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kiwisbell · 6 months

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Honey-Do [joel miller]

It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink

word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo

HONEY-DO

Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely.

In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.

In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.

It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.

You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.

Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.

You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.

“It’s ten,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping.

“We slept in,” you point out.

Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles.

You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”

Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”

Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”

“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.”

This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.

“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.

His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”

“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.

You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.

“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”

“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.

Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”

Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.

He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”

That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.

He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is.

He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet.

He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.

Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.

“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”

Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that.

He shook his head.

You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.”

“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.

“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.

Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”

You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”

Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.

He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.

But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.

“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says.

He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”

“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”

Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.

He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.

Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.

Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.

It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble.

Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.

He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.

“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.

Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”

You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.”

“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”

You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.

You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s.

Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.

“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.

“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”

Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…”

Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you.

“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.

You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.

“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled.

You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”

“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”

You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile.

Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”

You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”

Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”

“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”

“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”

You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”

Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.

Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”

Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.

He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.

You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.

He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.

He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.

He’ll be a good daddy.

You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.

Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.

Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.

Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.

Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”

“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”

Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.

Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.

“I want you to put a baby in me.”

All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.

Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”

There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”

Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”

You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”

You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”

As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.

“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease.

“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”

“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”

“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”

“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.”

He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist.

You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.

“And then what?” he says gruffly.

You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.

He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.

“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”

“Yeah? Fire away.”

“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.

“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.”

Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”

“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.

You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”

Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”

“That's what I thought.”

Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.

“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”

“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”

You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—

“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together.

He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you, um… Are you hungry?”

He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.

“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”

You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”

“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”

“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”

Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”

—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans.

“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.

He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.

You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.

You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession.

Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.

“I wasn't done,” you tell him.

Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.

Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”

Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.

He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”

You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.

He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.

“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”

His nostrils flare. “Sit.”

You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”

“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.

Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”

“‘Let’s go again’?”

“The other thing.”

“'Let me suck your dick’?”

“Try again, baby.”

“‘Wrong hole’?”

Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”

His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”

He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”

He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”

He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want.

Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.

You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.

You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.

His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.

“Baby,” he chokes.

“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”

You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”

Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”

Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands.

You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.

“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”

Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”

“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.

“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”

You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control.

You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair.

“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”

“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out.

His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.

The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”

You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”

Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.

“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”

“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”

Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.

He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.

Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.

Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”

“You want to make a baby?”

He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”

You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”

“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”

The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.

Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.

But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.

“I do this to you?” he says smugly.

“You know damn well—”

“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”

Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”

Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.

“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”

He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.

“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”

Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.

“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.

“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.

He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.

Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.

“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.

His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.

He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”

Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”

“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”

“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”

A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”

He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”

“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”

Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”

The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”

He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”

Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—

“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”

“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.

Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.

Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.

You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.

Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.

Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.

Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.

A real man gives his wife everything she wants.

He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”

His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!”

Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”

“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”

The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.

Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”

Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.

Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.

It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.

You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.

“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”

Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”

“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.

“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He chuckles. “You feel okay?”

“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”

His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.

“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.

There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.

“Hey, Joel?”

His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”

“I like the name Sarah.”

THE END.

tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #pre outbreak!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader

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pucksandpower · 2 months

Text

Just a Taste

Max Verstappen x best friend!Reader

Summary: you quickly learn that there’s more to the chocolates you devoured than meets the eye

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (thanks to aphrodisiac chocolates)

You knock on Max’s front door, balancing a tray with four large lattes in your arms. “Max!” You call out, “It’s me!”

No response. You frown, knowing he’s usually back from his morning run by now. Shifting the drinks to one arm, you pull out your key and let yourself in.

“Max?” You call out again as you kick the door closed behind you. Still no answer.

You make your way to the kitchen and put the coffees down on the counter. Every Sunday morning you and Max have brunch together, a tradition you’ve kept up for years, ever since you became friends as kids.

As you take a sip of frothy caffeine, your stomach rumbles loudly. You glance at the clock — you’re a bit early today, so Max probably hasn’t returned yet.

Looking around, you spot a pink box on the counter that you don’t recognize. Curious, you open it up to find a dozen chocolates inside. A small note card reads:

For when you finally meet someone special - Lando

You chuckle to yourself, trust Lando to tease Max about being perpetually single. Popping one of the chocolates in your mouth, you savor the rich sweetness that melts on your tongue. Before you know it, you’ve eaten three more. They’re just so good! Max won’t mind if you have a few, right?

You’re nibbling on a fifth chocolate when warmth blooms through your body. You feel … tingly all over. And is it just you or did the room get brighter? You blink a few times then shake your head, trying to clear the sudden haze that’s settled over your mind.

Just then, the front door opens and Max calls out, “Y/N? You here already?”

“In the kitchen!” You reply, your voice coming out breathier than normal. You feel hot and flushed now, your skin ultra sensitive. What was in those chocolates?

Max enters the kitchen and stops short when he sees you leaning against the counter, breathing heavily. “Whoa, are you okay?” His brow furrows in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

You stare at him, suddenly unable to form a coherent thought beyond how good he looks right now, sweaty from his run in just a compression top and shorts. You’ve always thought Max was cute of course, but now an almost uncontrollable urge to touch him overtakes you.

“Y/N?” Max prompts again, stepping closer and seeing the open box of chocolates beside you. “Did you … oh no. You ate from the pink box, didn’t you?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Max runs a hand through his hair. “Those were from Lando, they’re infused with … let’s just say they have special effects. I told him it was a stupid gift idea.”

He moves towards you but you back away quickly. “D-don’t,” you stammer out, worried what might happen if he gets too close right now.

Understanding dawns on Max’s face. “It’s alright, just try to stay calm. Come on, let’s go sit down.”

He gently grasps your arm and leads you to the living room couch. You sink down onto the soft cushions, resting your head against the back and closing your eyes. Your skin is on fire, you shift restlessly as desire coils hotly inside you.

Max sits down on the other end of the sofa. “This will pass, just ride it out,” he says soothingly.

You crack open your eyes to look at him. His face is etched with concern and something else you can’t quite place. “Max,” you breathe out his name like a plea.

He swallows hard. You’ve never wanted someone as much as you want Max in this moment. Scooting closer to him, you reach out a hand to touch his cheek.

Max inhales sharply at your contact but doesn’t pull away. His eyes search yours questioningly.

“Please Max, I need you,” the words fall desperately from your lips before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes widen in surprise before darkening with unmistakable desire. He’s silent for a long moment, emotions playing across his face as he struggles with indecision. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest.

Finally Max moves, shifting forward to close the small gap between you. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek tenderly as his eyes lock with yours.

“Are you sure?” He asks softly.

You answer by surging forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Max responds immediately, mouth moving urgently against yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his strong chest.

You sigh into the kiss, hands tangling into his hair. His lips are even softer than you imagined. You swipe your tongue along his bottom lip and Max parts them with a low groan.

As the kiss deepens, your desperation mounts. You need more, need to be closer. Straddling his lap, you rock your hips against his, feeling his growing arousal.

Max breaks the kiss with a gasp. “We should stop, the effects will wear off soon,” he protests weakly.

“Don’t want to stop,” you murmur, trailing kisses down his neck. You nip at his pulse point and Max lets out a strangled moan, resolve clearly wavering.

