a card, and Spencer knew then you would lose. The probability was certain. When he hit Blackjack and you didn’t, Spencer gulped and you sighed in defeat.

Staring boldly at Spencer, you disrobed your last garment that would give you some kind of modesty. Your bra is on full display with nothing else but your pair of underwear. You had a crucial decision to make if you ended up losing again and you were seriously considering that would be the case, the butterflies erupting violently in your belly.

“We don’t have to keep going,” Spencer cleared his throat.

“And why would I do that?” Maybe it was the alcohol in your system that gave you this sudden courage, this seduction. You were starting to have fun seeing Spencer squirming on the couch, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. You suddenly wanted to egg this round on as long as you can.

“Ok, then,” he muttered, as he dealt the cards, slowly this time.

Spencer had a face down card, assuming it was a value of ten like always, and an eight. You had a seven and a three, you were fucked. You needed an ace and you’d hit blackjack, or you could build up; but that’s risky. Maybe Spencer can go over. You had a chance, you know it. Your chest was moving fast and shallow, but your face was stoic and firm. Spencer on the other hand was antsy; his eyes frantic and his leg bouncing. You knew he was staring at your chest. You planned to use it to your advantage. Was it fair game? Yeah, yeah it was. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted.

“Hit me,” you egged.

“You got it,” he responded.

A five. Fuck.

Spencer hit himself and he drew a seven. Those are bad cards. He most likely went over and you might actually finally beat him.

“One more time, boy wonder,” you snapped. A six. A beautiful six of hearts.

“I stand,” he mutters, probably knowing he lost.

“Let’s see those cards, baby,” you teased.

“You first,” he told you, and placed your cards.

“Blackjack, baby!”

Spencer laid his cards revealing his seven and eight and underneath a nine, he busted; the cards of course. You won, you finally won. You jumped up in celebration, prancing in your undergarments around the room giggling and cheering.

“I did it! I fucking did it! I beat the boy genius, fair and fucking square! You lose Spencer, loser!” you shouted taunting him and he couldn’t help the smile painted in his blushing face; he almost forgot you were prancing around almost naked in the middle of his apartment.

“I- I was distracted,” he shuttered.

“Damn right you were,” you joked, squeezing your breasts to flaunt them in his face.

“It wasn’t fair game,” he bantered.

“It wasn’t fair game, my ass. I won and you lost, and you’re being a sore loser,” you mocked as you walked towards him like a panther, playfulness and seduction dripping from your tongue.

Spencer took the moment you walked near and grabbed your wrist yanking you to stumble into his lap. You were shocked, surprised, a little turned on. You held onto his shoulders, your breathing a little quicker than before. You tried to convince yourself it was from the celebratory dance and not the growing bulge from Spencer that poked you from beneath.

“I told you, I was distracted,” he told you, his hands finding a place at their hips. Fingers caressing delicately the hem of your underwear.

“Blah, blah,” you whispered.

“Don’t give me that.”

“Now, Spence, I believe there is something you have to do, is there not?” you whispered.

“What’s that?” he bantered.

“You lost.”

“Right, unfairly I might add,” he joked.

“If all you’re gonna do is talk, then let me do the honors,” you told him.

“Be my guest.”

Your fingers pulled gently at his tie he wore, pulling over his head and tossing it to the side on the floor. You started unbuttoning his shirt, Spencer staring with heavy eyes at you as you did so.

“I thought we were only taking off one item. We should play another round then if you want my shirt off,” he teased you, bringing his hands to gently hold your wrists.

“Like that’s gonna happen,” you rolled your eyes playfully.

Spencer relaxed against the back of the couch as you unbutton his shirt all the way. You brought your lips down to kiss softly at his collarbones and his shoulder. Moving along his chest to kiss the other side. His hands moved slowly against your hips, fingers sliding between the fabric of your underwear and your skin. Your skin erupted in chills, a tingle running through your spine making your ears feel hot. You dragged your nose along his strong jawline before nipping your teeth playfully against his cheek.

He brought his hands up, fingertips tracing your spine until he reached your bra. He skillfully unhooked it leaving you a bit breathless for just a second but a second too long. You could feel it, without even needing to look at him, to know he had such a teasing smile on his gorgeous face. You wanted nothing more than to kiss it off him.

You shrugged your bra off, tossing behind him giving him a playful wink which made him chuckle. You brought his hands to your breasts as you pulled his head towards you by the back of his neck to kiss him feverishly. Something you both had wanted to do for quite some time now. You wiggled your hips a bit, feeling the prodding against your center, which made Spencer groan lowly in the kiss; his hands squeezing your breasts hard in discomfort.

“Fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he told you.

“Let me say hi to your little friend, Spence. Or do you want to play for that too?” you taunted him.

“God, no. I couldn’t wait a whole other hour for you to beat me again,” he bantered making you scoff and roll your eyes; his hands shot straight to his zipper to pull his pants down just enough for the both of you.

You were practically itching to get your panties off. Standing up suddenly, both you and Spencer reached instinctively to pull them off you, his lips attaching themselves to your soft belly and hips. He freed himself from the constricting fabric of his pants and pulled you down, or rather yanked you to him. You couldn’t help the bubbly laugh that came from you making Spencer smile blissfully.

You bite your lip as you reach between your bodies, lining Spencer up against you perfectly. The warmth radiating from you was driving him crazy. It took everything in him to not suddenly take control and rut his hips against you. You sank slowly down on his length, not so little, you thought yourself.

“Oh jeez, I feel like I could come already,” you gasped, the pressure building in the pit of your stomach felt already overwhelming. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t had sex in years. You felt starved of this kind of touch, this kind of intimacy. The kind of feeling of Spencer’s cold fingertips touching and gliding across your skin like you were glass. Yeah, that was the feeling you didn’t know you needed, you didn’t realize you craved so much until this very moment.

“I’m a bit embarrassed to admit the same,” he chuckled breathlessly, “If you don’t start moving, I’m not gonna be able to hold myself back any longer.”

You took this as the green light to start rocking your hips back and forth. One hand resting against his cheek and the other stabilizing yourself against the frame of the couch. Spencer’s hands rocked with you, his way of helping and understanding the rhythm you were going. He started, with gaining confidence, to buck his hips into you and that’s when the pleasure began to build. You panted heavily above him, moans every now and then escaping your mouth to echo against the walls of Spencer’s small apartment.

“Shit. You feel so good,” he breathed out, “I thought I’d last longer.”

“Please, please don’t come yet,” you begged; bringing your forehead to his. You could see his skin becoming shiny with sweat, his cheeks flush with redness. Spencer, determined to make you come before him, or at the very least with him, reached between your thighs rubbing fast and swift circles against your clit. Your hips jerked with pleasure and Spencer’s name dripped from your lips like honey.

“Oh, that’s it,” Spencer whispered. His free hand came up and pulled you in a passionate and sloppy kiss. His tongue entwined with your and you moaned wildly as did he. His brain was fuzzy, not that your’s wasn’t also, with the sounds of sex, the rhythm of your hips, the warmth of your slick soaking his fingers.

“I’m close, fuck I’m so close, Spence,” you whined.

“Let go, sweetheart.”

“Ngh!” you moaned loudly. You dipped your head forward resting your forehead in the crook of his neck. Your bodies were so close, your bare chests pressed against each other. You both could feel the other’s breath and slowly you began to match each other’s erratic rhythm the closer you got to your climaxes. You messily pressed your lips against Spencer’s one last time before the wave of electrifying pleasure overcame you.

When you came down from your high, all you could feel and hear in that moment was Spencer. His soft pants brushing your ear, his arms cradling you close, his subtle leg shaking from what you assume was him also coming with you.

“That was really good,” you giggled.

“It really was,” he agreed.

“I’m gonna tell everyone about this,” you whispered wickedly.

“What?” Spencer questioned fearfully.

“I beat you in Blackjack,” you reminded him, making him laugh loudly.

“Give it a rest you would?” he sighed.

“No way. I’m gonna tell everyone. And everyone’s gonna tease you because I beat you fair and square. Unless, you wanna admit that my boobs were distracting you from your card counting tricks,” you teased.

“Alright, you won fair and square,” he smiled blissfully at you, his eyes soft and gentle in the warm light.

You giggled sweetly bringing him in a tender kiss, definitely not for the last time that night. Your bodies were entwined for the rest of the night until the tepid sunrays peaked meekly through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom window. The two of you sharing giggles between the sheets with his arms embracing you the way they had been all night. Needless to say, blackjack continues to be your favorite poker game. Especially now more than ever.

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360infotechreview · 2 years ago

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mintmatcha · 17 days ago

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so part of the reason he doesn't remember her is because it was such a shitty time at home and he was shutting down he's not just a fuckboy he's a TRAUMATISED fuckboy

If you were smart, you would have cleaned the place of every trace of you, but instead, you're forced to watch him pad through your belongings. Sero, the Sero, dreamboat Sero, is walking his fingers across the shelves in your living room, inspecting the rowing of manga. Sometimes, he hums, like he recognizes something. Other times, he stops on the figurines and pretends to shake their tiny hands in a horribly charming manner.

