#smut coming soon
Note
not a request but... kaeya in a corset. kae in a nice fancy corset that's all delicate laces and tight silks, flush against his pretty form. I'm DEAD he's so hot auhhhh. that's all I can think about... just thought I'd put that image in ur head ❤️
ps I do a little dance when I see a notif w your username in my activity cuz ur comments n writings r so good auuu hope u have a great day/night💫💫
Oh my gosh tysm. Kaeya is way too damn pretty for his own good I swear. I'd like to thank you for this image, I'll keep it in my Kaeya filing cabinet forever. He's so pretty I can't even 😩 😩 😩 😩 😩 Also, you have no idea how awesome you just made me feel reading this. This is my first ask, plus I really really look up to you because you're writing is so good. Like I've read your mahogany series (mainly the Kaeya one) again and again. You're literally like the best 💙💙💙
Not a request but I'm gonna write for it anyway bc you deserve it ^μ^
Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x male reader
Summery: Kaeya wears a fancy lacey corset and reader gets a little too horny (there will be a part 2 for the smut, I've just gotta work out some stuff)
POV: 2nd person (you, yours, yourself)
Notes: Reader is male and referred to as (?), gonna do a part 2 for this of the actual smut, kind of rushed?
Warnings: •⚠️⚠️⚠️• uhhhhh horniness ×10, pretty Kae, simping behavior, ripped clothing, idk if this counts but corset horniness, male genitalia mentioned a little bit, uh Idrk, if I missed any let me know 😗
Leave the corset on.
You fiddled with one of the calla lilies in the bouquet. He was taking an awfully long time.
See, a few hours ago, you'd decided to actually go to the windblume festival this year with someone you really liked. Kaeya Alberich. You knew he probably had a bunch of people in Monstadt drooling over him, which is why you wanted to ask him as soon as possible. So you'd invited him out to Windrise and told him you needed to tell him something really important. He'd chuckled and given you a knowing look as if he could already guess what you wanted to ask. But you'd rushed off before he could do anything but nod.
"Sorry (?), I got a bit held up with the Acting Grand Master." Said the familiar, silky voice of Monstadt's Cavalry Captain, and Monstadt's most beautiful man. Monstadt's most beautiful man who'd clipped his little longer portion of hair into a high ponytail and combed his bangs back a bit to accentuate his face. His pretty little face. Which currently had a slight bit of shimmering highlighter on his defined cheekbones, a few beads of sweat on his forehead, and bright blue eyeliner forming a small wing at the corner of his narrow, bright eye.
"No troubles. Oh here, this is for you. Sorry I may have picked at the petals a bit." You said with a shy giggle, handing him the small bouquet of calla lilies. As he smiled and grabbed it, you noticed something. A corset. Kaeya already had a slim waist, he didn't need a corset, but he looked so good wearing one. It was navy blue and lacey, satin trim. It hugged his petite figure perfectly and made his chest look delicious delightful.
"—llo? Hello? World to (?). Anybody in there?" You hadn't even heard what Kaeya had said a few seconds prior. The only reason you noticed he was speaking was because he got close to your face and gently grabbed your chin, making you look at his face instead of his perfect little hips that looked like they'd fit wonderfully into the palms of your hands.
"Oh! Oh uh....yeah sorry. Guess I got distracted. What were you saying?" You questioned, giving a nervous chuckle and rubbing the back of your neck, trying to stand in a way that his the growing bulge in your pants. You couldn't fathom how horny you had to be to get hard just seeing Kaeya in a corset. You felt a little ashamed.
"I asked what you wanted to talk about. You didn't bring me here just to give me a bouquet did you? Not that I'd mind, since I got to see you even if for just a fleeting moment." Kaeya gave a sly chuckle, a hint of knowingness behind that fake innocence in his gaze.
He was teasing. And it was working.
"Oh—I uh...I just um..." Fuck fuck fuck. You'd rehearsed this in the mirror, written it down in a notebook a million times like a script, contemplated writing it on your hand, you'd even practiced it while walking to the big tree. So why couldn't you get it out now? "I just w– wanted to know if you'd like um...to go to the Windblume festival with me. I mean, I'd understand if you're already going with someone, or i– if you just didn't want to go or um—" "I'd love to."
It took you a second to register Kaeyas words, standing dumbfounded. "W– What?" "I'd love to go to the Windblume festival with you, (?)." You had to conceal every reaction that threatened to leak out of you right then and there. And that bastard was just smiling innocently, looking all polite and pretty. You played it off with a chuckle, holding both hands in front of the increasingly tightening tent in your pants, trying to hide it. You couldn't get the images out of your head, images of him—
"(?)? You look nervous. Is something wrong?"
"What? Uh n—" You wanted to say no. But something was very much wrong. The problem was that he wasn't sitting naked underneath you with a fucked out expression on his face, your cock buried deep inside him. That's what was wrong. "Actually. Yeah."
"Oh? Well I'd be happy to help with anything."
"Anything?"
"Of course, dear (?)."
"Then sit on that root, take off your clothes and spread your pretty little legs. Oh and uh....leave the corset on."
—————————————‡——————————————
Reader rn. Also thanks @silkval for this amazing idea. Like I truly look up to you man/girl/non-binary pal. I legit like did a happy little yell I'm so glad no body heard me, I sounded like a five year old who just found a bunch of candy
#kaeya alberich#genshin impact#kaeya on his way to be pretty asf#please#hes so pretty#genshin kaeya#kaeya x male reader#kaeya smut#kaeya x you#kaeya x reader#genshin impact kaeya#male reader#dom reader#maybe dom!bottom!reader#smut coming soon#gimme like a day#he thinks hes an antihero sinner spy but animals keep trying to braid his fair and all kids latch onto him and artists burst into tears#he's so pretty#i wanna fuck him so bad#please hoyo let me fuck him#hoyo please#please hoyo#let me fuck him hoyo#im begging hoyo#Enigma's ❓ Fics!
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Eddie is on tour pt 4
Their next stop is Austin, Texas. All Eddie knows about Texas is that it’s big, it’s hot, and he wishes he packed more than his skinny jeans.
They pit stop a few hours outside the city and gas up. Eddie launches out of the driver’s seat.
“Need. Shorts.” He pants under the heat of the sun and dramatically waddles towards the gift shop. Cool air hits the sweat on his forehead causing him to shiver.
“Bless you.” He steps towards the racks and finds a pair of orange basketball shorts with a giant TX on the leg. “These will do.”
He grabs a can of Monster and a protein bar on his way to the register.
He scrolls through his Instagram while he waits, liking the comments on the band’s recent post from the Denver show. They gained more followers than he expected.
A notification banner drops down with a new message from Steve.
His heart thumps hard. He’s never going to get used to this he thinks as he taps the notification.
Steve: You free to distract me from the most boring chapter from a huge ass book for my psych class?
Eddie chuckles to himself. He types a reply.
Eddie: now I don’t want to be a bad influence on you, sweetheart. 😈
He clicked send as he stepped forward in line. The cashier checks his ID for a pack of cigarettes and his phone sounds again. He clicks the message.
Steve: Pleeeeease, Eds. 🥺
And how could Eddie say no to that?
He pays for his stuff and dips into the bathroom to change. He pins his phone between his ear and shoulder.
“Hiiii!” Steve answers.
“Good morning, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice is silky. “Why aren’t you studying?”
“I figured I could work on my back up plan for a while instead,” Steve’s tone is playful.
“What’s that?” Eddie unbuttons his jeans and tries to peel them off from his sweat sticky legs.
“I… now I’m embarrassed.” Steve’s voice is low. Eddie pulls one of his legs free.
“Come on. It’s just me. I’m the most embarrassing person there is.” Eddie smiles. “What’s the backup plan?”
Steve hums. “To date a rock star.”
“Huh?!” Eddie belts out as he tugs his jeans off, falling against the bathroom stall. His phone drops and bounces on the rim of the toilet. His pulse raises the second it bounces again. It hits the floor and doesn’t splash in the toilet.
“Shit.” He steadies himself and snatches his phone off the floor.
Perfect fucking timing. “Steve. You still there?”