His hands grip your hips tightly as you continue to move against him. “We shouldn’t, not like this,” he tries again, but you silence him with another heated kiss.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “Max, I want this. I want you. Not just because of the chocolates. I’ve always wanted you.”

Max’s eyes widen at your confession, before a vulnerable smile spreads across his face. “I’ve wanted you too, for so long,” he admits softly.

Cupping your face in both hands, he kisses you tenderly. When you eventually break apart, foreheads resting together, Max asks “Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want you to regret anything.”

You smile and take his hand, rising from the couch and pulling him up with you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you tell him sincerely. “Now take me to bed.”

His eyes darken and he laces his fingers through yours. “Gladly,” he murmurs, before leading you towards his bedroom and kicking the door shut behind you.

As soon as the door clicks closed, Max presses you up against it, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His hands roam your body eagerly as your own fumble to push his shirt up and off him.

Breaking the kiss, Max trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You gasp and arch into him, nails raking down his bare back.

Needing more, you reach for the hem of your own shirt but Max stops you.

“Let me,” he says huskily, grasping the fabric and lifting it up tantalizingly slowly to reveal your skin inch by inch. He pulls the shirt over your head and tosses it aside before returning his heated gaze to you.

Reaching behind you, Max deftly unhooks your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders to the floor. He hovers over you, grey eyes burning with desire as they rake over your newly exposed skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers reverently before ducking his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest.

Leaning in, he kisses down between your breasts before capturing a nipple in his mouth. You cry out, hands coming up to grip his hair tightly. He lavishes attention on your breasts until you are squirming against him desperately.

Sensing your need, Max scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently against the rumpled sheets before settling over you, the hard planes of his body pressing deliciously against your own softer ones.

You kiss feverishly as you fumble with the drawstring of his shorts, shoving them down impatiently. Max kicks them off before reaching for the button of your jeans. Soon the last barriers between you are gone.

Max trails heated open-mouthed kisses down your stomach until he reaches the apex of your thighs. He looks up at you questioningly and you nod eagerly. You arch up into his touch, gasping and tangling your hands in his hair.

“Please Max,” you beg desperately, needing more.

At the first touch of his mouth on your most intimate area, you cry out his name, hands twisting into the sheets. He takes his time exploring you with his lips and tongue until you are writhing and gasping beneath him.

When you feel yourself teetering on the edge, you breathlessly beg Max to be inside you. Needing no further encouragement, he moves back up your body, positioning himself at your entrance.

He pauses, meeting your gaze. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says huskily before finally joining your bodies in one smooth motion. You both moan at the feeling of completion.

Max sets a steady rhythm, angling his hips until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You feel the pressure building rapidly within you. Sensing you’re close, Max increases his pace. His thumb rubs tight circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name as he finds his own release.

You cling to each other as you come down, trading soft kisses and whispers of affection. Eventually Max rolls off of you, gathering you close against his chest.

“That was incredible,” Max murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “You are incredible.”

You smile up at him adoringly. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grins and squeezes you tight. You drift off curled safely in the arms of the man you’ve always loved, happier than you’ve ever been.

***

The next morning, you wake up to find your legs tangled with the man beside you. Last night had been incredible, even better than your wildest fantasies.

You feel Max begin to stir. Turning in his arms to face him, you meet his sleepy gaze.

“Morning,” Max smiles at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His expression turns serious. “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about more than just the effects of the chocolates. You lift a hand to caress his cheek reassuringly.

“I’ve never been happier,” you tell him honestly.

Max’s face breaks into a radiant grin. He kisses you softly before pulling you tightly against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way,” Max whispers into your hair. “I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt for so long but I didn’t want to risk our friendship if you didn’t feel the same.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” you say, leaning in to kiss him languidly.

When you eventually break apart, Max smirks at you. “Remind me to send Lando a thank you card.”

You laugh and snuggle back into his embrace, making a mental note to pick up another box of those chocolates. Just in case.

1K notes · View notes

moonsaver · 27 days

Text

You were his sister's enemy.

Well, he rather assumes it.

Robin defends you whenever he scorns at you, and simply mentions you as someone who just has trouble communicating. Sunday, on the other hand, does not take to your mannerisms politely. Although distance and discord within branches of The Family have long shifted his attention from his sister and their once joint dream, it doesn't mean his protectiveness of it has vanished.

Your singing was nowhere near as perfect as his sister's, he believes. Robin defends you, saying you're great in your own way, and both of you have different styles of singing. He comments on your more mature look with disdain, thinly admonishing it as vulgar, while Robin tries to convince him you just work under a sultry concept. Everything you did, it was never as good as Robin's, and whenever even a single track of yours threatened Robin's on the chart, Sunday would be displeased. According to him, you were competing for fame with Robin, and even the audacity of you to go such lengths was disdainful.

Robin, however, has been trying to convince Sunday to be on better terms with her lover.

He isn't exactly unnoticing of Robin's new lipstick that's in a different shade than what she'd normally wear. A new perfume that's oddly charming, but expensive, not exactly what he sees her picking out. Hair accessories that he's never seen in her drawers, nail polish he's never seen her wear before, a new fresh change to her voice that's making it livelier as of late, which is suspicious, considering all of this takes place simultaneously after she leaves your room.

It's not long until Sunday manages to get a quiet moment with you. Confrontation isn't foreign to him, and neither are implied, cordial threats that are already schemed within the front of his mind as he gently turns the handle to your door.

You greet him politely, as expected, and both of you get talking. He gauges you out, asking you specific and roundabout questions, eyes scrutinizing the familiar color of nail polish on your fingers that were once on Robin's, the half-used bottle of perfume thats slightly peeking out of the poorly hidden drawer which he's sure is something Robin would pick, the glossy, sticky tissue which he assumes you used to wipe off some sheer gloss, which you obviously don't wear.

He's hostile, and he doesn't quite hide it. Warning, teetering on edge, observing and calculating his next question and your responses with every second. But alas, he finally leaves you alone, and silently takes his leave.

Sunday hates you. And that is a hill he will surely die on.

Or rather.. what else would you call this ugly, seething feeling inside his chest?

Seeing your eyes soften, your smile quirk up on your usually stoic face, your lazy, languid hands finding their usually hiding spot, tucked onto Robin's waist.

It makes him seethe seeing you do those things with his sister.

Or really, anything you do.

The laugh you share with an overly friendly employee, the side glance, silent communication with some of your audio-managing team, the playful pinching of your cheeks by another singer that's far too comfortable with you.

Your actions are.. despicable. Sure they are. And he starts questioning just why. He deludes himself with any reason that is clearly beyond rationale, and barely constrains a scoff when you try and ask him about his dampened mood.

Of course, he should find them despicable when they're done to him, too. But he doesn't.

And it's even more infuriating. He smiles softly and laughs at some of your words, playfully bumps you from time to time, and chuckles when you return the favor. He feels special when you make certain eye gestures, remember a few inside jokes, and wink at him to keep them a secret. And once he returns to his solitary confinement, it dawns on him, and he should be grinding his teeth to dust from the absolute fury you supposedly induce in him.

But he doesn't.

He's only left with a light feeling in his heart, which slightly, mournfully dampens when he sees you do the same with Robin.

They've shared a dream once. Surely, they can share a love, too?