There's been boys in your apartment before. Well, a boy.

This is different. Sero is different.

He keeps looking back at you with these eyes, these damn eyes that you just can't resist, gently lidded with a smile that feels like it's just for you-

Liking him is stupid. You know that. Boys like him date pretty girls, thin girls, normal girls, better girls-

You adjust your clothes, pulling at the hem until you hear a definite pop. It's the exact outfit you saw on a pretty girl on tiktok, bought with three weeks of allowance, but it feel wrong and cheap against your skin. Wool over a wolf's body, poorly trying to disguise you as something you aren't.

Sero is effortlessly cool. His clothes are loose in they way that still makes him look lean and put together and purposely mismatched. Even his socks are different colors, one white, one black-

"You have a fun place, Cram School." Sero gives you a big smile. He calls you affectionately, since he claims to miss you when you're there. "You really like magical girls, don't you?"

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt more, tugging at the loose threads.

"...Yeah."

He waits a bit to see if you've got more to say, then turns back to your things. He's always attentive with you, even when Kirishima's other friends aren't.

"You totally wanted to be a hero as a kid, didn't you?" His teasing is light and your chest feels the same. "Like this guy?"

Technically, the figure he picks up isn't a hero, but you don't point that out. His warmth is melting you and you swear every atom in your body is slowly buzzing faster and faster.

"No, my quirk isn't good. I could never be a hero. I just..." You trip over your words because you know it's pathetic to admit. You adjust your glasses as you speak, sliding them up and down nervously. "They're sweet, and, and friendly. D-don't you ever wish you could transform into someone else for a little bit?"

There's another pause and you're forced to look directly at him. Your glasses slide down on their own.

"That was so cringe," you whisper.

His shrugs with one shoulder, scuffing his socks against the carpet. "Yeah. I do. Sometimes."

Sero sniffs, then hooks a thumb towards the television. "Do you wanna watch one?"

"A-a show?" you scoff at yourself. "You don't have to do that."

"You're so mean to yourself, Cram School. " Sero laughs. "I want to."

He asks questions the first episode. Good ones too. He posts to a character and whispers that it must be your favorite, since he saw the posters of her. Heat from his breath tickles your neck and that helium feeling in your chest just gets tighter.

The third episode, he slings and arm around your shoulders. You had been frozen tall, knees together with hands tucked into your lap, but then he drew you in, right into his collarbone. His elbows are sharp, but you don't mind. Not at all.

You debate touching him back, but your hands stay locked on the hem of your shirt.

When the credits roll, he turns to look at you, face so close to the side of yours that you can feel his nose bump against the wire frame of your glasses.

"Hey."

He whispers it as his hand finds your thigh.

"I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

He waits a minute, held by your indecisiveness. His skin is acne bitten under his bangs, the pad of fat under his eyes puffs when he smiles.

This isn't a cruel joke, is it? Or some dream you'll wake up from? This is real, painfully real, something that no one can take away from you-

"Okay?"

No one will ever believe that you have a boy in your apartment, one that wants to kiss you despite the glasses and everything else undesirable about you.

Sero whispers you name. Not Cram School, but your name.

You gather up the willpower to squeak out an: "Okay."

And then he does. Lips are dryer than you thought they'd be, but the gentle pull of skin against skin enough to steal your breath away. His own breath quivers with a sigh; he must be able to tell it's your first time, because he goes purposefully slow, moving his mouth slightly more and more open until you match his movements.

When his tongue slips into your mouth, it tastes like the peach tea he's left on your countertops.

For once, you don't want to be anyone else.

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rustedhearts · 10 days ago

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happy xmas (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿˚

summary: steve can't find a present for his girlfriend, so he asks the only other girl he knows: you. but searching for the perfect present for nancy turns into steve's chance to find the perfect present for you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

❅ the most wonderful time of the year ❅ the only living boy in indiana

tags: ignore that I think I messed up my own timeline, I literally do not care, fluff, mutual pining.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

recommended listening: silver joy, damien jurado

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹hawkins, indiana. december 23rd, 1975 ⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

Christmas break was a godsend this year. After your first semester in community college spent lugging textbooks from the library, and spending countless long evenings studying for exams, you needed the four blissful weeks at home. In silence. In bed.

Which is where you were, snuggled under a heavy pile of your warmest blankets pulled from the linen closet when the first snow fell—when the silence of your warm little home was interrupted by an incessant clanging. You shot up in bed, immediately craning to peer through your fogged-up bedroom window.

Your parents weren't due home until this evening. They still had to work, the poor bastards—but you had the whole place to yourself until then. And you planned on spending it alternating between your bed and the couch, where you'd spend an hour browsing through the TV guide for Christmas specials before deciding on one. Simply because you had absolutely nowhere to be and absolutely nothing to do.

Steve, on the other hand, did.

You huffed at the sight of him bounding down the front steps, kicking up tufts of snow as he went. He found the top of your head in the window and waved a gloved hand, beckoning you down. You groaned, fitfully kicking the covers to the end of your bed to march toward the window.

"Steve, I swear to God. I told you I'm having a day at home," you called down to him once the window was open.

The afternoon sun blared down on his wind-bitten cheeks, turned a rosy shade of pink. The wind billowed through his chestnut hair and pushed it off his forehead. God, he needed a new coat. New gloves, too. You spotted holes in both items, but knew well enough how much Steve cared about that wool-lined suede coat. Maybe your gift would be mending it for him. But lord knew how material Steve could be.

He cinched his brows together and cupped his hands over his eyes as he called up to you. "But I'm havin' a crisis! You have to help me."

Your fingers were catching cold curled over the windowsill, sitting in piles of icicles and last night's snow. In only the pajamas you went to bed in, you were in no place to stand in the open window and argue.

"Jesus," you huffed. "Just...come up, I gotta get changed."

You pulled back into your bedroom and shimmied the window shut with a rusty shriek. Steve grinned and jogged up the front steps toward the door. You scowled as you threw the covers over your rumpled bed, knowing you would not be enjoying the comfort and warmth of those clean sheets today like you'd hoped.

Instead, you discarded your pajamas and tugged on a pair of jeans and a sweater as Steve slammed the front door and headed upstairs.

"Okay, so—" Steve flung the door open and flopped on the end of your bed, boots discarded downstairs. "—I've been to like every store in town and I cannot find a present for Nancy."

You dropped the balled up socks in your hand and turned around, eyes narrowed at the boy hunched on your bed. "I am not going Christmas shopping for your girlfriend."

The pink returned to Steve's cheeks, eyes rounded like dough balls. "What? Come on, you're the only other girl I know!"

You scoffed, sitting on the carpet to roll your socks on. "That is not true."

He huffed, playing with the loose strings on his gloved fingers. "Well, no, but...you're the only one who can, like, help me. You and Nancy are really similar, you'll know what she likes!"

You adjusted the seam over your toes and glanced at Steve in your periphery. He truly did sound desperate. But that didn't change the fact that you'd have to spend the day you set aside to sleep and relax shopping for another girl. Steve's girlfriend, no less. The girl you weren't sure was right for your best friend anyway. Never mind the fact that she was a total priss, you were pretty sure she had feelings for another guy.

And Steve, with all his jealousy and possession issues, didn't seem to see it.

"We are not alike," you mumbled, plucking at the cotton of your socks.

"Whatever," Steve huffed. "Just...can you help me? It's gotta be something nice."

A deep breath ballooned in your chest. When you released it, it flung the hair out of your eyes. Steve watched you intently, socked foot bouncing on the floor. The wood beneath it squeaked in that spot, and the carpet muffled the sound to morph it into a groan.

You pushed off the floor and crossed your arms. "Fine. But you're buying me a pretzel at the mall. And a Pepsi."

Steve leapt to his feet, gloved hands outstretched to grab you by the shoulders. The grin on his face nuzzled into your cheek where he pressed a loud kiss.

"Yes, thank you. I'll buy you two! Okay, come on, come on."

He rushed the open door and hurried back downstairs for his boots. You sighed, pulling your discarded gloves and earmuffs from their place on your dresser.

"Come onnn!" Steve called from the bottom of the steps.

"Oh my god, I'm coming!"

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧ ︵‿₊୨୧₊‿˚

"You know, why did you wait until two days before Christmas to ask me to help you, Steve?"

The pretzel you made Steve buy you before you even stepped foot into a store was perfectly soft and buttery. The salt tingled on your tongue beautifully, and it was almost enough to help smooth the irritation this whole dilemma caused.

Except it was two days before Christmas and the mall was packed. You had to shuffle through hordes of people and you were already sweating through your layers. Someone nearly pushed you near the candy store and a little girl sneezed on your shoes.

The pretzel was simply not enough to save you from all that.

"I thought I could find somethin' by myself." Steve shrugged, taking a sip of the Pepsi.

He got a large so you could share, but he was hogging most of it.

"What, nothing said Nancy to you?"