“Still here. You okay?” He’s voice is a bit shaky.
“Peachy. Just… caught in my pants.”
Steve snorts.
“What? This has happened to everyone at some point.” Eddie protests.
“Can’t say it’s happened to me.”
“Then you must not wear skinny jeans in the summer” Eddie proclaims.
“Who in their right mind would…”Steve chuckles. “Oh honey.”
“Don’t you dare.” He growls.
“I bet you’re cute when you’re all riled up.” Steve coos.
“Is that right?” Steve hums.
Eddie steps out of his jeans. He sighs, “Freedom.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“Stevie. It was so bad that I was relieved and, I’ll admit a little excited, to find orange shorts in this gas station gift shop.”
“Oh. I have to see this. Send me a picture,” Steve’s voice vibrates in excitement.
“No way in hell.”
“Please!”
“I would scare you away with how pasty I am. Please spare me.” Eddie steps into the shorts and hikes them up over his hips.
“No fair. You know what I look like and you haven’t even told me your band’s name which means I can’t find you on socials.” Steve huffs.
“You… really want to see me?” Eddie’s voice is small. Nervous.
“Of course! Look babe. I can’t explain it, but since the night you accidentally called me I can’t stop thinking about you, hearing your voice when you call and—“ Steve cuts himself off.
“And?” Eddie says.
“Eds. I want to meet you. Can I see you when you’re in Chicago?”
Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.
“Steve. I—“
“Give me the keys Munson!” Gareth charges at him from across the parking lot. “I’m gonna get us to the venue in record time.”
“You’ll be kind to our chariot. It’s all we’ve got.” Eddie hands over the keys. Gareth darts around the van.
Eddie brings the phone back to his ear. “Sweetheart?”
“Yeah.” He’s meek.
“I would… I would love to meet you after the show.” Eddie’s voice is low.
“You mean it?”
Eddie throws his free hand in the air. “Of course I mean it!”
Steve laughs.
“Are you sure you really want to meet me though?” Eddie pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He takes a long drag.
“I do.” Steve says with a serious tone.
Eddie is speechless for the first time in his life. “Okay.”
“So, will you tell me your band’s name so I can stalk you properly?” His tone is light again.
“The Munson Five.”
“Really Eddie?” Steve whines.
“Corroded Coffin. But you’ll have to find us on your own. I’m not giving the handle—“
“You are cute.” Steve interjects. “Send me a picture of you in the shorts so I can compare.”
Gareth honks the horn. “Come on, man! We gotta hit the road.”
Eddie takes a long drag of his cigarette and stomps it out under his boot.
“Duty calls.” Eddie sighs.
“Call me tonight? After the show.” Steve asks.
“Sure. It’ll give me the chance to get to know the guy who’s inspired a new song or two.” Eddie chews his bottom lip.
“Shut up,” Steve howls.
“It’s true! And I wanna know more.” Eddie coos. “Get your homework done and I’ll talk to you later.”
“Why would I do that when my backup plan is going so swimmingly?” Steve teases.
The van horn blares. Jeff makes kissy faces from the passenger seat. Eddie flips him off.
“Tonight.” He says.
“Can’t wait.” Steve ends the call.
He holds his phone up and snaps a photo. Thankfully his hair is decent today. His orange shorts are on display, skinny pale legs bright in the sun, he gives a teasing smile.
It’s not the best photo of him but he sends it anyway. It’s real. It’s him. If Steve really is into him he deserves to see every side of him. The weirdo, the metal head, the freak…
He climbs into the back seat of the van, lays flat on the bench, and throws his arm over his eyes.
Steve said he wanted to meet him. Gods. They only had a handful of shows left before the end of tour, before the House of Blues.
Eddie’s phone vibrates. He opens a text from Steve.
Steve: Is that a narwhal tattoo?
He chuckles to himself.
Eddie: Go study and I’ll tell you about it later.
Steve replies with a gif of Stitch crying.
Eddie: 🖤
——
Part 1 here.
Part 2 here.
Part 3 here.
Part 5 on the way soon!
Come hang with me on Twitter if that’s your jam.
#Steddie#Eddie Munson#Steve Harrington#modern AU#I love them#Eddie on tour#smut coming soon#steddie fic#fic writing
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i meant to write last night but i got high and watched criminal minds bloopers for like two hours instead LOL
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Where Are You Christmas?
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO @separatist-apologist & @acotargiftexchange
Summary: During the Christmas season, Elain Archeron is betting set up on a blind date for her sister’s Christmas party. Worse part is? She’s meeting him dressed as Cindy Lou Who. Hopefully her Grinch is handsome as they say.
Words: 1.4K
Chapters: 1/2
Elain Archeron couldn’t believe what she have had agreed to. Firstly, she had just broken up with her long time boyfriend, Graysen. As much as he was at fault, Elain couldn’t help but miss him. Graysen had once been her whole world, the center of her universe. Elain had dedicated their home life centering abut his needs and never her own. She had believed so strongly that her needs would once be satisfied once Graysen saw how much she loved him. But Elain woke up one day from that rose colored dream and realized she was worth so much more than the life she and Graysen had planned for themselves, or what Graysen had planed for them. Secondly, Elain had never been set up on a blind date before and she was scared out her gods damned mind that it would in a disaster of flames. And lastly and most importantly, Elain was meeting her date at her sister’s Christmas party wearing her version of an adult Cindy Lou Who. Apparently, Feyre thought she was super funny by requiring every group to dress up as their favorite Christmas characters. She thought she was even funnier when she told Elain to search for ‘her Grinch’. Elain was way out of her comfort zone.
The wind began to pick up as Elain walked from her apartment down three blocks to the townhouse her sister Feyre shared with her longtime boyfriend, Rhysand. Elain wrapped her petticoat tighter across her chest as she cursed herself for not just calling a cab when it was basically blizzardingx outside. The townhouse came to view and Elain admired the garland flickering with lights along the handrail leading up to the red door with a wreath made beautifully, possibly made by Feyre herself, with silver ornaments. Elain could hear the holiday celebration from outside and wondered if she would ever get to a host a party with her partner that could bring as much joy to their guest as Rhysand and Feyre did. It was one of the many things Graysen was horrible at. He hated all her friends, so being a friendly host was not one of his jack of all trades.
“I can do this.” Elain whispered to herself. And she could do this, because her affirmation podcast told her she could. Before Elain could bring herself to knock, the door opened in a rush and a delighted scream came from her youngest sister. Feyre quickly gathered her sister into a hug before Elain could even process what was happening.
“You look stunningly jolly!” Feyre basically shouted, and Elain could tell Feyre was trying extra hard to pander to Elain. Did she feel bad for Elain? Poor older sister, Elain, and her pathetic attempt at making a life with a man who barely deserved her in the first place. Poor quite and selfless Elain. Feyre must think a multitude of things about Elain, but now would not be the time to think much of it, Elain was already vulnerable enough.
Elain took a step back and admired her sister. Even through the gray makeup, Feyre was truly happy. She admired her patchwork dress and her precisely drawn stitches that scattered her body. Feyre mirrored Sally from The Nightmare Before Christams perfectly. Elain laughed and couldn’t wait to see Rhysand dressed up as Jack. If Feyre put this much effort into her costume, Elain was sure Feyre would make an even bigger attempt at getting Rhysand to look just as well as she did.
“I didn’t think Sally was a Christmas character.” Elain spoke, eyeing up her sister once again. Feyre closed the door behind them with the snow already melting on the floor.
“Christams is in the name of the movie. Of course she’s a Christmas character.” Feyre snarked back, hooking her arm around Elain’s and walking towards the gathering.
The house was decorated beautifully, most likely by Feyre because of her artistic personality. Stars stars and crystal ornaments hung randomly from the ceiling creating the perfect starry winter night. Elain always loved coming to her sister’s home, Rhysand and Feyre made it a home of love. Something Elain wanted so desperately now. Maybe it was the cold weather that made Elain crave a season of love and warmth. Or it could be that she hasn’t gotten laid in the past month and a half.