944 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 17 days

Note

First time sex with rosemary 🌿

wordcount: 9k

—————

Wiping her floured hands on her apron, (Y/N) brushed her hair out of her face with her wrist before reaching towards her back pocket for her vibrating phone. Her lips curled into a soft smile seeing Harry's name on her screen, his contact featuring a photo of him sleepy-eyed next to his kitten in her bed had her smile stretching wider. Taking a quick glance at the time, she was sure he'd just made it back to his apartment after finishing up at the grocery store.

Quickly, she peeled her gloves from her hands and peeked out into the storefront of the bakery. Just as she had left it a handful of minutes before, there weren't any patrons now that the morning rush had passed, leaving Sabrina tucked behind the desk with her book folded open.

"Hey, I'm going to take my fifteen really quick. Is that okay?" As soon as Sabrina gave her the go ahead with a wave of her hand with her eyes still stuck to her book, (Y/N) was answering the call with a tap of her thumb. "Harry?" she greeted, stepping out back of the bakery for a bit of privacy in the mid-morning air.

"Hi, peach," he murmured through the receiver, voice drooping and soft, "Is it alright that I called you? I know you're still working, so."

"Your timing was perfect, actually," she told him, knowing he was probably more worried than he was letting on for fear of having ruined her day, "Everything just cleared out from this morning, and I needed a break."

"Yeah? Long shift already?" he pressed, the sound of sheets shuffling on the other side with a petite meow chirping through.

"A little bit, yeah," she sighed, wishing she was wrapped up in warm sheets with Harry and Rosemary, "Just one of those Sunday morning shifts, you know. How was your night, though? Work was okay?"

"Yeah," he said, the syllable floating out on a long suffering sigh, "Theo and Brett were still annoying, but I think Fawn is going to cover one of my shifts this week."

(Y/N) immediately perked up at the new information. She'd been urging him to take some time off this past month; he didn't have to work himself to the bone anymore, not now that his issues from back home had been resolved. It was unhealthy, she'd told him more than once—he would make himself sick with more than just exhaustion if he wasn't careful.

"Really? What day?" she bubbled off, ready and willing to shift her own schedule around if he wanted.

"Thursday."

She could hear the smile in his voice as he uttered the words. He knew what reaction he was going to get.

"Are you serious?" she beamed, bouncing on the soles of her feet, "You have the whole weekend off then?"

"I do, yeah. So do you."

"Harry," she bleated, "I'm so excited! We haven't had any time together I feel like, and now we get a whole weekend! Thank you!"

"That's what I was thinking when I made my request; barely seen you this past week. 'S not fair."

"It's not," she affirmed, "You haven't even been able to sleep over since Friday. I'm not used to that."

"Me neither, peach," he murmured, his tone decidedly more somber than just a moment before though she understood where he was coming from.

Ever since their impromptu road trip, they tended to have as many sleepovers as their schedules would allow. Besides the comfort that came along with being at each other's side—especially in the case of Harry's frequent nightmares—, it was hard to forget how much they liked sharing a bed and sitting down for meals together.

"Did you want to do anything special?" she prompted, already racking her brain for anything that Harry would enjoy leaving the house for.

"I've got to go to the library at some point," he mused, another chirping meow sounding from the background prompting a huff of laughter to leave his lips, "But, other than that, I was hoping I could catch up on m'sleep."

"We can do that," (Y/N) decided, shifting her view of the days off to turn into cozy sheets and breakfasts in bed, "A weekend long sleepover. We'll make a thing of it."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, a smile audible in his tone—a vision that had (Y/N)'s chest warming. "How are we gonna do that?"

She hummed, sifting through her ideas before landing on a few to share, "Probably movies if we have the attention span for it—if not, we can read together or something. We can do face masks too—Ooh, or I'll get another of that hair mask you like. Let me think, but I have some ideas."

"'M sure y'do, peach," he murmured, his voice decidedly lower and slower than before, sleep vining around the edges of his words, "Whatever y'want, we'll do. I trust you."

"I'll make sure we make a thing of it, H," she told him, reluctant to say her next words but knowing he needed to get as much sleep as he could manage, "I've got to get back to the ovens, but I'll text you when I'm off."

"Yeah?" he mumbled, "Tell me when y'get home?"

"You've got it," she smiled, feeling the winter sun warm on her cheeks, "Goodnight, H."

"Goodnight, peach."

With that, (Y/N) ended the call. Hopefully, he would be able to sleep through the rest of her shift at least. He just needed to get through the next few days, then he'd have some time off to spend at her gingerbread house.

The thought had that soft curl on her lips feeling permanent. She would have to remind him how proud she was that he was taking a couple of days off, the time well-deserved.

Just like she said, she would make a thing of it, she only had to figure out what a thing for Harry looked like.

—————

With Rosemary wriggling in his arms, Harry nearly fumbled his keys to the ground while on (Y/N)'s stoop. She was a calm little thing nearly any other time of the day, but as soon as they were at (Y/N)'s door, Rosie couldn't settle.

Keeping his hold on her tight, he was able to finally stumble through the door before letting her spill out of his arms. Her feet pattered over the hardwood, beelining for the kitchen just as he knew she would. Harry could only shake his head as he kicked off his shoes by the door, setting them next to (Y/N)'s under the foyer table. He couldn't stay mad, though, especially not when he heard the familiar cooing of his peach filtering down the hall.

"Where's your daddy, Rosie?" (Y/N) crooned, voice a soft murmur through the house, "We've got to talk to him about how hungry you are when you come over. Is he not giving you enough treats?"

Following the sound of her voice, Harry's lips curled instinctively into a soft smile when he spotted (Y/N) crouched next to his kitten, fingers massaging through her fur. There was a part of him that wanted to peer out the small window above her sink, ensuring no one was watching in—a part of him that he forcefully tamped down in favor of reveling in the sight of his stitched family.

"You know I feed her," he drawled, leaning against the threshold of the entrance, "I don't know why she acts like this when we come over."

It was the way (Y/N)'s features seemingly bloomed when she looked up at him. Her hand absently continued petting Rosemary, but it was clear all of her attention was splashed upon him. It was when her eyes were on him with nothing but adoration that had Harry happily anchored to the moment, warm and comfortable in his skin. He hoped he was able to make her feel that way when he looked at her.

"Hey, H," she smiled, giving one last stroke to Rosie before she was standing to her feet and crossing the kitchen towards him, "I was going to ask you how work was, but you're on vacation."

"I am, aren't I?" he mused, collecting her into his arms.

(Y/N) looped her arms around his neck while he hugged her around her middle, face cradled into the crook of her neck. His eyes fell closed reflexively, his chest expanding as he pulled in a deep breath. The sugary scent of her skin filled his lungs, her hair tickling his nose.

"Are you excited?" she asked, trailing her fingers up and into his hair as she drew away.

Matching her eyes, her question drifted away in favor of tipping forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. A giggled out his name against his mouth, muttering something about answering her, though Harry didn't pay it any mind. He focused on the give of her lips under his, the seam parting when she eventually melted into him. Her hands in his hair was a warming tether, keeping him from drifting out of her pastel kitchen.

It was her that pulled away first, cutting off his indulgences earlier than he liked. He attempted to chase after her, craning his neck with puckered lips, though that only granted him a peal of her laughter fluttering between them.