The pair of you rounded the corner near Orange Julius, where blenders whirred over the jingle of Christmas music emitting from Sears. The fluorescent lights were warmed with giant globes of soft white light and the trees of multi-colored bulbs. They had tinsel and garland and ornaments everywhere, and if you weren't so upset with Steve, you might've found it wonderful. Sears was your happy place, after all.

So if Nancy really was like you, she'd find something worthy of Christmas there, too.

"Not really. She's very....particular."

"Mm," you hummed, ripping off another bite of your pretzel. "Do you think I'm particular then?"

Steve shot you a look, brow quirked. "No, you're picky. There's a big difference."

"I am not!" you gasped, shoving at his padded arm. "I just...like what I like."

"Yeah. You're high maintenance."

You scowled into your pretzel, reaching over to snatch the Pepsi cup from his hand. "Hey."

"No, it's okay. It's what makes you, you," he assured, looping his arm around your shoulders to give you a shake, tucked into his side.

You huffed, attaching your mouth to the chewed-up straw. Steve's anxious affliction came in the form of an oral fixation, usually attached to a cigarette between his lips.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you droned dryly.

Steve chuckled, giving you a squeeze with his arm. "Ah, you're alright."

In Sears, you let Steve hold the Pepsi again as you roamed the aisles. You steered clear of appliances entirely, knowing Nancy likely didn't use hot rollers and certainly didn't need a blender for Christmas. You headed to the clothing department first, knowing from the catalog that came a few weeks ago that they had a pretty good selection this year.

"So, what's your budget, Harrington?"

Steve leaned against a stand and shrugged. "Dunno, whatever."

You raised a brow, peering at him over the neck of an argyle cable knit. "Oh, fancy man with his big boy job, huh?"

Steve rolled his eyes, gnawing on the straw again. "Whatever."

You folded the sweater and placed it back on the table, pulling the gloves off your fingers with your teeth. You tucked them in your coat pocket and moved onto the next table, peering through the selection of fabrics and options. Steve followed quietly, glancing casually but absently. You pulled the Pepsi from his hands when the straw chewing became loud.

"What about this?" he asked, pulling a fuzzy pink sweater up like roadkill, plucked between two fingers. "You think she'd like this?"

You hid your smile behind a sip of Pepsi. "Um...I guess, yeah."

"Well...would you wear it?" Steve held it out by the shoulders, letting the sweater hang loose.

You looked it over, tipping your head. "Probably not. But I don't really wear pink, I think Nancy does."

"Oh, right."

Steve placed it back on the table in a rumpled ball. You huffed, shoving the cup against his chest.

"What are you, a heathen? Fold it, Harrington, Jesus."

He was quiet a moment, watching you fluff and fold an item you didn’t plan to buy.

"Are you sure you don't wear pink?"

"Have you seen me wear pink?"

Hearing his sharp intake of know-it-all breath, you whirled around and added an addendum. "After the age of seven?"

Steve closed his mouth. You plucked the cup from his hand and flashed a tight-lipped smile.

"Exactly. Come on, let's go over here."

He followed you across the snow-slicked tile, boots squeaking as he went. He watched you pause and tip your head at a brown coat in the men's section, only to turn back toward the women's. He eyed it as he followed you blindly.

"What about you?"

You felt the sleeve of a plum-colored cardigan. "What about me?"

"What do you like getting for Christmas?"

You tossed him a bewildered glance. "You know I love my Mrs. Harrington popcorn tin every year."

Steve chuckled, twisting the plastic straw of the Pepsi cup between two fingers. "Yeah, but...I don't know, what's one thing you've always really wanted, but never got?"

You watched him twist the straw, and hung the sweater back on the rack. "Um...I don't know."

"Oh, come on. Like...you know I've always wanted that one super rare press of The Stones'—"

"Yes, Steve, I know."

Steve ignored your eye roll, taking one large step forward toward the jewelry case you were peering into. “Well, so, what’s your rare press? The one thing you really want?”

You glanced at him through your lashes, head still angled toward the array of rings and bracelets. Your cheeks illuminated by the fluorescents, fingers collecting the glimmer of a strand of lit garland wrapped around the glass of the jewelry case—it all suddenly made Steve begin gnawing at the Pepsi straw again.

"Why are you asking me this?"

Steve huffed, leaning back against the warm case until you pushed him off. "Jesus, is it so hard for you to answer one question?"

You straightened up again and stepped away from the jewelry. Nancy seemed like a jewelry girl, but you were becoming increasingly more frustrated in your search—though at this point, your eyes were simply grazing items. Everything that piqued your interest didn't seem like something Nancy was worthy of. And the mere thought of your spite for the girl gave you pause.

So, how could Steve be so sweet in this moment when you were standing there plotting revenge on Nancy Wheeler through means of shitty Christmas gifts?

"Fine," you mumbled. "Um...you know that I always think it's the thought that counts—"

"God," Steve groaned, tipping his head back dramatically as he followed you into the next department. "Okay, Mother Teresa."

Your elbow jammed into his side and caused Steve to yelp. "I mean it! Sure, I might be particular—"

"Picky—"

"—but just the thought of someone thinking of me, or having me in mind when they find something...that's what makes a gift special. You know? Like when you went to that bookstore in Indianapolis and got me that journal. You didn't get it because you knew I wanted it, you got it because it made you think of me."

Steve swallowed, grinding his teeth over the flimsy plastic of the straw. You twirled a coat around on its hanger and inspected the back. As your hand swept over the tweed, Steve felt the bite of pretzel he took crawling its way back up.

"So..." He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting the sweetness lining his cheeks. God, was he gonna be sick because of this?

And what was this? He knew it wasn't the normal, platonic ache all best friends of any gender felt. He knew it was abnormal, actually, to listen to you speak and suddenly feel so overcome with something that it made him want to flee. But what was that something?

It certainly couldn't be what he was thinking.

"Your rare press is...something thoughtful?"

You giggled, hanging the coat back up. The metal hanger shrieked over the rack. "No, I guess if I had to have a rare press, it'd be one of my grandma's handmade blankets. She made one for my mom and all her siblings when they went off to college or moved out, and...I don't know, I guess I'm still sad I'll never get my own now that she's gone."

When Steve only hummed, you turned to find him leaning against a tinsel-wrapped column near the aisle.

"I guess that's something thoughtful, too," you added.

Steve had the straw back in his mouth again, and he bobbed his head affirmatively. You turned away and scanned the store before you. You suddenly couldn't be here any longer, and when a bit of yellow caught your eye, you rushed for it.

It was a soft sweater, with embroidered flowers on the sleeves and tortoise shell buttons. You pulled one from the table and held it out to Steve, who had just caught up to you from across the store.

"What—"

"—here. Nancy looks nice in yellow. Something thoughtful, too."

Steve took the bundle of yellow in his grasp. You took the Pepsi cup, now mangled by his teeth and crushed by his hand, and took a sip through the gnawed opening.

"Come on, let's go pay. The lines are wrapped around already."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹ christmas eve. ⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

You watched through the fog of your living room window as Steve's BMW pulled into his driveway. He wore his nicer coat that day, buttoned snugly against his throat. At the passenger side, he offered his hand to an equally-bundled Nancy, dark curls billowing in the afternoon breeze. Their breaths echoed whitely against the grey sky, noses and cheeks already wind-whipped pink.

You let the curtains fall back into place when they disappeared through his front door.

"Honey, want to help me hang the popcorn?" your mother asked, holding a strand of popcorn and cranberry garland between two hands.

You pressed your socked feet into the carpet and met her near the tree. "Sure, mom."

And every walk around the tree to fix an ornament or fluff a branch, or tread to the dining room for a cube of cheese from the platter your parents set out for their friends later, came with a glance through the window toward Steve's house.

So, when the cheese began to curdle in your stomach, and the sound of Christmas carols crackling through your father's record player was not enough to distract you from what was going on next door, you went into the living room and peeked around the corner.

"Hey, mom? I think I'm gonna go lie down. Wake me when everyone's here?"

Your mother looked up from the tin of ornaments she was rifling through, placed on the floor at her knees. She had on her nicest tweed dress and white blouse, hair twisted and pinned neatly at the back of her head. The Christmas party was your parents' favorite event of the year. You wouldn't miss it out of heartache—but your body was calling you to bed.

"Oh, okay, sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?"

You nodded, flashing your most convincing smile. "Yeah, just tired from all that shopping yesterday. I'll see you guys in a bit."

And you crawled into bed, even in your dress. Tight-clad feet wiggled near the edge of the bed, nestled beneath the pile of blankets you abandoned yesterday. Their warmth weighed down on you blissfully. The crackle of your father's record player and the choir of the Christmas carols faded in the distance. The howl of the wind grew quiet as the afternoon lulled. It only whispered, softly, through the bareness of the trees and the cracks in your window.

Before you shut your eyes, you looked off toward the glass. The center fogged with the kiss between radiator heat and the frozen world outside. Snow gathered around the edges like lace border. From this angle, you could see only the spindly edges of the tree branch tops. How snow sat like dollops of whipped cream on their ends.

The world was quiet, cold, and empty. And it was exactly what you needed.