Feyre and Elain stepped into the living room arm’s linked together when she saw Cassian, her oldest sister Nesta’s new boyfriend, wearing plausibly the most ridiculous costume Elain had ever seen. Cassian wore a tight red leather skirt with white fluff lining the bottom with a similar looking tube top as he began to slam back shots with his brothers, Rhysand and Azriel. Elain had to cover her mouth quickly before anybody could hear her laugh at how ridicules Cassian had looked. Nesta then walked into the room with her best friends, Emerie and Gwyn, all similarly wearing the same costume as Cassian.
“Mean Girls?” Elain whispered into Feyre’s hair.
“Oh yes. It’s hilarious. What’s even funnier is that Cassian came up with the idea.” Feyre rolled her eyes in amusement, Nesta’s boyfriend was the himbo and everybody took enjoyment in following his sense of humor. “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen to see your Grinch.” Feyre said, laughing and winking to herself.
Feyre pulled Elain into the kitchen and she caught the eye of her best friend, Arina, dressed as Mrs. Clause talking to supposedly, Elain’s Grinch. His backside was facing Elain, and she couldn’t help herself from admiring the curve of his ass in his fluffy green pants to his broad shoulders to his golden skin on his neck that peaked between the collar of his shirt and his tied up red hair. Elain knew instantly he had to be a Vanserra.
The Vanserra’s were known for their vibrant red hair, a gene carried from their mother rather than their bastard of a father. Although Elain grew up with the Vanserra’s in the same town and eventually the same college, she knew very little of the family. What she did know of the Vanserra’s was that Eris, the eldest, was obsessed with Arina. Of course, Arina had been as of late equally as obsessed with him. Elain wondered if Arina actually invited Eris to the party like she said she would.
Pulling Elain back into the present, Arina waved Elain over, leaving Feyre to resume her duties as a hostess.
Elain could feel her hands tremble just a tad. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t dread she was anxious over, but the idea that if something were to bloom from this encounter then this would be it.
She smoothed her puffed black and white checkered dress and took a step forward. She could tell she felt as ridiculous as she looked, because who in their right mind would meet a date with a plastic bottle ontop their head to dress like a Christmas character?
Arina laughed as she introduced them waving, “Cindy Lou Who meet your Grinch.”
He finally turned to her and gods if the world didn’t stop then there would be no explanation as to why Elain stopped breathing. Thankfully his mask was up top his head so Elain can see fully his devastatingly beautiful face. His golden brown skin contrasted beautifully against that ugly neon green suit and Elain could imagine that he could pull off anything. There were three scars over one of his russet eyes that only added to his level of grade A hotness.
“Lucien.” He said extending his hand towards Elain.
Elain’s knees buckled then at the deep richness of his voice. She could’t tell which was hotter, his voice or the way he wore his costume.
“Elain.” She responded grasping his rough calloused hand.
He offered her a smile and Elain caught a flicker in his eyes.
“Can I make you a drink?” He asked nodding to her still empty hands.
“Only if it’s not Eggnog.” Elain hated Eggnog, no matter how much alcohol was mixed in.
“Deal.” He said turning his back to the kitchen counter and began making Elain a drink.
Elain watched him carefully as the began to line the rim of the glass with sugar. He then began to pour equal parts vodka and Sprite cranberry. She smiled at the simplicity of it, but she smiled even more at the care he had been putting into it. Elain could tell that Lucien was the kind of man who put thought into everything he did. The real question was, how much thought did he put into the bedroom? Elain hoped she could find out tonight.
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Sunny in Philadelphia - A Joseph Quinn Story (Chapter 6)
Chapter 6 - Cheers, Darling
The car pulled over to the sidewalk and came to a stop, signaling that you had arrived. The driver got out of the car and came around to your door, opening it for you. You climbed out, Joe following close behind. He gently placed his hand on the middle of your back as he walked alongside you, escorting you inside. It was a small, quiet place. The hostess asked for a reservation name and Joe gave her his. She immediately escorted the two of you upstairs to the rooftop for a more private setting, something Joe must have requested beforehand. Once seated, you thanked the hostess as she walked away. Joe opened the wine list and began looking through it.
"Get whatever you want, love. Is there a certain wine you prefer?"
You looked through your copy of the menu. Most of them you had never heard of, apart from a select few types that were common.
"I don't really know what any of these are," you said back with a giggle. "But I like sweet wine."
"Sweet it is. I'll pick something for us then, yeah?" He smiled at you as you nodded in approval.
"Sorry, I'm not really used to places like this. I am from an area where the fanciest place around is Olive Garden," you laughed.
"That's alright," he chuckled back. "Where are you from?"
"I live about 4 hours away from here in the middle of Pennsylvania, in a small town that has one stop light. No one has ever heard of it."
"What's that like? Much different from here or London, I'm sure."
"It's quiet, much calmer. I'm not used to city traffic, noise. I visit places like this for concerts and different things, but I am glad I don't live in the city. It can be too much for me."
"I can see how it would be overwhelming."
"Yeah, it's much different in the middle of nowhere, but I wouldn't change it for the world. Maybe someday I can show you, if you're up for a visit."
"That sounds lovely."
"When you need an escape from the hustle and bustle, you call me," you said, smiling and looking in his eyes with a wink. They glistened a little brighter when they caught sight of your smile. If only you knew how smitten he was over you at that moment. He didn't need a model or a rich actress. He was already perfectly content with unique, ordinary, small-town you. He found it intriguing that you were different. He had been with plenty of city girls in the past. All they wanted to do was go to parties and pubs. He enjoyed those things but was beginning to grow tired of the same type of night life all the time. It would be nice for him to experience something different in his free time.
"You're something else, you know that?" he said, putting his hand on top of yours across the table. You smiled at him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with your free hand.
The waitress came by and Joe ordered a bottle of wine for the two of you to share, and some bread for himself. You chuckled at this, knowing from his guest appearance on a podcast how much he liked it.
"What's so funny?" he said, confused.
"You and your bread," you laughed. "With salty butter," you added in a mocking British accent, teasing him.
"It's heaven, there's nothing better," he replied with a smile, going along with your joke. "So, you seem to know a lot about me," he smirked. "I suppose tonight is about me getting to know you better, then."
"Okay. What else do you want to know, Mr. Quinn? I'm an open book."
"Mmmm, I like when you call me that," he said a bit seductively, his teeth sinking down on his lower lip briefly, earning a teasing smirk from you. "Well, you start. What do you think I should know?"
"Well, I'm 27. Capricorn," you said jokingly with a snicker. "I'm kidding, I don't know the first thing about horoscope stuff. I know I'm a Capricorn, and that's about it." He laughed at your goofiness.
"So you were born in January? Me too."
"Yes, the 17th."
"Okay, so future joint birthday parties, good to know," he joked.
"That's not a bad idea!" you laughed together.
"Hmm, what else?" he asked, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his fist in interest. "What about work? What do you do?"
"I am a sonographer – I do ultrasounds. I work night shift in a hospital."
"That is amazing, love! Are babies fun?"
"They can be," you chuckle, "but it's a lot more than just those."
"Really? Like what?"
"Livers, gallbladders, thyroids, scrotums..." you trail off with a joking smile.
"Oh, yuck," he laughed.
"Yeah, those aren't my favorite," you respond, shaking your head with a witty exhale.
The waitress then comes back with the wine bottle and two glasses. Joe takes the bottle and pours into your glass first, and then his own.
"Cheers, darling," he smiled, clinking his glass into yours and then taking a sip.
The two of you talked as the bottle of wine grew emptier and emptier, and you had quickly forgotten about the sensitive topic that you had accidentally started the night with in the car. Joe made it easy for you to forget. He made you feel like the only girl in the world and like nothing else mattered to him in that moment, and nothing did. Next thing you knew, it was 11:00 and the waitress came by with the check, which Joe grabbed before you had a chance to. Three hours were spent just indulging in each other and mindlessly flirting, hand touching, blushing, smiling. The evening was pure bliss. You had forgotten what the real world felt like, and you didn't want to remember.
"Well, it's getting late, love. Are you ready to go?"
"Do we have to?" you laughed.