"Not in front of Rosie, H," she teased, unwrapping from his arms to move towards the stove where a warm oven and bubbling pan had gone unnoticed before.

Harry stood back, watching as she stirred and tasted and adjusted, clicking on the light in her oven to take a peek inside. No matter how many times he'd offered to make dinner, take care of her meals—told her that he liked cooking, even—she had insisted that she wanted to take care of him, take one worry off of his plate. When she put it that way, he didn't feel like fighting with her.

"She's seen worse, peach," he countered, leaning over the peninsula counter with his forearms flat on the surface. He had a perfect view into the domestic dream that was his (Y/N), complete with a bow in her hair despite the mess of a bun on the top of her head.

A small laugh fell from her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him, "Maybe, but we shouldn't encourage it. Dinner's almost ready anyway, so we don't need to be distracted."

"Yeah? What'd y'make?" He could see just the edges of something creamy in the pot she was stirring.

"Sabrina's family is visiting, and her dad gave me this recipe for stuffed shells with all this cheese and, like, spinach and stuff. I thought we'd try it out." She gave him a beaming smile when she finished whatever she was stirring, taking it off of the burner with the timer on the oven ticking down to less than two minutes.

"That sounds really nice, love. Thank you. I've got dishes tonight."

"Harry." A small scold—as expected.

"(Y/N)," he responded in the same arguing tone as she, "You're letting me—and my cat—stay here all weekend, 'm not letting us leave a mess here for you too. 'S alright."

This was one of those things he didn't allow much room for argument on. It was one of those things—fear of feeling like a burden—that had come with the years on the run while attempting to ensure his impact was never felt. He was working on it, sure, but the least he could do for all of (Y/N)'s kindness was taking care of the dishes.

"Okay," she relented, eyes rounding out as she looked up at him, "Just not tonight, though. I have something special for you after dinner."

He did recall her saying something about making this weekend a thing for him, he just didn't really know what exactly that meant. "And, what's that?"

A sheepish look crossed her face, softening her features and lining her eyes. "It's kind of silly, but I got some fun bath things and, like, candles and stuff. I wanted to make everything a little special tonight since it's your first extra, real day off in a long time."

The longer she went on explaining herself, Harry could feel his own lips curling into a small smile. "Really?" he asked when she finally took a breath.

"Yeah," she started, dropping her eyes from his, "But, you don't have to use them or anything if you don't want to. I know it might not really be your thing, and all."

"Love," he crooned, the petname falling from his lips just for her to hear, "Thank you. That sounds really nice actually—don't remember the last time I took a bath like that. 'M always too worried about the water running cold."

(Y/N)'s expression brightened at his words. "I'm excited for you to see all the stuff I got for you, then. But only after dinner—and dessert."

"Dessert?"

"Of course dessert," (Y/N) smiled, moving back to the oven on the brink of beeping, "But that's a surprise."

It was the way she looked at him before she gave her attention to the oven and baking pasta, how bubbly she seemed over something as simple as a surprise sweet for him to have at the end of the meal. That was what had him all but melting into the countertop. She could have fed him garbage and left him to soak in an ice bath and he'd be just as happy—all he needed was for her to keep looking at him like that.

—————

"Are y'sure y'don't want me to do the dishes tonight?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, pulling out of Harry's embrace to head towards the kitchen and the plates waiting by the sink. "Yes, I'm sure, H. I want you to relax this weekend, I don't mind doing a couple of plates."

"But—"

"No," (Y/N) cut him off, plugging the sink before beginning to fill the basin with soapy water, "As soon as I get this ready, we're going to my bathroom and I'm showing you all the stuff I got for you, and then you're going to not think about the kitchen again for the rest of the night."

"I'm not?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her insistence. Sometimes it was fun to argue with her for no other reason than he liked to see her put her foot down with a smoke to her gaze.

He thought it was cute.

"Nope. Not even for a second." Amusement covered her own features by the time she cut the tap and turned to face him. "C'mon."

With that, she flitted out of the kitchen with socked feet padding over the flooring. She didn't have to look back to know Harry was following.

Tailing her through the house with his gaze carefully landing on the round of her hips as they swayed with her steps, she took him to her bathroom. There, on the counter, was a brown paper bag with a white painted logo on the front. A gifting ribbon had the handles tied together on top, a tag with his name dangling from the tendril.

In presentation, (Y/N) stood off to the side of the counter, a beaming smile on her face as she flourished her hands out. "Happy free weekend."

"What's this, hm?" he hummed, stepping over the tile with his gaze narrowed teasingly in her direction.

"Your bath stuff," she said, practically bouncing in her spot as he began reluctantly untying the bow. He wanted to keep it perfect—he couldn't remember the last time he received a gift, especially one like this.

Harry could feel his eyes on her as he began digging through the bag. Floating on top were two powdery spheres, striped in alternating colors with dried flowers stamped inside. He settled them gently on the counter, his hands coming away with remnants of the sweet smelling dust.

"They're bath bombs," (Y/N) piped up, "They're those things that dissolve in the water and make it colorful with all these nice skin things in them. The purple one is lavender and sage, and the blue one is lotus and jasmine."

Smiling at her explanation, he reached back inside the bag. A glass bottle filled with sweet smelling oil was his next find, the wax seal corking it closed having dripped its way down to the label. He could smell the warm, floral notes from here, even with the contents sealed away. Looking at the simple label wrapped around the thick of the bottle, he looked up at her with raised brows.

"Massage oil?"

It was the way she hesitated that had his lips stretching into a smile. "Its—I—It doesn't have to be used for that. It can just be a nice body oil if you want, but I... I mean if you want a massage, I could use that, so."

So far, this was his favorite gift from her reaction alone. He settled it with a clink next to the bath bombs. "I'll keep that in mind."

Next in line was a candle, standing tall in a cold glass voice in the bag. Pulling it out, the four wicks were sealed away with the help of the suctioned lid, showing off the marbling of the wax tucked inside. It was a swirling jade color, complete with lapping white streaks to emulate the gemstone. Under the just right light, he could see bursts of glitter suspended inside. The label boasted a vanilla sage scent, surely meant to match the sage bath bomb he'd picked up earlier.

"Peach," he smiled, looking at his gifts spread out on the counter for him, "These are so nice, than—"

"There's more," she bubbled, unable to contain herself this time, "At the bottom."

He raised a brow but dug inside like she suggested. At the bottom, his fingertips brushed something smooth and flat. Getting his fingers around it, Harry already had a good idea of what he was pulling out, a smile spreading over his features and denting his cheeks with dimples.

It was a book—one of his favorites from the library. One he had loved enough that he wished he had his own copy to keep him company—something he had told (Y/N). The cover was the black and white with splashes of red, the artwork glossier than what he had borrowed from the library. The spine was uncracked, kept in pristine condition—just the way he liked it.

"I know you've already read it, but I thought you might want to read a little again while you take your bath," (Y/N) mused at his side, her hands in a fumbling bundle before her.

"(Y/N)," Harry sighed, looking up from his new, personal edition, "This is all wonderful, really. Thank you, so much."

With his book still in hand, he collected her in his arms, tucking her against his chest. While he wasn't one hundred percent sure what all of the things he had received were, it was more than warming to think about her perusing a shop with him in mind, plucking things up with the intention of sharing them only with him.