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

Steve came when you were fast asleep. He knocked on the front door with a gloved fist, keeping his sloppily-wrapped gift behind his back. The grin on his face slipped when the door opened to your mother, who winced with a finger to her lips.

"Hi, Steven."

"Hi, Sandra. Is she around?"

"She's sleeping," she whispered, giving another wince.

Steve nodded, smile absent now. "Oh, okay. Um...do you mind if I just put this outside her door?"

Your mother looked at the lumpy shape in Steve's hands, wrapped in shiny red paper and a golden bow. Her wincing ceased instantly and she perked up with a grin.

"Oh, how lovely, Steven. You're such a sweet boy, you know?"

Steve chuckled, cheeks burning.

"You sure you don't want to just wait, give it to her tomorrow?" she asked.

Steve placed both hands around the present, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he gazed down. "Um...no, that's okay. Kind of wanted her to have it tonight, and we're going to my grandparents' in a bit."

"Well, alright. Come on in, you can head up."

Steve thanked your mother and stepped inside. He shook his boots off on the mat and unlaced them quickly. He shook your father's hand, complimented the festivities of your home's first floor, and tiptoed toward the staircase.

The hallway darkened near your bedroom. He paused outside of the door, listening to the sounds of your home for a moment. Your parents conversing downstairs over the jazzy toot of a Christmas song. The heater rattling a little at the end of the hall. You gave no sign of life on the other side of the door.

So, Steve found himself opening it. Quietly, knowing it tended to whine on the hinges at a certain distance. He opened it just enough to slip through, and then found himself standing there. In the center of your bedroom, socked feet weighing down the carpet. You used to draw shapes in the fibers when you were younger, lying on your stomachs with your feet kicking behind you. You'd write each other messages in the pink, giggling when you guessed them exactly.

In your bed— cheek squished against a plaid pillow, hair fussed about, mouth open to breathe softly—you looked just like that little girl again. The one who called him Stevie. The one he spent afternoons that felt like years with.

It's strange how different time felt when you were children. How much more if it you had. How simple and unperverted it was, not yet burdened with the difficulties of life and that odd, aching feeling.

As Steve placed the lumpy present wrapped messily in red at the foot of your bed, he imagined that little girl opening it when she woke, and the smile on her face that he would never see.

It left him with an even bigger ache in his chest as he slipped back into the hallway and headed down for his boots.

But it would have pleased him to know that when you woke at four o'clock, and your bedroom was nearly dark with evening, you shuffled to sit and stared at that red present in wonder. You brought it to your lap and ran your finger over the scratchy glitter of the bright, gold bow.

There was a sticky note taped to the top, complete with what you instantly recognized as Steve's scraggly handwriting.

Your rare press.

— Steve

You chuckled softly, and tore the paper as carefully as you could. Before all of it had even been removed, goosebumps traveled beneath the sleeves of your dress. A gasp left your mouth, and you discarded the paper toward the other side of your bed to leave only your rare press in your hands.

Stripes of purple—an array of dark to light, boysenberry, violet, mauve, lavender—wove through gaps the size of tiny, feminine fingers. It was soft and heavy in your palms, exactly the weight of the one strewn over the couch in the living room. With the wavy edges of a Harrington afghan, seen in the many rooms touched by his grandmother.

Though yours was gone, Steve had one that loved to offer her magic hand.

You brought the blanket to your chest and hugged it close. Wonderfully, it smelled like Steve.

Leftover Winston, a warm amber musk, and the woodsy pine of a Christmas tree.

It was enough to make you get out of bed and lay the layers of blankets neatly. And folded just-so over the end of your mattress, you placed your purple present for all to see.

And it smelled wonderfully of Steve.

#rolly!#70s!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff

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soullvrs · 1 month ago

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[ 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 ]

in which [name] decided to take a vacation in a small town to visit, but his car broke down for lack of gas and snow prevented him from continuing. He had to ask for help because there were no houses in the forest, until he found an isolated house with a light inside.

warnings ; drug usage, aphrodisiac usage, explicit behavior from the male!reader?,nsfw, handjob, amab/male!reader.

With his hands on the steering wheel of his car, [Name] checked the time on his phone to see if it was getting late or not. [Name] couldn't tell the time because of the current temperature as he drives. Since this morning, the sky had been covered in darkness, and the air was almost as icy as the North Pole. So far, the clouds had started to rain and then snow while he was driving.

It was a long drive of about 32 minutes, and [name] was getting a little bored of sitting in the same chair, so he decided to put on some music to break up the quiet atmosphere. [Name] put on his favorite playlist and sang almost every song that came on until he lost his voice. "The road is so long..." [Name] was worried about the length of the journey, he couldn't pick up the speed because he risked an accident due to the icy road.

Suddenly, his vehicle stopped in the middle of the road, [Name] was surprised and tried to restart several times, but to no avail, he looked at the dashboard to see the fuel level, and it was zero. [Name] sighed, "Why is this happening to me?” He opened the door and got out of the car, frustrated by his avoidable oversight.

[Name] walked to the back of his car and opened the trunk, and there was nothing, not even a tank of gas. "Ugh..." he closed the trunk angrily, disappointed in himself. "If I call a tow truck, I'll have to wait in the cold for hours..." [Name] sniffed and got half of his body into the car, taking his car key and locking the door. He locked his car with the key. "Now I have to get help." [Name] wasn't warm enough, so he had to hurry up.

What an idea to leave without refueling. Worst of all, the car stopped in a forest with no houses. He walked into the woods, hoping to see a house, even though the chances were slim. As he walked, he began to lose sight of his car and went deeper into the forest, which he thought was quite dense. As he looked around, he began to lose hope until he spotted a house that was lit up, and without a doubt, he began to run toward it. When he finally reached the door, [Name] knocked on it. He waited in the cold for a few minutes before someone opened the door.

"Oh, uhm, hello ! I have a quick question: do you have any gas?" The man shook his head and said no, he didn't have any at the moment. "Ugh...shit." [Name] sighed. But the man interrupted him. "If you want, you can stay with me, and tomorrow we'll call a tow truck." His voice was captivating and reassuring. "Oh, um, okay, if you don't mind staying with me..." [Name] whispered with a rosy blush in his slightly embarrassed cheeks. The man let him in and smiled as he closed the door.

The inside of the house was so warm and pleasant, the first room was the living room, well decorated with carpets and paintings and several sofas and a cabinet with books and records. The fireplace in this living room was lit, warming his body.

"It took me a while to decorate and make it look clean, I’m glad that I can see you like it” The man smiled at him. In his opinion, he was so gorgeous, how could anyone hide his beauty in a pumped-up hole like this one ? The man's mauve hair matched his bright yellow eyes. His hair was long and looked soft and silky, stopping just above his shoulders. The man was wearing a white wool sweater that probably kept him warm, with a black baggy pant that really suited him well.

"Would you like some coffee or tea, you look like you caught a cold when you were out in the cold." [Name] was surprised, was he assuming he was sick, at the moment he didn't feel sick, maybe he was afraid of him getting sick which is so sweet from him, and it seemed more logical.

"Ah, I'd like some tea if you don't mind, but let's see how you're doing," the tall man turned back to him, almost heading for the kitchen before calling out to him. "Mikah, my name is Mikah, and your name is [Name] isn't it?" [Name]‘s heart sank to his feet, and went to a silent, how did he know his first name?

"Well, I'll go and make you some tea," he went into the kitchen, leaving [Name] in the living room, the man suddenly feeling uncomfortable with what he had just stated. He grabbed his forearm and squeezed his arm tightly, maybe he was hearing voices and going crazy from the cold? He looked for excuses not to change the mood between them, so there would be no awkward moments. Slowly breath out, as [Name] walked over to the table next to the living room and sat down on a chair to wait for his tea.

Mikah returned with two cups, one of coffee and one of tea. [Name] grinned nervously as he saw him coming, thinking back to the line he'd used a few minutes before. But he tried to motivate himself by smacking himself in the face with his thoughts.

The boy with the long hair put the cup of tea on the table in front of [Name] and sat down next to him, still with a sly smile on his lips. "You should drink it before it gets cold, tea is better hot than cold." [Name] smiled in return, his cheeks turning a little pink at his kindness, maybe he was wrong about him, but he was still a stranger, he shouldn't let his guard down.

Taking the handle of the cup, [Name] brought the bowl to his lips and blew on the tea before it touched his tongue. The tea was sweet, just like he liked it, but it had a strong smell, but he decided to ignore it.

When he finished the glass, his stomach hurt so suddenly, his heart began to beat strongly, making his chest ache. He felt tingling all over his body, his breathing becoming more and more intense and rapid because of all the sensations that were stimulating him enormously. His face grew hotter and hotter, and his blood rushed to his cheeks, turning them red.

What had he put in his tea, he should have known about his kindness and what he'd said before coming back. He turned his head and saw the man had stopped smiling and was holding an open sachet. [Name] squinted and read "aphrodisiac", his heart stopped for a second, so this is it?