"I could stay here all night with you if that's what you want," he smiled, taking your hand. You smiled at his words, but the smile slowly faded off your face.
"As much as I would love that, I have to leave in the morning, so I should probably get some sleep." Joe could feel the sadness radiating from you.
"Darling, it may feel like it, but this isn't the last time we will be seeing each other. I would love to see you again, if you'll have me."
You smiled at his politeness. He knew what you both felt for each other already, but the gentleman in him was still allowing the decision to be yours.
"I would love to, Joe. More than you know."
He led you outside to the car waiting along the sidewalk. The driver opened the back passenger side door and the two of you climbed in. The ride back to your hotel was quiet, but a peaceful quiet. The two of you were just letting the night you had together sink in as you held hands, fingers intertwined. The car pulls up outside the main entrance of the hotel and the driver comes around to open the door for you.
"Come on, love. I'll walk you in," Joe says, guiding you to get out of the car.
You climbed out, Joe following, and started inside. You got in the elevator and pushed the button for your floor. Joe stood beside you, still holding your hand, and smiled at you as the doors closed.
"I hope your friend didn't mind me stealing you for the evening."
"No, she said she was just enjoying a night in. Besides, she is dating my brother, so she probably spent hours on the phone with him. She was entertained in her own way," you laughed. Joe chuckled in response. The elevator doors opened on your floor and Joe stretched out his arm, politely signaling for you to exit before him.
"Ladies first."
You smirked at him and took his hand, pulling him along behind you. You made it to your room door and started to dig through your crossbody bag for your room key.
"Ugh, where did I put it?" you said, continuing to dig in your bag. Before you could find it, Joe grabbed your forearm and gently pulled it out of your bag, his hand sliding down your arm to grasp yours. He wrapped his other arm around the small of your back and pulled you closer. You looked up from your bag to meet his eyes as he did this, your heart fluttering at the sudden decreased proximity between the two of you. He slowly leaned in and gently placed his lips on yours. Your brain could have went to mush right then. You felt your knees going weak at his touch, your lips melting and moving together like they were matching puzzle pieces. You kissed each other slowly and tenderly, until your head felt like it was in the clouds and you could hardly stand it any longer. You pulled away from him slowly and he placed his forehead to yours.
"I've been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you," he said quietly, tenderly rubbing his thumb on your cheek.
"It was so worth the wait," you said with a smile. He pulled you into a hug, your cheek settling on his chest as his hand gently held your head against him. When he pulled away, you looked up at him with glistening eyes. "Joe, when will I see you again?"
"I don't know, darling. Hopefully soon. I have to be in Texas next weekend for another convention. Then I'll have a little bit of time off before Gladiator 2 starts filming in Morocco."
"I work this week and then I have a week of vacation time off the next week."
"Looks like I may be cashing in that hustle and bustle escape sooner than I expected," he said, smiling as he gently rubbed your forearms with his thumbs. Your eyes widened at his words.
"Really? You'd come and see me?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
You pulled him in for another hug, squeezing around his waist tightly.
"Thank you, Joe. Really. You're amazing."
"Only what you deserve," he responded with a small smile and a wink, quoting what he had said to you on the phone earlier that day. He leaned down and kissed your cheek. "Now go rest up, darling. Have a safe trip home."
Story Master List
#sunny in philadelphia#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x fem!reader#joseph quinn rpf#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn fluff#smut coming soon#fluff#Joe Quinn#joe quinn fluff#stranger things 4#stranger things#convention#philadelphia#philly#chapter 6
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Y’all 😩 I had the best Bloodline dream!!! I’m going to try and put it in writing so y’all can understand.
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i'm backkkk
“Miss Y/L/N, about how many times a day do you think about sex?” A tall man dressed in a white lab coat asked, looking through the glass into the examination room.
Y/N stared back, blinking twice before she answered. “Dr. Malfoy, is this question really necessary?” She asked, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.
The blond shrugged, watching the way her heart rate sped up on the monitor beside him. “Miss Y/L/N, may I remind you that you signed up for this experiment? And failure to answer each question in all honesty will result in insufficient results, which could be very inconvenient for the future of medically sexual conversations.”
“I realize that.” Y/N answered flatly, trying not to think about the inflection in her doctor’s voice towards the end of his sentence. “I just thought this would be a little quicker.”
“Are you saying you’re not enjoying this foreplay?” There was a hint of sadism in Draco’s voice as he watched her heart pump blood faster through the EKG monitor.
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i think ill have the next part to My Filthy Boy up tomorrow yeeeeees- finally and IM SO SORRY T^T
#related to: my filthy boy#my filthy boy#related to: mfb#ateez smut#SMUT COMING SOON#wooyoung smut#seonghwa smut
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sweet child o' mine | pt. i
purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x
pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader
summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?
warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!
word count: 9.8k
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It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.
The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.
The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.
Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.
You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.
“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”
His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.
You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”
He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.
“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”
Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”
His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”
“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”
“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”
“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”
“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.
You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.
Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.
“You have a date.”
Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.
“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.
He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.
“Sounds like a date.”
He hisses, “’s not a date.”
Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.
Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”
“So – a date.”
“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”
“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”
“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”
Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.
“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”
The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.
A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”
“Laura.”
“Laura,” you breathe.
“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”
“She…?”
“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.
Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”
He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.
Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.
The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.
He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.
He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.
He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.
He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.
‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.
Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.
He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.
He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.
You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.
You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.
You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.
You know little fucking else.
The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.
You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.
See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.
It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.
She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.
You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.
“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.
“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.
“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.
“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.
“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.
Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”
You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.
“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”
Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.
As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.
“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.
He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”
“Good date?”
“I said don’t.”
“She talk much about her cats?”
“Goodnight.”
“Did you ask their names, at least?”
He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”
“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.
Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.
Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.
The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.
You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.
You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.
“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.
The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.
The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.
Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.
A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?
You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.
You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”
He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”
“I’ll be your date.”
Joel blinks.
“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”
“Your wardrobe?”
“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”
“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”
“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”
“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”
“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.
His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.
Deal.
Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.
He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”
“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”
His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”
You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”
“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.
“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”
Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”
You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.
“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.
“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.
You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.
“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”
You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”
He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”
“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”
“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”
“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”
Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”
“Joel.”
He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.
Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”
“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”
“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”
He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”
“Happy. Are you ready?”
“Give me five minutes.”
You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”
With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.
It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.
Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.
One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.
Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.
The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.
“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.
“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.
“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.
It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.
You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?
“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.
“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.
“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”
He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”
“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”
You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.
“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”
Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.
“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.
“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”
“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”
Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.
“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.
His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”
“Do I get to meet ‘em?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”
He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”
“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”
“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”
He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”
You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”
“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”
“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”
He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.
You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.
“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”
“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”
“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”
“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”
“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”
Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”
Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.
“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.
“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.
“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”
It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”
You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”
Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”
You smile, following him down the aisle.
A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.
Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.
Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.
“Wow, you –”
“– look great, I –”
“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”
“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”
“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.
“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.
He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”
Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.
“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”
“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.
He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.
He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.
You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.
Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”
“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.
You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.
He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.
Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.
“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”
“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.
You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.
Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.
Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.
The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.
Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.
Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.
You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!
You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.
You hesitated. I don’t know if I –
Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.
The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.
Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.
He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.
She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.
Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.
He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.
“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.
You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”
Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”
Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”
He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”
“You were talking to her for a long time.”
He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”
You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”
“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”
“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”
Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”
“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”
“Eight.”
You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”
Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”
“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”
He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.
“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.
It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.
Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.
The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.
The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.
“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.
“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.
You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.
He lifts his eyebrows. Who?
“Alice.”
“Brown?”
Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”
Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”
“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”
“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”
“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.
The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.
Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.
“What room number did you say you were, again?”
Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”
Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”
“We’re callin’ it a night?”
“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”
The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.
“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.
You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.
“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.
“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.
He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.
“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.
“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.
“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.
He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.
“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”
Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.
Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.
“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.
“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.
Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”
“Tell me to stop.”
If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.
He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.
“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.
You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.
“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”
“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”
He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”
You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.
Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.
His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.
“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”
A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.
“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”
He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.
Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”
A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.
“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.
He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.
You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.
Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”
“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.
You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.
Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.
Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.
“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.
“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.
Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”
You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.
“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”
You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.
Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.
“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.
“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.
“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –
You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.
“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”
You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.
He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.
So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.
Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.
The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.
“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”
“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”
“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.
The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.
Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”
You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.
“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”
He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.
“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”
“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.
“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.
You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.
His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.
“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.
Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”
“I wanna do it all night.”
He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.
The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.
The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.
He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.
He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.
“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.
“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”
A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.
You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”
You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.
Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.
The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.
“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.
“Hey.”
“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.
Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”
Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”
The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”
“Nine work for you?”
You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”
It’s something like nine when you find out.
You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.
You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.
But it never hurts to be sure.
The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.
Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.
A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–
Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.
Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.
#forgive me for it not being clm or sof#they're coming very soon i promise#this was too fun an idea not to chase#i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil)#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#the last of us#tlou#macfrog#neighbor!joel miller#neighbor!joel#babydaddy!joel miller
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you're losing me masterlist | jjk
pairing: jungkook x you
rating: 18+
genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance
summary: in the midst of marital challenges, jungkook and you grapple with the complexities of your relationship. yet, the lingering question whispers: how do you truly determine if the journey is worthwhile?
*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ**✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*
part 01: midnight trouble (m)
jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.
part 02: silly costumes & haunted hearts (m)
having a bit too much fun at chanyeol's halloween party, jungkook unexpectedly joins the party too.
part 03: blue christmas 30% written
part 04: bittersweet beginnings
#oh how i have missed staring blankly at the screen trying to come up w titles & summaries 😋#gonna add more soon !!#jeon jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook smut#jungkook scenario#jungkook imagines#jungkook drabble#jungkook masterlist
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telling katsuki you’ve never had a g-spot orgasm before and suddenly you’re back is pressed to his chest as you’re both sat in front of your bedroom mirror and he’s stroking the inside of you walls, making it his mission to make you cream all over his fingers
#you tell him you’ve never fingered yourself even#and all the guys you’ve dated have just never hit the spot#after that he’s folding you in a mating press and angling right to that spot#he’s so cocky after too because you wake up that next morning happy as fuck#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou smut#✎𓂃uma thirsts。°˖⌕#anyways fic coming soon woo oh#✎𓂃stamped: (my hero academia)。°˖⌕#༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.
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Out in California, I've been forward stroking, swim.
— how the bsd men FUCK you. ft. chuuya, dazai, tecchou, and ango x FEM!reader
⟢ reblogs greatly appreciated mwuah 🤍
c/ws::: ooc as fuck cause its smut. lots of cumming and theres sub ango too as well as impact play/slapping in angos part. MDNI
a/ns::: omg gasp runi finally dropped ?!?!?! neways song is based off swim by chase atlantic <3
✦ CHUUYA fucks you like there's no tomorrow. his version of fuck is love, he is a verse-service top and won't hesitate to put your needs above his. "so good f'me baby," he whispers little praises above you as he rams his thick cock into your cunt. chuuya, at the start, tries to be as gentle and careful as he could, but most times he loses himself to the pleasure and let's loose a little bit of his strength. his grip his bruising and will hurt pretty bad later, but his dick outweighs the pain—"nah, don't," he grunts in annoyance the moment you cover your face, hips still thrusting in and out as he prys your arms away from your face and pins them above your head using one hand. chuuya is the type of lover to make sure that you come first or together. it's an absolute must, and when chuuya cums, you can feel that shit plug you up with just a few spurts. his cum is thicky, creamy, goey, and a little bit sticky. even with condoms on, his cum is so hot, it feels as if you've been doing it raw.
"fucking—! sweetheart, 'm cummin, you feel so fuckin' g-ghn-good for me— fuck! aggnn... shiit.."
✦ DAZAI fucks you aggressively at first. you were nothing but a one night stand, someone who he could relieve his stress from and move on without complaint. however, this didn't seem to be the case for the mutual sex relationship you both set up. at the start, dazai is a dominant top, not allowing you to see him so vulnerable, and at this point of time, he still has his bandages on. "no darl'.. so sorry, maybe next time?" he would always make false promises for you to top him during the next session, but none of that happened—until the relationship changes for the better. it takes a while, but dazai finally opens up, becomes vulnerable and finally bottoms for you, nervousness in his system as he's stripped of everything, including his bandages—"ah! fuck! w-wait-mhn! tha-that feels sooo goood..!" he whines into the pillow, back arching as you ride his dick like tomorrow.
"gh—! [name]!! i- i feel it—uhnn! im- cu-cuhnn—!!"
✦ TECCHOU fucks you so passionately, you feel like shedding tears out of the pure love you feel. tecchou is a traditional dom-top, always concerned about making sure you're taken care of first. "are you alright? does it hurt?" he asks as he's bulldozing your pussy. tecchous dick is long, with a fat tip and thick base. he doesn't tell you this, but stuffing you full with his cock turns him on so much, he's able to cum within just a few thrusts inside your hole. tecchou isn't a moaner, more like a grunter, but that doesn't mean he isn't enjoying it, nah that man is probably under the pleasure more than you, cumming and stuffing your hole more than you could imagine. tecchou has thought of kids at one point in time, but with him being in the hunting dogs it just wasn't going to work out—so let him fuck his concerns away tonight first, then he can fuck his kids inside you in the future.
"i- i think—ghn! im- cummin' 'm cummin, please lemme cum—you're so good for - gh - me—hnn!"
✦ ANGO fucks you like a bottom bitch, he's the bottom getting bitched. he absolutely loves it when you ride his shit like you're rocking his world; everything is nothing but muddled into one the moment he feels your pussy wrapping itself around his dick. ango is a loud bitch, moaning and whining every time he feels a trinkle of pleasure—crying tears of pleasure whenever you slap him. ango himself didn't know how much into slapping he was— he fucking loves it when you slap his ass, thighs, chest, and even face—" 'm sorrryyy!! i won't move again! please - ride me—mhn!" he begs after you slapped his face for thrusting up without your permission. he cums fast and easily, being so turned on by you, he just can't help it! ango writhes in overstimulation every damn time, but he doesn't make an effort to move, loving every single round you pull out of him until you're done.
“i - [name] - ghnn—! im - sogoodsogood—!”
im gonna remake my taglist bleh
here’s a poll for what imma work on next
RUSMII 2024 . dont do the basic copyright shit. ty.
#₇₇₇༝ scriptures#hi I got a juicy fic coming out soon trust#chuuya x reader#dazai x reader#tecchou x reader#ango x reader#chuuya smut#dazai smut#tecchou smut#ango smut#bsd x reader#bsd smut
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Neuvillete is a virgin. However, you didn’t know that. Granted, he’s incredibly good looking, tall, well-built, and has a level-headed personality, but he’s never once in his life kissed or held hands before. It was comedic. He’s deemed one of the finest bachelors in Fontaine yet he’s never once secured a girlfriend.
It’s not like he never wanted one. As a matter of fact, he wanted you and you only! You’re not even a powerful figure. You’re just an adventurer who took measly commissions dished out by the guild. You were a nobody! To Neuvilette, however, you were sweet, cheerful, friendly, and a wonderful person. You’re so kind to him and so caring, and whenever you crossed paths, you would often hand him little trinkets from your latest adventures.
As level-headed as he is, the man crumbles after receiving your tiny gifts because it warms his heart. It stirs something inside of him that he can’t seem to understand.
But his thoughts and views of you isn’t always so innocent—oh, archons, no. In fact, when the moon is at its brightest peak and the rays of its light sneaks through the windows of his bedroom, Neuvilette is having the most lewd and most nastiest thoughts of you. It nearly pains him that he thinks of you in such a way that he’s tugging at his dick to relieve himself.
It’s a cold night but he has a leg propped up and his other hand is pulling apart his tie and collared top and his coat is strewn on the floor in such a messy manner—it’s so unlike him. But he’s so hot and sweaty, and the more he fucks his hand with his fists with the thought of you riding his cock, the hotter he gets. The man was practically panting and licking his lips as he gets closer to his orgasm.