"I know it's all kind of silly, but I'm happy you like it," she murmured into his shoulder, the curl of her smile felt against the cuff.

"'S not silly," he told her, drawing back just enough to get a look in her eyes, "I can't remember the last time anyone has done anything like this for me. I really like all of it, (Y/N). Thank you."

Tipping his chin, he pressed his lips to hers, hoping she felt his words as much as she heard them. He felt eased when her lips molded into a soft smile.

"I'm happy I could change that," she cemented, beginning to untangle himself from his hold, "I'll leave you to it, then. Take as long as you want, I'm just going to clean up and we'll go to bed—"

"You're not staying with me?"

How was he supposed to enjoy all of these trinkets and things without her there? What was the point of a sage candle and glittery bath bomb if she wasn't going to be indulging with him?

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks, one foot out of the bathroom. "Oh—um, no? I was going to go clean the kitchen and things, remember?"

"Yeah, but," he started, watching to reach out and keep her on the tiled floor with him, "can y'do that later?"

"Do you want me to?" was her simple response.

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

Her features were warm, taking a step back into the bathroom with him. "Then, I'll do it later."

It didn't take long for their clothing to be shed, lying in a lumpy file on the floor with the tub filled to the brim with steaming water. Harry had chosen the lavender bomb to be placed in the water, (Y/N) all too excited to show him the magic of the fizzy powder. She had urged him to sink in first, her gaze following the lines of his body before she had gone after him.

Harry wrapped his arms around her as she sunk into him, his chest to her back. The steaming water rippled around them, scenting the air with crisp lavender and warming sage. Every deep breath he took had the bunching in his muscles lessening and lessening until he was lax with (Y/N) in his hold. He could feel her every breath, the expanding of her chest that pressed back into him, the brush of her hair drifting through the surface of the water and tickling his skin, the careful way she had her hands laying atop his own where they were threaded over the soft of her stomach. It was easy for his eyes to shutter closed with his head tipping back against the rim of the tub.

It was almost enough to keep him from acknowledging the curve of her body pressed against his cock.

Now wasn't the time though, he starkly reminded himself, taking in a deep breath of the calming lavender. She had wanted to relax with him, not get felt up with a dick pressing against her ass.

"Do you like it?"

The sound of (Y/N)'s crooned words had him blinking his eyes open. He wasn't even hard yet, how could she know that he was already talking himself down?

"What?"

"The bath bomb," she laughed, oblivious, "You said you've never used one before, right?"

"Oh," he sounded, exhaling finally, "Yeah. 'S nice—it smells really nice. I could fall asleep in here.”

Twisting in his arms, (Y/N) shot him a beaming smile over her shoulder. "I have before—I don't recommend."

"Yeah?" he smiled, much more willing to focus on this anecdote than on the way the shifting of her body hit points on him he would have rather ignored for the time being.

"Oh yeah," she cemented, shaking her head, "I only woke up when I felt water going up my nose 'cause I started slipping."

Though she laughed off the remark, a frown settled on Harry's lips. "Y'almost drowned? (Y/N)..."

Her name came out as a scold, one that had her letting out another peal of laughter. "No, I didn't drown, H—"

"You almost did," he pointed out.

There were parts of him, traits that he gained during his years protecting his mother and sister, that were now woven into the fabric of his personality. Hearing (Y/N)'s story had that protective gene flaring up in him, urging him to hold her tighter, keep her at his side. He wouldn't let his mind wander to another version of events where she hadn't spasmed awake when the warm water touched her nose.

His limbs became a warming cradle around her form, caging her to him lest the bathtub somehow raise tsunami waves and try to pull them apart. He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder, speaking against the skin, "I don't like that."

(Y/N) wiggled her hands underneath his, turning her palms up to match his own with her fingers threading between. "It's just a funny story, H. I'm fine—you know I don't take baths, like, ever, anyway."

His brows pinched into a furrow. Sure, maybe he did know that. "Still," he grumbled.

Harry's petulance only served to draw another breath of laughter from her chest.

She wriggled in his hold some, melting into him as she slid deeper into the water. The milky shaded water ripped around her, Harry keeping her close as she settled with her head resting against his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Harry," she cemented, peeking up at him with an adoring smile on her features, "But, you're cute for worrying."

Taking in a deep breath, he did nothing more than dropping another kiss to the cuff of her shoulder. He wasn't trying to be cute—he was protective. It was a part of his nature.

Shuttering his eyes, Harry indulged himself and allowed his kissing to continue down her shoulder, only stopping when the lapping line of the water halted him. With his fingers laced between hers, he pulled her arm out of the pastel bath. He dotted his lips down the line of her limb, nose skimming her skin in his wake and raising goosebumps. A plume of laughter left his peach, the sound enough to have his own smile taking place as he fought to smear his lips over her skin.

It wasn't until he was headed towards her wrist, landing on the soft underside of her arm that he slowed when he, through cracked eyes, spotted a slash that had made a home in her skin. It was small, though it looked only partially healed—still a warm red and slightly raised.

"What happened here?" he murmured, a pinch furrowing his brow.

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed dazedly, shuffling in his hold before spotting what had made him stop in the first place, "Oh, Rosie scratched me by accident."

It was something so minor, completely mundane and curable. The scratch wouldn't even scar, and yet Harry still felt his shoulders deflate. He would have to remind Rosemary to be gentle with her mother—she was entirely too special, no need to have claws out when being held by her.

He apologized for his cat with a small press of his lips to the cut.

Under the cover of the pastel water, (Y/N) untangled her hand from his that was still laid against her stomach. He was left to feel the give of her plush skin under the pads of his fingertips while she carded her own through his hair. Though he attempted to continue the dotted affection of his kiss over her skin, he didn't stand much of a chance as he reveled under her touch.

Maybe it was the brush of her nails against his scalp, or the slight give of her body under his hand, or just the fact that he could feel every line of her body against his own, but Harry felt his stomach tense then. It was minute and fleeting, but something he felt under the blocking muscles of his abdomen.

He attempted to keep a lid on whatever that feeling could lead to by taking a deep breath, but that only reminded him of (Y/N)'s skin right under his nose and the fact that she had been the one to run him this bath and that was why she was naked, and warm, and wet, and pressed right against him, and that was why his hands were on her and—

"H?"

Blinking his eyes open and drawing away from her, Harry looked up to match her wide eyes. "Hm?"

There was something teasing on her expression, lighthearted in her eyes with a small tug edging on the corner of her mouth. "Are you okay? You weren't breathing for a second."

"Oh," he sounded, mouth dry, "Sorry."

She shook her head, murmuring something about him being funny or cute or something, but, admittedly, Harry didn't have an ear to lend at that moment as (Y/N) started moving around him. Wriggling out of his hold, Harry stayed still in the water as she maneuvered around until she deposited herself in his lap. Her thighs were spread to cushion his hips, her bottom settled on the thick of his thighs while her chest was flush against his. Only trickles of the lavender water were able to make their way between her breasts and the curves of her body, leaving her shimmering with the scented oil on her skin and suddenly warmer than the steaming water.