[Name] closed his eyes, trying to control himself, trying to keep his modesty, but the man put his hand on his thigh and rubbed it next to his crotch. Mikah's mouth came close to his ear and whispered softly. "It's a shame you don't remember me, because this time you won't be able to escape me." He had been so desperate that if [Name] didn't even remember him, his only question was why.

Overwhelmed by his urges, he began to shed a tear. He tried to speak, but his tears flowed freely and would not let him speak. "What are you trying to say, honey?" He continued to caress his thigh, but he slightly moved closer to his hands to his already erect crotch. "Please make it stop" The effect of the drug was getting stronger and stronger, making him feel even hornier than before. While he was whining, Mikah unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and shorts, exposing his member.

Before he took his cock, he spit on his palm for a silky smooth handjob, as grabbed his cock, touching it lightly with his fingertips. He teased it slightly by playing with the tips of his cock, which was leaking pre-cum. He gradually increased the friction and strength of his hands holding his dick firmly. [Name]’s moans became more and more slutty and lewd, he rolled back his eyes at the warmth of his body and at all that was happening now, overwhelming him. The male groaned, as he felt his eyelids grew heavier as the minutes passed by, he slowly closed his eyes without understanding he was going unconscious after overheating.

#uke male reader #bottom male reader #male oc #male oc x reader #male oc x male reader #x male reader #male reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x male reader #oc x reader #gay #sub male reader #amab reader

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cheollipop · 1 year ago

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gentle

navi | taglist

pairing: owner!seonghwa x bunny!reader x fox!wooyoung

w.c.: 2.6k

tags: smut, fluff, hybrid au, fem reader

desperate and whiny, your heat pheromones triggered wooyoung's feral instincts, forcing seonghwa to step in and teach him how to treat you properly.

warnings: dom!seonghwa, switch!wooyoung, sub!reader, heat cycles (f), unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, multiple orgasms (f&m), breeding kink, use of restraints (leash and collar), nipple play, hwa is referred to as daddy a few times, brat taming (kinda, wooyoung is too eager for his own good), cum eating/swallowing, cum everywhere, so much cum, wooyoung used to be a stray so he struggles with controlling his animalistic instincts, nicknames (baby, bunny, darling; youngie; hwa, daddy), aftercare

A/N: I've had this idea in my notes for quite a while now, and I've wanted to write for this pair for just as long, so I'm really happy I finally got it done :"" happy reading!

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

*₊°。 ❀°。 *₊。 ❀°。• *₊°。 ❀。 *₊°。 ❀°。

A silent home was an unusual occurrence. In most cases, Seonghwa came back to a brightly-lit apartment, it’s two other occupants racking up the electricity bill in his absence. This time, however, it was pitch black, the living room illuminated by the single lamp shining through his open bedroom door. He looked around as he walked through the room, taking in the mayhem that had broken out between the four walls: a broken vase by the coffee table, water pooling over the carpet where a bundle of roses laid lifelessly; the couch cushions thrown haphazardly around the room, only a few left in their place, Tom chasing Jerry on the TV across from it. Walking further into the house, he noted the untouched food bowls by the kitchen’s entryway and finally allowed worry to flood his system. Seonghwa was used to his two hybrids’ rapid footsteps as they barrelled their bodies towards him the second he walked through the door, climbing his body and nuzzling into his clothes. He was used to empty bowls and whiny pleads for dinner. And despite their playfulness, he was used to coming home to a fairly clean apartment, perhaps being met with wide, glassy eyes in case they had broken something while he was at work.

A soft whimper slipped through his open bedroom door and Seonghwa’s legs moved on their own, panickily rushing through the doorway and halfway into the room before stopping. His eyes widened and his leather work bag slipped through limp fingers as he scanned the scene unfolding before him – the fox hybrid covering you with his body and consequently folding yours in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he bucked his hips into your used cunt. Seonghwa’s eyes trailed down to study where you connected, the vulgar squelch of his cum being relentlessly fucked into you, streaming out of your hole and soaking your bunny tail, the ball of fur vibrating weakly at the overstimulation.

Seonghwa had taken Wooyoung in after spotting him dragging an injured leg along the side of a busy road, nursing him back to full health and realising he had gotten too attached to the cheeky fox to let him go. You had been shy and dismissive of the curious hybrid when he first entered your home, perhaps even a little jealous when Seonghwa spent a little too much time caring for him rather than doting on you. It took the fox a few days to open up to you, and only a little over a week for you to realise that Seonghwa was right: It was hard not to love Wooyoung. It surprised Seonghwa at first when you suddenly became accepting of the other hybrid’s presence, welcoming the insistent kisses he pressed to your twitching nose and cuddling up to him on the carpet where the afternoon rays warmed the luxury wool.

After a few months of the stray fox’s move-in, Seonghwa’s surprise faded into fondness whenever he found you and Wooyoung all over each other. But this? This was unusual – Wooyoung’s tail stiff and pointed horizontally, a deep growl muffled through his gritted teeth as he ploughed his cock into you, emptying load after load into your sopping heat. You met Seonghwa’s eyes, your face turned sideways on the tear-soaked pillow, the bottom half of your face wet with a mixture of Wooyoung’s drool and your own.

Your lips widened and closed, stuttering out a few broken moans before managing to form barely-coherent words. “I, Hwa- hnngh! I-I can’t-”

The tone of your voice – desperate and pleading – broke Seonghwa out of the trance he was in, quickly crossing over to the bed and wrapped his arms around Wooyoung to pull him away from you, earning himself a brute growl from the hybrid. Seonghwa watched as pearly ribbons painted your lower belly and mound, Wooyoung’s cock twitching as he came again, immediately standing back up and Seonghwa had to tighten his grip around him to keep him off you. Wooyoung’s gaze fixed on your fluttering hole, his tongue rolling out and drool dripping onto his lap while his eyes followed the trail of cum streaming out of your cunt and pooling over the sheets where you laid.

For a few seconds, Seonghwa did the same, but he quickly tuned out the throbbing in his work pants to tend to you. He was quick to take notice of the familiar flush coating your cheeks, your eyes glazed over and unfocused and your round tail twitching every few seconds – signs he was all too familiar with. You were in heat.

“Oh, darling,” he cooed, moving Wooyoung away from you and sitting down on the edge of the bed by your waist. He cradled your face with one palm and used the other to push your hair off your face. “Your pheromones must be affecting Youngie… Are you okay?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you blinked a few times before nodding, your whole body tingling under Seonghwa’s touch. “I feel so full, Hwa…”

Seonghwa’s eyes moved down your body until they reached your core: your index and middle fingers spreading you open to show him Wooyoung’s cum overflowing from your fluttering hole as it clenched desperately around nothing. He managed one breathy curse before Wooyoung’s head lowered onto you to lap up his own release, a sudden cry leaving your lips as you grabbed at your owner’s sleeve. Seonghwa tore away from your grip to move the hybrid off you again, grabbing him by the back of his neck and angling his head to face him.

“Wooyoung-ah,” Seonghwa warned, steadying him with a cautionary look.

The stray turned docile at his owner’s tone, his ears falling flat against his head and his tail drooping. “B-but… ‘want bunny to have my kits. ‘Gotta make sure she’s full of Youngie’s cum…”

Swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, Seonghwa ignored the fully-formed tent in his pants – twitching and throbbing when his eyes flitted down to your dripping core – and relaxed his hold on Wooyoung’s neck. “You have to be gentle with her, Youngie. You can’t be that rough or she might get hurt,” he smoothed his palm over the fox’s head, lightly scratching behind his ear.

Seonghwa was too distracted admiring the soft blush tinting Wooyoung’s cheeks to notice your hand moving up his leg, inhaling sharply when you cupped his clothed bulge. They both looked down at you – nuzzling your cheek into Seonghwa’s thigh while your hand worked over the hard outline of his cock.

“Can daddy show Youngie how I should be treated?”

Wooyoung leaned forward just enough for the leash to tug on the collar around his neck and restrict his airflow, pulling back and panting heavily before leaning forward again, lips parted and drool pooling on the sheets between his legs. He fluttered his eyes shut and welcomed the steady rhythm of skin-on-skin echoing between the four walls, knowing Seonghwa’s cock was drilling his cum into your tight cunt. He opened his eyes again to take in the sheen of sweat covering both your bodies, Seonghwa’s hips relentlessly slamming into yours. It was as though your pheromones were affecting him too despite him being human; you could tell he was barely holding on, trying to maintain a sliver of control over the situation to keep you grounded.

Having spent years with Seonghwa, nothing satiated your need to be bred like he did, grinding his cock into you in a way that sent hot waves of pleasure soaring through your body and fogging up your brain. All you could think about was Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Seonghwa – his fingers gripping the soft skin of your thighs, pushing one down onto the mattress and holding the other around his waist; his mouth periodically pressing against yours, swallowing up the soft melody you sang for him before peppering kisses all over your flushed face. Your whole body shuddered under his when he drove you into another orgasm, praise rolling off his tongue, his voice sweeter than honey while he guided you through your nth high.