This was his nightly routine. He sees you, receives your gift, and he goes home after a long day and relieves himself by stroking his cock. Something about you was just so addicting.
It got even worse when Neuvilette had bumped into you. This time, you didn’t stop and say hello or give him a gift. Instead, you brush pass him so quickly, give a hasty apology, and ran to who knows where. You dropped a handkerchief as you did and Neuvilette picked it up. Before he could give it to you, you had already gone out of his sight.
Neuvilette was by all means a gentleman, but he was a desperate virgin as well. That night, he cradled your handkerchief in his hand and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His lips parted and he lets out a soft groan. You smelled so enticing and it was enough to turn him on.
For the first time that night, he touched himself and groaned your name as he sniffed your handkerchief. He has never came so fast in all his years of living.
#[ 📌 smut ]#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#genshin impact x you#genshin x reader#neuvilette x reader#neuvilette smut#neuvilette x you#neuvilette genshin#um yes neuvilette revived me and so what?!#more virgin!neuvilette coming soon#cumming soon…#[ 🌊 thirsts ]
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The only thing worse than having to get braces put on as an adult is presenting as an omega on the exact same day— both far later than is typical.
It results in utter chaos.
At least, that’s how Steve felt about the whole ordeal.
Robin had been kind enough to stick around for his long appointment so she could make sure he had everything he needed afterwards.
Ice pack, pain killers, mouthwash. All the essentials.
They were prepared.
Just… not for a sudden presentation heat to start on the way home.
“Oh god. Oh god, Steve, okay listen— don’t panic. I know you’re in pain, but you need to hold tight so I can go get stuff to help you. Shit!”
Steve’s entire face feels worse than after Hargrove got through with it. Like ground beef.
His gums throb and his jaw aches terribly.
And now Robin’s leaving. Why is she leaving?
“Robsh?” Steve slurs out in a yell. The action makes the bands pull tighter.
“Be right back!”
She’s out the door and he’s left on the couch by himself. In pain. Awful, agonizing, burning pain.
Steve squirms around, trying to get comfortable.
Everything is hot. Too hot. It’s more than just his face— it’s his whole body. His muscles are twitchy, like they need to be stretched.
He’s laying in something wet. Blood? Could be. Maybe his mouth is bleeding. Seems reasonable at the moment.
“Owwww,” he whines to himself. “Fuck.”
The orthodontist said it would be mildly agitating pain and discomfort afterwards, not whole body sweats or cramps.
His head spins.
Where did Robin go again? She left so quickly, it’s hard to recall her reasons for leaving in such a rush.
Is he gonna die from braces? Can that even happen? Would he be the first?
“Hey, Stevie. As promised, I’ve got a strawberry banana smoothie with your name on it. Did Robin go home? Her car isn’t in the drivew—”
Huh?
“—and what in the hell is happening here?”
Steve rolls over to confirm that it’s not a burglar in his living room, but it’s just Eddie.
Oh. No? Hold on a moment.
Eddie has never smelled like that before.
He’s always had a faint smoke and leather sorta scent that even Steve’s unrefined beta nose could pick up on, but it’s much stronger than that now.
It’s deeper, more powerful and overwhelming.
It’s mouthwatering. Thigh clenching, even.
He whines in want.
“Alpha?” slips out before Steve can overthink it.
Eddie freezes and his eyes widen for a second. Then they narrow in a calculating way, like they’re trying to figure him out.
He sets the smoothie down and kneels next to the couch, one hand reaching out to cup Steve’s cheek lightly.
Steve winces at the touch, but his fingers are cold and they actually feel good on his sore face, so he relaxes into it.
“Hi there, pretty boy. Pink bands, huh? Cute. But it seems braces aren’t the only new thing today. You doing okay?” Eddie asks gently, soothingly.
He sounds more alpha than Steve’s ever heard him speak. The tone is comforting and reassuring.
Steve still isn’t entirely sure what they’re talking about though. He knows he had braces put on and then Robin left him alone. There’s some gaps in there somewhere and he feels like death.
His head is spinning too fast.
“I don’t know where Robin went,” he confesses in a whisper.
Eddie nods slowly, his expression understanding and kind. It makes Steve feel safe, unjudged for losing his best friend.
“I’m guessing she went to get some supplies for you, sweetheart. I’ve heard that the first one isn’t usually too bad, but Robin worries about you, ya know?”
He smells so good. How is Steve supposed to pay attention when Eddie smells that good?
Confused, he asks, “She was worried about my braces?” Too many words. It pulls at the bands in his mouth and he winces.
Eddie’s thumb brushes along his cheek sympathetically.
“No, baby… not quite. You’re in heat, Stevie.”
Heat?
No, that’s for omegas. Steve would know if he was an omega. He’d have heats. His body would be too hot and he’d produce slick and be attracted to alphas.
Ah.
“I’m an omega?” It’s as much a question to the universe as a shocked statement.
Eddie purses his lips. Conflict.
“You’re presenting a little later than usual, but evidently so. I’m guessing your lack of a pack before didn’t help anything, but you have us now. We’re gonna take care of you, honey… I’ll keep you safe, omega,” he promises solemnly.
The wetness between Steve’s legs becomes far more apparent.
It’s not that Steve never looked at Eddie before and thought he was attractive or that he’d make the perfect alpha to some lucky omega.
Steve just didn’t think he was that omega.
Or an omega at all, for that matter.
Eddie deserved more than some fucked up beta. He’s brave and kind, a good man.
He can visibly see when the scent of his fresh slick hits the alpha’s nose. The way Eddie’s nostrils flare and his breathing catches in his throat, like he’s trying not to inhale too deeply.
“Eddie?”
His eyes instantly dart to Steve’s mouth. He looks hungry. Starving, even.
For once in his life, Steve’s confident he won’t be rejected.
It’s in Eddie’s warm scent, in the way he’s always glanced at him a little too long, and never breaks his promises to him. Steve can see it clearly now.
This has been a long time coming.
“Anything.”
“Kiss me, alpha?”
Eddie doesn’t question whether he’s sure. He doesn’t tell Steve that this is a conversation for later or even hesitate.
He just holds Steve’s face like something fragile and precious when he kisses his lips far too carefully. Soft. Gentle.
They’re chapped from his appointment. Neither seem to care.
It’s a slow, lingering kiss. It ends much the same way.
The rush of pleasure and pure joy floods his entire body, making the pain in his jaw negligible when he lets out his first omegan chirp of happiness.
He still aches and yearns, but the ache is focused now. His inner omega just wants Eddie— his alpha.
“Please, Ed,” Steve whimpers, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck and getting his scent right from the source.
The alpha scratches down his back slowly, trying to calm him.
It’s an act full of love and kindness, Eddie’s attempt to not take advantage of him in his current state.
In any other situation, it would be noble. Steve would be flattered by the self control it cost an alpha to not ravage in omega in heat who’s begging for attention.
But he needs this. He’s also technically only in late pre-heat. That’s as far as presentation heats usually get.
Fever and need are there, but not the complete lack of awareness that accompanies full heats. He can make decisions.
“How can I help you, sweetheart?”
Steve can tell the effects of heat are taking ahold of his inhibitions though.
There’s no other reasonable explanation for the way he blurts out, “Cum all over my braces?”
#part two with actual smut to come soon!!!#steddie#steddie omegaverse#omega steve harrington#alpha eddie munson#steddie ficlet#omegaverse#a/b/o#braces#my fics
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Gurl, I've got you.
If you are comfortable with it, I can imagine Gaz getting jealous, tying his partner to the bed (with their consent, obviously 😒) and fucking them like there's no tomorrow. (Sending this as an ask in case you wanna use it)
'Wicked Games'
P: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader
CW: Dom/Brat Tamer!Gaz, jealousy, possessiveness, handcuffs, face-fucking as punishment, rough oral sex
WC: 3.505 words (oops)
You were in the midst of getting ready, your reflection adorned in a sleek, tight black dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. With each movement, the fabric whispered against your skin, accentuating your figure with an air of confidence.
His eyes followed the graceful arc of your hand as you brushed a hint of blush onto your cheeks, the subtle flush of color only enhancing your natural beauty.