Looking up at her, Harry took his time tracing the lines of her piled hair with the wet ends sticking to her skin, warm cheeks glowy and dewy, the soft light reflecting in her eyes from the candle she had lit and stationed behind their cuddled bodies. He felt breathless—reverent.

It was never far from his mind just how deeply (Y/N) had impacted him. Without her, he never would have been knocked out of the daze that was his life—the cycle of never-ending loneliness and purposeless decisions. She had changed him in ways he was scared of, the ways that he had avoided for years because it was easier to stay the same. He didn't enjoy thinking of who he would be without her, where he would be.

It was with that knowledge and the sight before him, that Harry wanted nothing more than to worship her and show her the purple that he had been given now that she was in his life. Religion wasn't anything that ever consoled him during his years on the run, but if the temples and altars had looked like her, the gods held her kind eyes and warming touch, he may have reconsidered.

"You can touch me, you know."

Dropping back to earth with a flutter of his eyes, he realized his hands were lax at his sides, careful to keep a distance from her skin. She had been the one to tie her arms around his neck, to keep their bodies close, while he had basked in the sight of her alone.

"Sorry," he murmured, placing his palms on the full curve of her thighs.

He skated them over her form, taking in the rounded edges of her body and warm skin. He'd touched her before, enough times to have mapped out every crook and groove, and yet, it still felt like the first time when he allowed him to feel. It would never get old knowing that he had someone like her that loved him enough to allow his hands to land on her.

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, ducking her head until she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I just don't want you to feel like you can't touch me—I'm yours, H, remember?"

There was that stirring again in his stomach, that tensing in his muscles that felt much deeper and lower than he would have liked during a relaxing cuddle with his girlfriend. It was just the reminder, that declaration that got to him just like it always did.

(It was a bit embarrassing, in Harry's opinion. Would it always be this easy to work him up? Would (Y/N) always be able to say a handful of words, let his hands wander to her hips, and then he would be done for?)

"You're mine," he sighed, sinking deeper into the water.

It was (Y/N)'s turn then to trail her lips over his skin, the pillows of her lips never fully lifting from his skin before she was planting another kiss. She went on with the tip of her nose smushing against the line of his jaw as she worked down to the column of his throat. He could feel himself growing harder and harder with every kiss, every brush of his hands over her body, until he was sure (Y/N) was well aware as well. Though she made it abundantly clear she didn't mind when she rocked her hips against his, his cock pressed against his stomach and the soft core between her thighs.

A shuddering exhale caved his chest.

"I'm yours," she crooned, the heat of her words fanning over his heated skin.

Her own arms wrapped around his neck began to drift, leaving only one tangled in the waves of his hair with the blunt of her nails tracing his scalp. Her touch skated down the length of his chest, her eyes settling into a daze as they followed the journey of her hand until it disappeared under the water. His abdomen jumped under her hand the lower she went until the heel of her palm grazed the plumped head of his cock.

He couldn't help the way he tossed his head back, leaning into the palm of her hand. His voice came out in a breath, "I want you so bad, peach, I'm so sorry."

(Y/N) drew away just enough to match his eyes, her wandering hand settling against the middle of his chest. "Why are you sorry?" she asked with amusement in her eyes, a soft smile on her lips as she shook her head, "You don't have to be sorry."

"Jus'" he started, focusing on the sight of her as opposed to the weight of her form and warmth of her skin against him, "I don't... Don't want to ruin tonight since you're already doing so much, and you're only trying to relax and 'm reacting like this and—"

She cut him off with her lips pressing against his, the edges of her mouth unable to fall in line with her kiss as she fought back a smile. "Do you think I don't want you, too, right now? If I didn't, I wouldn't be climbing all over you, H—or trying to get you to take me back to my room."

Shifting on his lap once more, (Y/N) emphasized her point with a small roll of her hips against him, her warmth grazing over his length.

His hands on her waist tensed, denting into her flesh with stern fingertips. Was she asking for what he hoped—what he'd been wanting but was too fearful to ask for in worry of pushing her?

His mouth felt dry as he took in her features, watching as something heated lingered in her irises. "A-Are y'sure?" he mumbled, unwilling to misread the conversation. (Y/N) loved taking care of him, he never wanted her to think he was intending to take advantage of that.

Carding her fingers through his hair, the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips to run along the seam. "I've really missed you, H. It's not always enough just to call you before I fall asleep, you know. It's not the same as actually having you."

A spark pinged in his chest at her words, the memories they dredged up. A couple of times over the last week with his busy schedule, they'd spent some extra time on the phone before (Y/N) fell asleep for the night and Harry worked through an especially long shift. He knew exactly what she meant: now that he knew what it was like to be touched by her, his own hand, his own fantasies paled so starkly in comparison it was almost embarrassing.

"I can take care of you, peach. 'M sorry I haven't been doing m'job, but I'll make it up to you," he crooned, tipping his head in hopes of pulling her in for a kiss, "Y'want m'mouth or m'fingers, love?"

It was only when she shook her head that he paused. That hand trapped between their bodies made a deliberate graze down his body until she skated her fingertips over his length, the ruddy head twitching over her touch. "I want you," she corrected, "Don't you want to fuck me?"

Maybe it was the fact she rarely cursed, or just how intensely she was meeting his eyes, or the feel of her grabbing his cock, but Harry could have blown it all right then. His throat felt thick as he attempted to swallow down the moan building in his chest. His eyes were hooded, a vignette forming around his view of her.

It would be so easy to sink inside her, split open her walls and make a home between them. All he needed was to shift his hips just right, and then he would be taking advantage of her spread legs and the slick around them. But, his worry of disappointing her—leaving her unsatisfied—held him back.

His mouth felt dry by the time he found his voice. "I—um—(Y/N)," he started, unsure of how exactly to divulge the information in him, "'S been a while since I've—..."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting her reaction to be, but he gladly took the small kiss she offered him, sealing his lips to hers. "How long?"

"Since before everything," he sighed, allowing himself to sink into her kiss and the brush of her mouth against his, "I don't want to... leave y'unsatisfied if 'm not... good."

That had her lips curling against his, a cluster of small kisses being pressed to the full of his lips before she pulled away. "It's going to be good before it's you, H. I'm not worried—I love you, remember?"

Was it normal for him to feel his cock pulse at her declaration? Or was he really that easy?

"I love you, too," he slurred before taking her mouth against his once more. It was messy and heavy, clumsy and unsure, but he didn't care. "I want to fuck you so bad, peach. Can I?"

All it took was a soft nod of her head before he had his arms lacing underneath the thick of her thighs with the water splashing around the tub. He held her tight, grip stern as he stood tall in the pastel water. (Y/N) let out a bubbling laugh, clinging to him with a gasp as if he would ever drop her.

With her pressed tightly to his chest, his cock was now fit snugly between the planes of his abdomen and the soft folds between her legs. Water sluiced down his form, a chill befalling his skin now that they'd left the steaming pool behind, though that had no effect on just how hard he was for his peach.

"We didn't have to right away," (Y/N) laughed, fingers denting the broad of his shoulders, "If you weren't done—"

"'M done," he cemented, dropping her onto the bounce of her mattress with only a small amount of guilt at getting so much water on her sheets. He'd change them for her later. "You're m'favorite way to relax, peach—don't need all the rest."