“Fuck, good girl,” Seonghwa praised, brushing his palm over the side of your head and dipping down to peck the tip of your twitching nose. “More, baby?”

You nodded desperately, using the leg around his waist to push him closer and further into you.

"So desperate to be bred," he chuckled. "Wanna be fucked full of my cum, hm?"

“Please, please-”

He silenced your whines with a harsh thrust, the corners of his lips tugging upwards when your features relaxed, ecstasy flooding through your body. He looked to the side, taking notice of Wooyoung’s dick – the tip an angry red, leaking an obscene amount of precum – and how his eyes fixed on where the two of you connected, transfixed by his owner’s cock pumping his own cum into your stretched hole, pushing some out to dampen the soiled sheets under you.

Seonghwa let go of your hip to unclip the leash from Wooyoung’s collar, instead grabbing the leather and tugging the stray down to your chest. He didn’t waste a second before latching his mouth onto your perked-up nipple and sucking harshly. Trailing his lips over the slope of your breast, Wooyoung whispered against the slick skin and smiled slyly at the shiver that shook your body, “Gonna be so pretty when they’re swollen with milk.”

His hands remained behind his back – following the firm instructions Seonghwa had given him while securing his leash to the bedhead – digging them into his lower back as he resisted the urge to touch you. Instead, he licked his way back to your nipple, taking it between his teeth and biting down a little too hard, the sharp pain pulling a broken cry from your lips. Long fingers tangled in the hair at the crown of his head and tugged harshly, making Wooyoung face upwards to meet Seonghwa’s burning irises.

“What did I say earlier? Are you gonna be a good boy and listen to me?” Seonghwa growled, his other hand smoothing a thumb over your breast while he stared down the fox hybrid.

Wooyoung stuttered, mewling under Seonghwa’s stern hold, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise! Please, please, I’ll be so good-”

Seonghwa pumped his length between your pulsing walls to push out a dribble of the cum the fox had pumped you full of, scooping it up with two fingers and carrying it to Wooyoung’s open mouth. The hand still holding him up tugged at his hair to sit him up before stuffing his fingers down his throat. Seonghwa began grinding his cock into your heat at the sight – Wooyoung’s eyes glassy with unshed tears, his throat constricting around the long fingers fucking his own cum into his mouth. The older man knew he enjoyed being used like this, taking notice of how his cock twitched violently between his legs at the rough handling.

Seonghwa’s eyes moved back to you – whimpering under him and rolling your hips, seeking out more friction – but he continued making Wooyoung gag on his fingers. Once, twice, and the stray was painting your chest and belly with hot ropes of cum, moaning pathetically as he came untouched, the rough prodding of his owner’s fingers against his uvula enough to drive him over the edge.

But then you were cumming, clamping down on Seonghwa’s cock and deriving a breathy curse from his plush lips before he began pounding into you. Slipping his fingers out of Wooyoung’s hot mouth, he dug them into your hips and chased his own release. Your orgasm prolonged with Seonghwa’s relentless thrusting, you arched your back and gripped on Wooyoung’s thigh as the man on top of you drove his cockhead into your swollen gland, airy moans rolling off your tongue with the mind-numbing pleasure Seonghwa so generously gave you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, “so perfect, the both of you, shit-”

Seonghwa was so close, a hair away from giving you what you desperately wanted. “Please, ‘want daddy’s cum,” you pleaded, the overstimulation violently shaking your legs. “wanna have hwa’s babies, please, fill me up- hnngh!”

He thought he’d cum from that, but then Wooyoung was bending at the waist, licking a stripe over your heaving belly to lap at his own release, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed it down. Seonghwa came with a throaty groan, speeding up his movements before slowing them down to grind his hips into your pulsing cunt, milking himself of every last drop and fucking it into you until it mixed with Wooyoung’s seed.

The next twenty minutes were a blur, Seonghwa guiding Wooyoung into the shower before coming back with a damp cloth, delicately running it over your body to clean you up. You asked him not to wash out the sticky mess inside you, and upon seeing your wide eyes and the trembling of your bottom lip, he couldn’t help but do as you asked. He placed feathery kisses over the clean skin, fighting the shivers shaking your figure. Whining when he got up to leave, Seonghwa raked his fingers through your hair to calm you down, waiting with you until a head of damp hair peeked through the doorway, the stray fox instantly jumping onto the bed to cuddle into your side. Secured within Wooyoung’s arms, Seonghwa detached himself from you to hop into the shower.

Wooyoung’s lips grazed over your neck, pressing into your pulse point while his fingers caressed and squeezed at your waist and hips. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he muttered shyly, pulling at your heart strings.

Your fingers carded through his dark locks, scratching behind his ear until pleased hums vibrated against your neck. “You didn’t hurt me, Youngie, it felt good, but... could you be more gentle next time?”

Wooyoung peeled himself away from you and nodded quickly, pressing frantic, open-mouth kisses all over your face while you giggled. You spotted your owner leaning against the doorframe, a towel wrapped around his hips and fondness painted across his features as he watched his two hybrids love on each other. You reached out in his direction and made grabby hands, a grin splitting your face in half when he moved towards you with a breathy chuckle.

Tucked in between the two men, you allowed their warmth to seep into your skin, the delicate kisses planted over your shoulders, neck, and face making your body shake with giddy giggles. You knew your heat would pick up again soon, and the desperate need to be bred would take over you once again, but for now, you allowed the comfort they gave you to lull you to sleep, their steady breathing guiding you into a pleasant dream.

Seonghwa rubbed soothing circles over your hip, gluing himself to your back and moving the blanket to cover you and Wooyoung’s shoulders. He noticed the other’s man’s gaze snap back up, previously fixed between your legs to follow the trail of cum seeping out of your used hole. As though he was a teenager who’d been caught watching porn, he tried playing it off by pretending to be asleep, but his exhaustion took over him and his breathing slowly evened out. Seonghwa simply watched him, endeared by the hybrid’s high libido, always ready to pounce on you if you gave him the chance. Wooyoung nuzzled into your neck, his arm thrown over your waist and his fingertips brushing over the other man’s skin. Seonghwa’s own drowsiness pulled his eyelids shut, the world around him fading away and Wooyoung’s meek mumbling echoing in his head as he drifted away:

“I wonder how it feels to be so full of daddy’s cum... I bet it feels nice.”

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#seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #park seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez #jung wooyoung smut #park seonghwa #jung wooyoung #wooyoung x y/n #kpop smut #jung wooyoung x reader #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x y/n

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ataraxiaspainting · 11 months ago

Text

Careless Whisper.

Yan Gojo x F Reader.

Synopsis: After a long game of playing hard to get, Satoru finally gets you to go on a date with him. But you didn’t expect him to choose a farmer’s market of all places for it to happen.

Warnings: Yandere themes, threats of kidnapping, manipulation, and stalking.

Continuation of There is an Uproar.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

This Could Be Us by Rae Sremmurd

Get Up by NewJeans

Supermassive Black Hole by Muse

Bathroom by Montell Fish

Hotel by Montell Fish

Money Trees by Kendrick Lamar (feat. Jay Rock)

After Hours by The Weeknd

Government Hooker by Lady Gaga

Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

The Walls by Chase Atlantic

“You’re killing me; don’t you see that you’re the winner of the game?” – Benét, Killing Eve

*~*~*~*

You hold onto the basket like a lifeline.

You grasp the handle so tightly it leaves a mark on your palm and the inner parts of your fingers, and you can practically feel splinters impaling them.

They say the devil takes on many forms, and if it were said that the devil could take the form of a white-haired man with sunglasses in whatever religious texts you were given in your childhood, you would believe that without question.

The identity of whoever or whatever forced you on this little outing is not human. You know this. He can’t be. If he is, your view of humanity will decrease tenfold from where it once was.

Should you pray to all the higher powers and heavens above that he is or is not?

“Come on, let’s get moving!” They say monsters speak in either honeyed, calm, and sweet voices or grimy and croaky ones; but this one is neither. “I kinda want to pet a chicken.”

*~*~*~*

“There’s my girlie!”

You were not surprised in the slightest when Satoru pulled up to your door with a Rolls-Royce. At the sight and the called-out nickname, you even roll your eyes and cross your arms, much to the driver’s amusement. The car is adorned with lamb's wool carpets, embellished with stunning wood and milled aluminum accents, and encased in box grain leather. Only the highest quality materials for the all-high and mighty Satoru Gojo. It is the topmost privilege for a mere mortal like you to even see it.

“You ready?” As you ever will be.

“Yeah.” Your response is quick and to the point. “You still haven’t even told me where we are going for this… date.”

The smirk that appears on his face instantly gives you the impulse to slap it off. But he is stronger, and will most likely not let you, because he is the one in control and not you. So, as he beckons you closer, you close the car door behind you and sit down on the leather seat. The drive to hit him still stands for as long as you anticipated. You just look out the window and hope it goes away.

It is nice outside. Though if Satoru’s foot was not on the peddle, you would have liked it more.