Despite his efforts to appear nonchalant, the tension simmered just beneath the surface. His gaze widened slightly at the sight of your attire,lingering on you with a hint of admiration and pride.
''He's just a colleague, Kyle.'' It was the third time you had to echo that sentence in a row, each word carefully enunciated with an exhausted sigh in between as the night drag on.
''Who's desperately trying to sleep with you, Y/N.'' Kyle's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he leaned himself against the doorframe to get a better look at you.
The veil of calm that blanked his form wasn't enough to disguise the tension around you that could be cut with a knife.
''Okay, now you're overreacting.'' A quick glance away from your reflection in the mirror was enough to catch him rolling his eyes to your remark as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup.
Your arrival to your corporate's event was bound to be late from the moment you were about to settle on the outfit.
The sound of the bathroom door creaked open, and your boyfriend that resembled a Greek God emerged, his hair damp and tousled from the shower. In nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist, droplets of water glistened on his bronzed skin, accentuating the defined lines of his muscular physique.
''Yeah, right- Wait, no bra?'' Kyle's voice was tinged with a hint of reproach, his brows furrowing as he fought to keep his jealousy in check.
''I can't wear one with this dress.'' With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you turned to face him.
"And you know what else?" You continued, your voice teasing as you pulled back to meet Kyle's gaze. "It's kinda cold tonight.''
''Fucking hell.'' Kyle let out a frustrated growl, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his emotions.. That did not bode well for his self-control.
With a playful smirk, he pushed himself away from the door frame and took a step closer, the air thick with a sudden change of emotions.
''What do I have to do to get you to stay?'' The droll of his voice belied a casual tease, but his tone was dangerous.
''Tie me down, probably.''
The words hung in the air for a moment, accompanied by your light chuckle, as you anticipated Kyle's typical witty response. However, as the seconds ticked by, you noticed the atmosphere slowly changing.
The laughter faded from your lips instantly as you glimpsed the genuine consideration in Kyle's eyes, a flicker of something more primal stirring beneath the surface.
The suggestion lingered in the air like a provocative dare, igniting a spark of desire within him as he contemplated the possibilities.
''Are you seriously considering tying me down, Sergeant?'' The sudden shift from playful banter to something more charged, left you breathless, your pulse quickening with a rush of excitement.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Kyle reached out to gently brush a lock of hair from your face, his touch tender yet intense.
''What if I am?'' His tone was casual, but the way it vibrated in his chest sent a rush of heat down your spine.
''You'd have to catch me, first'' You exclaimed with a giggle and quickened your pace towards the living room, forgetting for a moment that with that man standing behind you, it was pointless.
Kyle, agile and determined, moved swiftly to intercept you. He closed the distance between you in a few quick strides. In a heartbeat, his strong hands firmly gripped on your hips, halting you in your tracks.
Before you could protest or react, Kyle pulled you even closer, his body pressing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.
He leaned in close, his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he whispered huskily, "That was a bad move, sweetheart."
''Kyle, you're gonna ruin my outfit-'' A look of bland innocence spread across your face, trying hard to convince yourself above all that you wanted to walk out that door and out of his embrace.
"Oh, sweetheart," He murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "You know I'm not just gonna ruin your outfit."
A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as his fingers trailed slowly along your sides, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned hot and bright.
As Kyle's hands moved with intent, your breath caught in your throat, skin tingling with anticipation at the tantalizing promise of what was to come.
It was when Kyle's hands reached your breasts that you realized that he was not going to let you walk out that door intact, your eyes widening in shock at the suddenness of his touch.
''I'm gonna do much more than that.'' In terms of words that made your knees give in, he’s definitely said more explicit things, but apparently, that was all you needed that night.
"Kyle," You murmured, your tone betraying the internal struggle, "I have to go."
''Mhm, do you now?'' Kyle buried his nose in your neck, feeling your pulse with his lips. His skin was so hot, his steaming breath stretching over your delicate skin.
You didn’t mean to whimper, but it slipped out and Kyle's hips bucked. Eager to cage you. Eager to pin you under him and devour you.
With a teasing lilt to your voice, you uttered the name that always seemed to set him on edge, "What will James think if I don't go?"
You knew all too well the effect those words would have, how they would stir the green-eyed monster within him, yet you couldn't resist the thrill of fueling his jealousy and pushing him over the edge.
/ / /
And that was how you ended up lying on the bed, your wrists bound by soft leather handcuffs secured to the headboard.
It had started innocently enough, a playful suggestion that quickly escalated into something far more intense. With each gentle tug of the restraints, you felt a surge of excitement building within you.
And as you laid there, completely at his mercy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability unlike anything you had ever experienced before.
The soft whisper of fabric against skin, the faint creak of the bed beneath you, every sensation seemed magnified, heightened by the knowledge that you were completely under his control.
In that moment, with the world reduced to nothing but the two of you, you knew that you were exactly where you wanted to be, no alcohol, no annoying colleagues, no meaningless conversations. Just you, bare naked, bound to the bed and utterly captivated by the man kneeling with you between his thighs
"Satisfied now, Sergeant Garrick?" A devious smile played on your lips as you attempted to feign innocence, but your efforts were feeble at best.
Your boyfriend's keen observation didn't miss a beat. The slight twitch on his brow betrayed his reaction to you using his military rank. It was clear that your words had struck a chord within him, awakening something hidden beneath the surface that was begging to come forward.
As his gaze met yours, you noticed them darkening to the shade closest to the nightsky. There was a spark of arousal mixed with something almost unexplainable, something almost frightening. Intoxicating.
"Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?" Your tone dripped with sass as you pushed the boundaries, testing his patience.
Short distorted laughs came from him, almost mocking your pathetic attempt to provoke him. He raised one hand, the warmth of his touch grazing against your cheek before trailing down to the back of your head, where his fingers began to weave through your hair with a gentle grip.
Despite the tender gesture, you couldn't ignore the underlying tension that radiated from him, it was clear that what was to follow was going to be far from sweet.
Abruptly, his fingers clenched tightly in your hair, a searing pain radiating through your scalp, eliciting a groan to escape your lips.
"Yeah? Is that how you wanna play, love?" His voice was low and husky as he leaned down, bringing his mouth close to your ear.
Kyle's lips brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, while his other hand, calloused and strong, gently cupped the flesh of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze.
You felt his touch trailing down, skimming over the nakedness of your upper body until they reached the edge of your panties. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers danced along the elastic, teasingly tugging them down. The sensation was electrifying, anticipation coursing through your body.
His warm breath tickled your neck as he exhaled, "You're practically dripping, and I've barely even touched you." He remarked with a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in your ear and sending a thrill through your body.
"Shut up-" You quipped, knowing full well the bratty tone of your words.
As if to amplify your wicked plan, you aimed a playful kick at his thigh, intending to push him away though you knew that it was part of his job to take down men twice his size with ease.
Kyle reared back, and in an instant, his lips crashed onto yours with an intensity that bordered on punishing.
Initially, you resisted, a split-second defiance before surrendering to the fervor of his kiss. As you yielded, his kiss softened, his lips tenderly caressing yours, his tongue teasing the corner of your mouth with slow strokes.
As he began pressing his knee against your throbbing core, your back arched instinctively, seeking further contact and stimulation.
In response to your reaction, he let out a deep, guttural moan of his own into your mouth, his desire echoing yours as he intensified the pressure of his kiss. With one hand still cupping the back of your neck possessively, he leaned over you, his weight asserting dominance in the space between you.
His honeyed eyes fixated on your breasts, staring with a hunger that made your skin tingle. His plush lips were slightly parted as he placed his palms on your stomach, earning a desperate whisper from you.
''Kyle-'' Unintentionally, a soft mewl escaped your lips, a sound of desire that surprised even you. You couldn't help but crave his hands on your breasts, yearning for the sensation of his fingers squeezing, massaging, mirroring the fervent desire on his face.
And then, he withdrew, his lips parting from yours, leaving behind a warmth as he leaned back to take another look at your exposed skin.