Laid on the center of her bed with her skin gleaming and warm, scented so sweetly from their bath, Harry had a new level of respect for his self-control. But, that was in the past now, left in the bathroom along with the droplets of water on the floor and the candle he would have to remember to blow out before they fell asleep.

Crawling on the mattress with his cock heavy between his legs, he fit his body between her spread legs, reveling in the plush of her thighs on either side of his hips. (Y/N) reached for him on instinct, looping her arms around his neck with the curls on the back of his neck dampening against her skin.

"Hi, you," she murmured, a bubbly smile on her lips as if she hadn't just asked him to fuck her a moment ago.

He could only shake his head, dropping a kiss to the bridge of her nose as he situated himself above him with his forearms stationed on either side of her head. "Hi, peach. What are you up to, hm?"

"Nothing much," she laughed, hitching a thigh over his lip in a languid move to thrust him forwards. "You?"

Harry's voice was stilted in his throat, feeling her slick folds give around his cock when his length split through. He could feel the minute pulsing of her clit against his base. "Jus' worried 'm not gonna last very long at all, nothing important," he attempted to joke, if only to feel of plume of her laughter fill the air.

Instead, he garnered a smearing of (Y/N)'s lips against his own, her affection tender and lingering. "Don't worry about that," she urged him, "I don't care—I just want you to feel good."

A furrow pinched his brow, his heart rattling when she rocked her hips underneath him as if it wasn't already hard enough to concentrate. "But, I want y'to feel good too, and—"

"I will as long as you do," she reiterated, amusement sparking in her blown pupils, "I don't care if you finish early, just finish in me, that's all I ask."

Harry couldn't contain the moan in his throat, the rumbling falling from his throat as he rested his forehead against hers with shuttered eyes. He could feel a bead of warm precum blurting from his tip, dripping to land on the soft of (Y/N)'s stomach with a pulse.

"You're going to kill me," he murmured, not sure if he was speaking for her to hear, "D-Do y'need me to do anything f—"

Cutting him off with a kiss, (Y/N) slipped her tongue between his lips only to offer a quick taste before she was pulling away once more. "You can feel how wet I am, right?"

As if he could forget with the way she was pressed against the underside of his cock, the ridge of his head tight between their stomachs. He answered with a small nod.

"Y-You're sure, then?" he murmured, attempting to tap into that self control he had back in the tub.

"I want you, H," she assured, nothing teasing or urgent in her voice, only sincerity, "As long as you're ready, I am, too. It's just me—you don't have to worry."

His only response came in the form of a small kiss and a declaration: "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too," she smiled into his kiss, a small roll of her hips turning his brain to mush.

His breathing was strained as he reached between their bodies, his fist wrapping around his shaft. Looking down, he watched as she spread her thighs that much wider as he swiped his cock between her folds. She was sticky and wet, clinging to the width of him as he split her open enough for his head to kiss her clit. He could see the jump of her muscles, the small whine that chirped from her lips, but he couldn't seem to stop himself—especially when a thread of her slick stuck to him, only bowing and breaking when he reached his cock towards his stomach, too far for the string to extend.

"Harry, please," she quietly pleaded with him.

The sound of her voice was just enough to knock him back into the universe. It was enough to remind him that this wasn't the main event, there was even more warmth and wetness to be explored.

Pressing the tip of his cock to her opening, he held himself steady as he pressed his hips forward. It was a tight squeeze, a feeling that took his breath away. As much as he wanted to catch (Y/N)'s expressions, see exactly what she looked like as he sunk inside her for the first time, he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from the sight of his cock fitting inside her core. With every stretch of his length pushing through, less and less coherent thought filtered through his head.

Instead, all he could think about was the snug fit of her walls around him, the pulsing with every heartbeat, just how wet she was, the warmth that enveloped him and welcomed him deeper and deeper. By the time he bottomed out, his mouth had fallen into a gape and his arm propping him up was now shaky. His only anchor was the grip he moved to have on her hip, his palm slick and sticky from fisting his cock though he didn't have it in him to care.

He really, really hoped (Y/N) meant it when she said she wouldn't mind if he blew it fast; he doubted he had much longer left, and he'd only just sunk inside.

"Y'alright, peach?" he breathed, his words fanning across her skin when he finally looked up to reach her eyes.

Looking at him with hooded eyes, the pupils wide, (Y/N) gave him her confirmation in the form of a jerky nod. "I'm okay," she mumbled, "Are you?"

"'M good," he said, feeling drunk despite not a single drop of alcohol even being present in (Y/N)'s home, "'M so good, peach. 'M scared 'm too good."

"It's okay," she smiled at him, if only a bit dazed when she threaded her fingers through his damp curls, "Just do whatever makes you feel good—that's enough for me."

He wished he could have told her how much her affection meant to him, how he couldn't believe she loved him the way she did, how there was no one who had such an effect on him, but there was no way his tongue was going to follow any kind of command let alone any train of thought to actually form. Instead, he settled for a searing kiss against her already swollen lips.

Though he doubted he would have any chance at composure, he still attempted to catch his breath and his brain before he reared his hips back for the first time. Pulling out of her warm channel was enough to add some form of clarity to his mind, though it didn't last long before he pushed forward in a shallow thrust. Her walls welcomed him in once more, warm and snug with every ridge forming around him in a pulse. (Y/N)'s thighs tensed around his hips, a slight tremor to her muscles though she managed to let out a sigh of pleasure against his kiss.

"Fuck, peach," he murmured when he bottomed out once more, the crown of his length tapping her furthest walls.

A furrow had his brows pinched though his eyes remained closed, even when he couldn't manage to kiss her anymore, his lips simply resting against her own parted ones. He shared panted breaths with her, his forehead resting on her own with (Y/N)'s fingers curling in his hair.

Though the pace was slow, he was able to curate a rhythm that kept him from finishing right away. He didn't feel too far from the edge, but this was as good of a chance as he was going to get when she felt as good as she did.

"H-Harry," she whined, her voice breathy and airy, "You're so big."

His hips stuttered at her words, the previously shallow thrust he was working on turning into a harsh grind against her core. The jolt had another moan rumbling her chest with a curse falling from Harry's lips.

"Y'can't say that, peach," he murmured, unable to keep his pacing, "You're gonna make me cum and we've barely started."

Every stroke was indulgent, lingering when he wanted, harsh and deep when he changed his mind, anything and everything to his taste. His only chance was in moving his hand from her hip and shaky positioning it between his punishing hips and her forgiving core. At the apex of her folds, her clit pearled. Though his hand was shaky, he still managed to smear the pad of his thumb against the bud, feeling the budding pulse that matched the hammering of her heart.

Suddenly coming to light, (Y/N) managed to bring him in for a kiss. It was sloppy and clumsy, leaving their lips swollen and teeth glancing off one another, but there wasn't any room for perfection.

Harry needed her, that was all he knew. His stomach tightened with every thrust, his balls shining with her slick with every slap against her ass. (Y/N)'s thighs were warm and tight on either side of his pelvis, unwilling to let him venture too far before accepting him back inside.

"(Y/N)," he panted, shaking his head, "P-Peach, 'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, do—shit—don't be sorry, H. I want you to cum, okay? Cum in me, please."

How was he supposed to deny her? What kind of boyfriend would he be if he said no to such pretty words?