It’s spring now. The grass is bright green and tall, and you could swear that you can smell it. Tiny circles of flowers are there now and then. Dandelions and daffodils mostly. You could count them if Satoru was not driving so damn fast you think he is speeding.

He put your purse and phone in the back seat because, of course, he would want no distractions to stop you from paying attention to him.

He starts talking about how nice your dress looks and how happy he is to have you as his girlfriend.

You want to puke.

It would take at least two weeks for the smell to go away. He would have to clean it up because you would refuse to. Any damage done to his ego no matter how small is a win in your book.

You could picture it now. Satoru, long plastic gloves on his hands and wearing an apron, scrubbing the expensive carpet stained with bile and looking disgusted with you. Maybe he would give up on you then.

You almost laugh at the thought but decide against it when he starts talking with a smile that does not exactly reach his eyes.

*~*~*~*

He is tailing behind you like a grim reaper.

The black turtleneck he is wearing you suppose could count as a cloak. His face is white enough to be a skull, his hair helping you see it in your mind. All the expectations he has for you could be considered a guillotine’s blade that is ready to be let loose at any moment. Maybe a scythe. Don’t lose your head. That is what you keep telling yourself as you go down the aisles of sewn aprons and freshly baked bread and chickens wandering not too far off from the butcher’s cutting board. Don’t lose your head.

So, you keep walking to not be the victim of Satoru’s wrath.

“They’re so cute!” He exclaims, bending down to get a better look at the rabbits that are trapped within the confines of the barbed fence. “I just want to take one home! It would be like having another you around!”

His cooing makes you want to stab your eardrums out with the plastic fork you were given along with a free sample of chicken pot pie.

But you can’t ignore him either, he yearns for your responses like an addict.

“I’m not a rabbit.” You roll your eyes. Satoru responds by turning his head at you and then turning it again to make a visibly confused expression. “I’m a human. Not a pet. Not something to… lock up.” As his countenance turns somber and a hint of amusement lingers, the playful aura dissipates. Your breathing hastens, and your heart races. Perhaps voicing your thoughts was an ill-advised choice. Maybe an alternate utterance would have been wiser. Any alternative, for that expression, is one you wish to never witness again.

As you struggle to catch your breath, Satoru's steady grip on your shoulder brings a faint awareness to your hyperventilation. He calls out your name repeatedly, trying to reach through the haze of tears in your eyes. However, his words offer no solace or relief.

“Come on! Of course, you are.”

Maybe you will puke after all. But not on purpose like you originally intended.

His smile feels like a stab to the chest. Everything he does feels that way.

“...What do you mean?” What exactly does he have planned for you?

How far back do they go? Days, months, years, decades?

“You’ll see. You’ll like them, I know you will.” His hand clasps over your free one like a noose. “Either when you first know them or further down the line. I’ll be with you every step of the way no matter what you think. But just know I only have your best intentions at heart, okay? I can promise you that at least.”

“...Mmhmm. Let’s just… get moving.” Once again, you are off within a labyrinth of stalls.

You liked farmer’s markets during the warmer months, with your family and friends during school breaks and vacation times. Is that why he chose this place? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he also likes them. However, you cannot process the words Satoru and farmer’s market in the same sentence.

You pictured him bringing you to some nightclub and forcing you to dance under disco lights and loud music until you nearly faint from exhaustion. As much as you don’t want to admit it, maybe this is the better option.

You can’t imagine any other option. It could be worse. Those threats of his can easily become true, he could just lock you up in his penthouse and refuse to let you leave.

So, you don’t complain. You don’t want Satoru to get upset, even if you haven’t seen him that way.

“We’ll eventually move in together. Get married further down the line. Maybe have a kid or two, if we are really up to it, though I don’t mind if it is just the two of us.”

For once, you hope Satoru chooses his initial thought. You don’t want to bring any child into this hell.

“Romantic, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

His finger traces the bridge of your nose downward and the tip of it presses on its end.

“Boop!”

“Sigh…”

He does it again.

“So cute…”

“Let’s just continue.” You try so hard not to seethe. “I heard at this specific market they have good lentil soup. Focaccia too. Let’s go.”

He nods.

“Okay! We’re off!”

There is no escape, is there?

“It should be by the coffee stalls if I remember correctly.” You don’t get to finish because of course Satoru found a brand new interest to fixate on.

Aprons. Specifically, the pink lacy one that he is holding gently like a baby. “[First]! Look! You should wear it. It suits you!”

You shake your head immediately. To this, Satoru frowns. You’re hungry after being hauled around from stall to stall for the past hour or so. Can’t he understand that?

He holds the apron up closer to your face.

You turn away from it. Satoru only puts it closer. He really can be stubborn. That is what got you in this situation in the first place. As stubborn as you sometimes are, you can hardly compare to him. But that is with most things.

Money, power, influence, he will always have more than you will, won’t he? Damn it. No escape. Not from him.

Not from him.

But you can try, can’t you? You can at least try. “Come on! It would look so cute on you.” You shake your head. His frown only deepens and he sighs.

Then he shoots you a look again. The look demanding of you to be good or else. The look that gets you to obey him every time he uses it. Every time he puts his foot down.

Don’t lose your head.

Evade the blade.

“Good,” He says, handing you the apron with the smile you unsurprisingly prefer over the hellish expression he just showed you. “Go.”

You do.

Damn it. As long as Satoru keeps toying with you, you won’t ever be able to find peace. No escape. Damn it.

You slip the apron on as he watches, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

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chemdryquickdry · 1 year ago

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charnelhouse · 2 years ago

Text

press the gas and ride

gif by @riley-keoughs pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader (nicknamed Dolly) word count: 2.4k+ summary: comfort in a car warnings: hurt/comfort. smut. angst. A/N: this takes place a month after teacups, but no need to read. tlou ep 3 spoilers. this is really just trash smut. Joel Miller Masterlist

She watched Joel's expression buckle as he read the letter. His brow furrowed, the muscle in his jaw tensing. She looked away, suddenly feeling intrusive. She'd never come here with Joel. His trips to Bill were semi-frequent, but this was the first time he’d brought her. Of course, he hadn't expected this. He hadn't thought they'd be walking into a dead house.

The fresh air through the open front door bullied the stench of rotten meat and vegetables. The dinner on the table buzzed with flies. There were starched, ironed napkins folded in triangles with lovely patterns of woodland creatures. She traced the tiny squirrel sewed into the fabric before studying the label on the wine bottle. She was intent on busying herself. She wanted to give Joel space, but he'd been more paranoid than usual since the attack a month ago.

I don't want you out of my sight.

She hadn't stopped aching. Brutal. Horrible. She'd slaughtered two people, and her mind continued to spin with the memories of it. She was unable to remove the taste of blood from her tongue. She could not unhear the shuddering death rattle or unfeel the way the man beneath her had wriggled and then spasmed like an electrocuted rodent.

Joel had also seemingly lost his cool that night. After he'd tucked her into bed, she'd heard him smashing up the first floor. In the morning, he'd refused to let her see what he had done and when she fell apart again (in the safety of their QZ apartment), Joel wouldn't have it.

He'd crouched so they could be eye-level, large hand cupping the back of her skull. "They got what they deserved. Nothin' more than that."

He was right, but teaching her head to stop was easier said than done.

She scanned the dining room before settling on the mahogany cabinet full of delicate china. When she noticed the powder blue and white teacups, she winced. She couldn't escape it. Everything triggered her. She needed to learn to grow up and out of her pain because it wouldn't serve her and certainly not Joel. He bulldozed through everything, and she had to follow suit.

Joel cleared his throat. He had stopped reading and was staring out the window, far away. She intended to bring him back to shore.

"They have a car?" she asked, and Joel's eyes swept toward her. Inscrutable.

"Yeah." He scraped a hand over his mouth. "Yeah."

***

Joel guided her to a guest room, instructing her to clean up and be ready in an hour.

He'd found her a box of women's clothes that she happily dug through. The very idea of new outfits felt celebratory- even if they smelled a bit stale.

The musty fabric reminded her of her grandmother's closets. She'd used to hide behind the wool coats and leather shoes, toes snug in the sea-green carpet. She'd get light-headed on mothballs.

Her family was gone. A long time gone.

She supposed Joel was the only person who really gave a shit about her well-being. If she died, he’d have the memory of her, at least. She wouldn’t be dust.

After she showered, she yanked on a sundress and sneakers. Joel would undoubtedly say something, but she was past caring. She stared at herself in the mirror, petting the floral-print bodice. She twisted side to side, the breeze from the open window licking between her legs and under her arms.

She thought of Bill and Frank in the next room and abruptly stopped. Morbid. Strange to be so fine rummaging through a house when two dead men were feet away. Their window was open, too, and she wondered if the sweet brush of cool air had cradled them into the next life. She stepped forward, pressing her ear against the wood. She listened, tapping her fingertips over the wallpaper.

Silence. She tapped again. Waiting.

"What are you doing?"

She whirled around to find Joel standing in the doorway with a towel around his waist. He'd combed his wet hair back, but a single strand boyishly drifted over his forehead. The scars across his torso gleamed white under the naked afternoon sun.