''You wanna act like a brat?'' Kyle seethed as if he was welcoming a challenge, a sly smirk playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with determination.
With deliberate intent, he wrapped his fingers around the base of your neck, his grip tightening gradually, compelling you to meet his eyes. ''Fine, I'll treat you like one.''
His hand disappeared from your sight, gliding down his torso until it reached the towel that hung low around his waist, teasingly revealing the contours of his body.
In one swift motion, he discarded the towel, allowing it to fall to the floor with a soft rustle, revealing his form in all its glory. You couldn't help but stare, mesmerized. It slapped against his stomach with a satisfying thud, beautiful and big, just like him.
Slowly, he caressed himself before you, his cock poised directly in front of your face, temptingly close.
"Spit." Kyle commanded, his hand extended in front of your face, positioned just beneath your waiting mouth.
Without hesitation, you complied with his request, gathering saliva in your mouth before lolling out your tongue, allowing it to messily fall into his hand.
"That's my obedient girl." He praised, whilst using the same hand that collected your saliva to stroke himself once again. With each firm stroke, his member glistened, now coated in the slickness that you provided.
''Open your mouth, sweetheart. Unless you'd like for me to force it open?'' He questioned as as he began to leisurely drag the tip of his throbbing cock along your wet lips before gently prodding them.
You savored the bittersweet tang of the precum that glistened on the head, the taste a delicious blend of saltiness and sweetness that made you want more. And so you complied without hesitation, parting your lips and extending your tongue, its wet, pink surface waiting for his touch.
''Suck.''
His voice took on a rough, commanding tone, without any hint of playfulness as his hips bucked towards your lips, seeking the warmth of your mouth.
Without hesitation, your mouth opened eagerly, welcoming his head as it entered, filling your senses with the taste and texture of him.
You hollowed your cheeks, creating suction as you enveloped him, relishing in the sensation of his hardness against your tongue. Taking your time, you swirled your tongue around the tip, exploring every ridge and contour, teasing him with the flickering motion.
You weren't going to give it to him easily. Or so you believed in that moment. Perhaps deep down, there lurked a streak of masochism within you.
And so, without warning, you executed a bold move, deftly slipping his length off your lips with a resounding pop, punctuating the act with a falsely innocent look.
"Oops." You smirked, meeting his half-shocked, half-annoyed expression with unwavering confidence despite your restricted position.
''Bold move, love.'' What he did next caught you off guard.
With a swift motion, he retrieved his hand from the back of your head and placed it under your jaw, the once gentle touch now transformed into a merciless grip as his fingers closed around your cheeks, applying pressure until you winced from the pain and forced your mouth to open.
Kyle wasted no time in reclaiming the wetness of your mouth, thrusting his length back inside with an assertiveness that seemed almost brutal. Not to you, though. That was how you liked it and he knew. Gentle and sweet as a partner, rough and dominant as a lover.
You hummed around him, the vibration serving as an affirmative response, granting him permission to take control. His other hand rose to join the first, folding over your head, firmly holding you in place as he lifted his hips and thrusted forward.
He closed his eyes, the long lashes brushing against his flushed cheeks as he breathed out a low, gravelly moan.
"Oh, fuck, yes- that's it. You're- you're taking me so fucking well." In contrast to his words growing increasingly visceral and obscene, Kyle looked strikingly beautiful and almost mad with his open jaw hung slightly agape as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhalation ragged and uneven.
Sensing his movement, you relaxed your jaw, allowing your tongue to flatten and just before he pushed deeper, you managed to draw in one last breath, bracing yourself for what was to come.
Then, his head bumped against the back of your throat, causing your eyes to sting with tears pooling at the corners as you coughed wetly around him. Foam and saliva spurted from the tight seal of your lips, a result of the sudden intrusion.
His relentless pace caused your throat to bulge, stretching to accommodate his girth, while your face contorted with the strain of his forceful thrusts.
The squelching of his cock drilling in and out of your mouth got louder and louder as your saliva wet his length, only making him fuck your mouth like it was nothing but a hole, with more intent as it got easier for him.
His fingers held onto both sides of your skull tightly, burying your nose into his pubic hair with every pulsation. Your jaw grew slack, your jowl hanging low as his girth forced your mouth open for his use.
''Now what would that asshole think, hm?'' His breathing was erratic, his words garbled and he dislodged himself from you entirely this time.
His hand gripped around the base of his cock, coated heavily with pre-cum and your saliva. The force-grip on your face relaxed and you pulled your lips back together in relief.
And then he stuffed back himself into you, taking in the feeling of your reflexive bobs on his cock, of you gagging and salivating around his member. He drug your head off after a short time, then back in, finding his rhythm.
The fingers in your hair roughly pulled you against him as he held you firmly back in place, leaving you no choice but to breathe through your nose and try to relax your muscles further. ''Seeing you tied up like that, choking on my cock, fuck-''
It only took a few more hard, erratic thrusts before he reached the breaking point, his body tensing above you as he neared climax.
With each hard movement, his cock plunged deeper into your throat, driving past the point of resistance until it reached the depths of your being. In a surge of desperate release, he unleashed his hot thick cum so deep inside you, you didn't even get taste it.
Though your jaw felt like it was burning in flames, you immediately welcomed the relief as you could finally draw in a deep, satisfying breath. With a sigh, you leaned your head back against the headboard, allowing the coolness of the surface to soothe your overheated skin.
''You did so well baby, so fucking good for me.'' He cooed, the sweetness returning to his tone before he swiftly slid his knees from your upper body down to your waist, his movements unhurried as he took in the way you looked in that moment. A beautiful mess.
Whilst he positioned himself, he leaned forward, his forehead gently meeting yours for a brief moment and then closed the gap completely, his lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss.
''Now..'' Kyle whispered against your parted lips, a soft breath of warmth that set your skin on fire.
As his tongue delicately brushed against your bottom lip, his hands trailed upwards to caress your restrained arms as though he was taking away the ache just by touching them.
''Be a good girl and..'' As his lips made their way towards the upper half of your face, his voice was sinful against the delicate curve of your ear shell. With each caress, the tension in your muscles began to ease.
Finally, his hands came to rest against each of your wrists, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handcuffs.
With a gentle yet purposeful movement, his fingers traced the outline of the restraints, teasing you by applying pressure for a second before stopping and repeating the same movement.
You watched in anticipation, biting hard on your bottom lip not to wince out loud as the tension in the air became heavy once more and then you finally heard the faint click of the restraints releasing.
The pain in your wrists began to fade away, relief washing over you as Kyle deftly removed the handcuffs. With each click of the lock releasing, a weight seemed to lift from your shoulders. You eagerly anticipated the opportunity to finally touch him, to feel his warmth against your skin and bring him close to you.
But before you could even extend your hands, Kyle's touch found its way to your waist and with a suddenness that pushed all air out your lungs, he maneuvered you around, positioning you so that your face was now directed towards the headboard. The abrupt shift in position left you disoriented, your gaze now fixated on the wooden surface before you.
''Kyle, what are you-''
Without warning, he once again secured the handcuffs around your wrists, immobilizing you completely. The metallic clink echoed in the room and his striking face disappeared from your sight, replaced by the blank expanse of the wall.
Though you couldn't see him, the subtle shifts in the mattress beneath you betrayed his movements as he lowered himself onto the bed. He positioned himself underneath you, his shoulders pressed firmly between your thighs, urging them to open wider.
Finally, you looked down, his face came into view, illuminated by the soft glow of the dimly lit room.
''Sit on my fucking face.''
(to be continued..:)
#part 2 coming soon#if you want it ofc#cod#call of duty#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick smut#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz smut#gaz x reader#kyle garrick smut#cod smut#cod x reader#tf 141#task force 141#141 x reader#captain price smut
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Update
It’s been about 7 months since I’ve posted a smut and like 😭 Wtf!?! Remember the Bloodline smut I was going to do, the one with the poll? That was seven months ago!! A lot has changed since then, and it’s insane!🤯
They went from this:
Gif: @jeysuso
To this:
However….
These changes did affect my Play With It series, in a good way. Part 2 (Jey) coming soon ☺️
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