"Nothing." She shifted her weight, the dress swishing with her.

He frowned as he scrutinized her outfit. "You can't wear that."

"Because?"

"Because you can't do shit in a dress that short," he replied flatly.

She put her hands on her hips. "Can I just wear this today? It's-fuck-it's the prettiest thing I've worn since-since I don't know." She averted her eyes, feeling childish at her reasoning.

Because I want to be beautiful for once. I want to look beautiful for you and not covered in grime, blood, and jeans, two sizes too big.

The expression on Joel's face flickered between irritated and puzzled. She thought he might stride across the room and tear it off her.

Once in a while, he'd give her shit about things like this-pecking at her for enjoying luxuries that didn't exist anymore. He'd call her a spoiled brat when he really wanted to tick her off. Instinctively, she knew he was doing it, so she'd snap at him, deal him back with a rough hand.

He always won and she assumed he’d win here, as well.

She expected him to say no, but he took a breath instead. Running his hand across his chest, he massaged an old bullet wound hidden in the sparse hair before turning back into the hall. White flag.

Then, his voice pitched so low it grazed the floor. "Fine."

***

The letter must have softened him. Repeatedly punched him until he was a tender, pliant piece of meat. He hadn't even twitched when she snatched two guns too massive for her off the basement wall or smuggled a box of wine into the car.

His hands scraped over the steering wheel when he slid into the front seat. He stared blankly at the dash and then the manicured driveway. The grass was just beginning to creep away from the lawn, encroaching onto the asphalt.

She wasn't sure how to deal with this. He usually seemed to take death in stride. His grief was like a chalky, oversized pill, but he swallowed it nonetheless. He'd made it clear that he didn't even like Bill yet...

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"Take your feet off the dash," he ordered stiffly.

She scowled but did as she was told, figuring she didn't need to push Joel Miller’s buttons again today. She settled into her seat, hands prim in her lap as she waited for him to begin driving.

He didn't.

He continued to sit silently, seemingly unable to turn the car on. The hand around the steering wheel tightened, his scabbed knuckles flexing and paling beneath the windshield. His nostrils flared, and she suddenly knew:

He was going to crack. He was going to burst down the middle, and he needed her.

Abruptly, she crawled over the console, gripping him by the lapels of his button-up to balance her weight. The fresh clothes looked good on him-the plaid green shirt fit his broad frame like a glove. She nearly toppled into the door before he grasped her wrist roughly. “What are you-"

"Shh," she murmured, straddling his lap. He stared at her.

Joel wore his grief in the creases of his face. His pain. His anger. He was beautiful to her. Sexy in a way that couldn't be understood. Older, too. Older than any man she'd ever had before, but it wasn't like she'd had that many men, to begin with.

"I'm here," she whispered, her thighs squeezing around his own. His mouth parted, exhaling.

She wondered what undercurrents ran beneath his skin-his armor. What did he think about? How did he see her?

She lifted herself onto her knees, and Joel's hands automatically seized her hips. Unbuttoning his jeans, she tugged the zipper down, and his eyes found hers. Good. Coyly, she licked her palm before gripping his half-hard cock. She stroked him slow, glancing down to watch the blush-red head disappear in the circle of her fist. He shuddered, hips lifting a few inches off the leather seat.

She intended to be fast about this. Pleasurable consolation was a language she knew Joel understood.

“I’m going to fuck you,” she said and he shivered under her touch. He remained silent as the grave though his eyes never left hers. Perhaps, he was struck dumb by her forwardness.

She clutched his shoulder as she braced herself before sinking down and guiding him into the heat of her cunt. She'd worn the sun dress for a reason.

Joel made a gritty, strangled noise as she took him to the hilt, lowering herself until his thighs were flush with her ass. The band of his jeans grazed her skin, the metal of the zipper catching flesh. His nostrils flared as she tightened, walls spasming because he was always a little too big.

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, forcing his face against her chest. He sighed deeply as she rocked forward, his fingers biting into her waist. It could hardly be called a fuck, just her grinding down and him pushing his cock upward until he couldn't claim another centimeter.

She cradled the back of his skull, rooting her nose around his damp hair that smelled like clover and a scent she recalled from before - something generic and artificial like Irish Spring.

Finding leverage was proving difficult, but she did her best. She rose up, keeping him halfway inside her before sliding down. Repeat. In her defense, she’d never fucked anyone in a car before.

One of her hands snuck out the open window to grasp the top of the car. It was dusty, and she had this ridiculous worry that maybe someone would crawl into the garage and bite her hand. She ripped it back to cup the side of Joel's face instead. His mouth twitched, his lids heavy like he was drunk and dazed. He didn't even care she had smeared old car dust into his beard. He'd have to shower again. She would, too, and she wanted to laugh at the strange coincidence of paving new roads in their relationship through hot showers. After all, he'd wrenched her away from a panic attack in that house outside Boston. He'd held her in the shower, mouth brushing her ear.

"You did a hell of a job."

"You did so fuckin' well, sweetheart."

She swelled from the memory of Joel's praise. She wanted to pay him back.

"I've got you," she murmured against his temple, nails tracing a line across his scalp through his thick damp grays. "I've got you, Joel."

He nodded-or she thought he did. His gestures were always so vague. Sometimes he'd hold her down and fuck her brains out while telling her how much he wanted to kill her for being stupid and acting recklessly. It would then always end with him possessively clutching her body to his.

You send mixed signals, Joel.

What?

You said you wanted to kill me, and now you won't let me go.

I never said that.

She felt him twitch inside her, his mouth dragging across her clavicle before he abruptly shoved the top of her dress down and latched to her nipple. He sucked it, tongue darting over the nub and causing her pussy to clench around his length.

"Sweetheart," he mumbled.

"I know," she said.

Their grief sat between them - a weight strung about their ankles, dragging them down to the deepest parts of whatever was left. She knew blips of his pain as he knew hers. He comforted her in the ways he understood, not necessarily with words but with actions. She could do that for him now, remind him that he had her.

She rolled her hips, and he groaned, his breath puffing against her sternum. She snagged him tighter and dug her grip into his skin like she was holding fast to a rock in a riptide. The car was so small, the steering wheel bumping against her lower back, and you could hear everything.

The rustle of fabric. The squelch of her sex and slap of skin.

Finally, Joel planted his feet and began to drive up into her. Short, fast strokes that hit just right. It almost hurt. It gave her a belly ache, but everything else fell away. The car filled with his low, subdued grunts and her whimpers.

He secured his arms around her waist, one hand sneaking to the base of her scalp to embed his thumb into the muscle beneath her ear. They were tangled in such a way that it would have looked like anything - they could be devouring each other, feasting on the other's throats as they fucked fast and sad.

Somewhere along the way, Joel tilted his head and demanded her mouth.

He kissed her fiercely, tongue hot and aggressive as it wrestled with hers. Exploring. "Baby," he sighed against her slippery teeth. "Fuck."

Joel, her man of few words, but just the right ones. She still didn't call him anything but his name. Nothing else fit him.

"Shit," she gasped as he delivered a harsh thrust. Stay with me. Stay focused.

Her climax paraded around her belly, kicking up dirt and shouting out toward a faceless crowd. It was turning in circles, unable to find the finish line. He was screwing her tectonic plate deep, but the friction wasn't enough for her to get off. It didn't matter. This was about him. Not her.

He gripped her hip and shoved her down before spearing up, grinding in slow, determined circles. He left her mouth to find her throat, sucking methodically at her pulse.

It didn't take too long after that. He grumbled something into her jaw (maybe, Dolly) before his hips stuttered beneath her. She felt him fill her, warmth blooming outward. She'd have to deal with that, but for now, she worshiped him. He lifted his face, flushed from exertion - golden, bright, and devastating as his dark eyes searched hers.

“You’re good,” she praised, pressing her lips to his chin.

When she crawled off his lap, she was sticky between her legs. He huffed, tugging at the edge of her dress as if trying to hide her modesty.

No one's around here, Joel.

No one. It's you, and it's me. It's us.

She was sore as fuck, like she'd been smacked in the crotch. Her orgasm was lost somewhere, hanging by a few threads, but she didn't want it. Instead, she craved the longing-the lingering frustration of her missed pleasure. She brushed her hair out of her face and smoothed her dress.

"That was-"

She was hauled back over to him. Their brows bumped, noses jamming together before Joel kissed her hard. When he finally pulled away, he asked, "You feel safe with me?"

"What kind of question-

"You feel safe with me?" he urged, hands seizing her cheeks. She wondered if it had something to do with what had happened at that house a month ago. The teacup house. Or was this because of what had been written in that letter beyond Bill and Frank's goodbyes?

She felt that if she probed, he would splinter. It wasn't her business. She told him the truth.

Smiling, she placed her hand over his. "Yes," she assured him. "I always feel safe with you."

Joel took a breath, nodding once, before pulling away. He stabbed the keys into the ignition, twisting them north, and the car rumbled to life.

When they left the garage, she watched the walls creep over him again.

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