Keeping his thumb running circles around her swollen clit, Harry couldn't stop himself before harshly thrusting inside her and pausing when he felt the first spasm wrack through his abdomen. There was a bunch to his muscles he hadn't even realized until the thread keeping them together snapped.

Ropes of his cum spurted out, decorating and flooding her walls with every pulse. She grew impossibly wet around him, his thumb barely keeping track as he tried to tend to her clit even through the tremors. He ground his hips against hers, unwilling to draw away even an inch out of her warmth as he came.

The world slowly came back into focus as he pulled in puffs of air, (Y/N) delicately kissing his bottom lip. He felt so hot, sticky despite the bath he'd just soaked in.

Was sex always like this? He couldn't recall ever coming this hard, but had it been too long for him to remember? Or was this another (Y/N)-only thing? He could readily believe that highs like this only came from being in her arms.

"Still with me?" his peach murmured, a wanton edge to her voice that reminded him that there were much more important things than his own pleasure.

He nodded, finally reciprocating her kiss. "'M here, peach. I've got you."

Despite the oversensitivity beginning to leak into his system, he managed to grind into her just enough to match the swirling of his thumb against her clit. She gasped into his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue past her lips and sweep over her own. He got a taste of her pleasured moans, reveling in the feel until it seemingly became too much for her.

In a way he was now familiar with, (Y/N) let out a chirping moan, delicate and shaky into his mouth. That was the first sign before her fingers in his hair began to tug at the roots in a stinging pull, and toes curled. Her pussy clung to the shape of his cock, his cum overflowing around himself and dripping down to the bed under her ass as she gushed around him. His oversensitivity had him crying out a call of her name, her pulsing walls almost too hot to handle as she came around him.

He could have done this all night, Harry decided. He could have pet his fingers over her clit and pressed into her walls for hours if not for the fact that they were both beginning to see the less than favorable side of sensitivity.

"'M gonna pull out, okay?" he panted, blinking his eyes open to find his (Y/N)'s still shuttered. She answered in a quiet nod, her lips parted as she breathed.

Though it was a bit reluctant, he drew his hips back in a slow glide. His softening cock slipped out with a wet sound as (Y/N) unfurled her legs from around him. A small whine left her lips, but she didn't stop him, only clinging to him.

Settling in bed beside her, reaching for one of the pillows stationed at the head of the bed, Harry fixed it under their heads. (Y/N) instinctively rolled to face him, sharing the cushion with him. He gave her time as she came down, brushing his fingers through her hair and over the planes of her features until she managed to crack her eyes open.

"Hi, you," he smiled, repeating her small tease from earlier.

A plume of laughter fell from her lips, a slight smile forming on her kiss-swollen lips. "Hi. What are you up to?"

"Nothing. Jus' looking at you."

"Nothing important then, I see," she laughed, snuggling closer to him until Harry was collecting her into his arms with her head tucked into his neck.

"Very important, actually," he corrected, amusement draining from his tone, "Thank you, peach. Really."

"You don't have to thank me, H," she countered, "I obviously got my own benefits out of this, so don't think I just did this for you."

He knew she was trying to play with him, get him to loosen up, but he wasn't in the mood for that just yet. He was a touch too sentimental at the moment.

"You know what I mean," he murmured, planting a kiss to the top of her head, "I jus' love you, and... always means a lot when y'trust me, and let me be with you. Thank you."

"I love you, too, Harry," she reciprocated, her own arms giving him a pulsing hug, "It's easy to trust you, really. I wouldn't want to have these kinds of moments with anyone else—you're the best thing that ever happened to me, honey."

Though he knew they needed to change her bedding, and blow out the candle in the bathroom, get (Y/N) cleaned up, and mop up the bathroom, Harry couldn't find any good reason to extract himself from her arms.

There would never be a good enough reason that came above being with her like this.

—————

ahhhhh! thank u sm for reading and to whoever requested this! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own please send them in!! if you want to read more, you can check my patreon page:)

#anon #writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry imagine #harry smut #harry x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry au #harry styles au #fine line #harrys house #pleasing

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acearadiamegido · 16 days

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Happy 4/13! Introducing....

Homestuck Book Club! (a Discord server)

Have you wanted to read this Homestuck thing for a while now, but the process seems too daunting? Do you want an excuse to re-read your favorite 2010s webcomic, but you're worried you'll have nobody to talk to about it because it's 2024? Maybe you're looking for a community of like-minded folks with a consistent weekly online meeting schedule to fill out your social calendar?

HAVE I GOT A DEAL FOR YOU!!

I have gone to the trouble of breaking up Homestuck into 52 manageable, (very) approximately equal sections, one per week for the next year, culminating on April 13th, 2025!

In Homestuck Book Club, we'll be meeting every Sunday in voice chat at 12pm (CST) to discuss a weeks worth of Homestuck at a time! New readers and longtime fans alike are welcome to join up and experience the comic together as a community.

There are channels specifically for new readers who want to avoid spoilers, as well as a zone for Homestuck veterans to spoil it up with impunity.

And for 4/13, (again, 12pm CST) I'll be holding a special intro meeting for folks to say hi and play some games! (Jackbox, Gartic Phone.... Dare I say..... Amogus????)

JOIN THE HOMESTUCK BOOK CLUB HERE

Happy 4/13 everyone!

#Homestuck #4/13 #413 #homestuck discord #words #draws #this was. more labor intensive to put together than i imagined it would be.#but it was a labor of love im real excited to have it up and running #i hope everyone has fun!!!! im looking forward to meeting everyone :)

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onlyhuis · 1 year

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leaning on the everlasting arms

member | childhood best friend! pastor's son!joshua x f reader genre | angst, smut, some fluff, bible college au word count | 10.3k (my first fic over 10k wowie!!) synopsis | as kids growing up in the same church, you and joshua were inseperable, until you got to an age where it was considered immoral for girls and boys to be friends. when you find him again just before graduation, he's different than you remember; but so are you. content warnings | female reader, she/her, reader is implied to be smaller (i'm sorry), discussion of gender roles & religion, no religion is mentioned by name but it's heavily implied to be a form of christianity, reader & shua are both seniors in college, reader wears skirts/dresses but not really by choice, this whole thing is pretty blasphemous oops smut warnings | descriptions of female anatomy, virgin!joshua x virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, phone sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hints of a voice kink, size kink, praise, begging, really vanilla missionary but it's hot, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, angel) notes | although i am no longer religious, this is partially based off of my own experiences with the extremely traditional christian church i was raised in. however, please keep in mind that this is fiction and does not reflect my beliefs nor joshua's beliefs so don't take the plot too seriously. this piece is not meant to discuss whether certain religions are "right" or "wrong" so please do not comment/send me asks trying to start a debate! we're all just here for a little sexy time with shua it's not that deep note #2 | for those who aren't familiar, the title is the name of a hymn and i thought it was funny bc joshua big sexy arms hehehe

as far back as you could remember, joshua was your closest friend.

his father was the pastor of the church your family went to, and as luck would have it you were both in the same grade, so it wasn’t long before you became inseparable. you saw him at minimum three times a week: sunday morning, sunday evening, wednesday evening.

you spent most of your childhood together. sitting next to each other at every service, sharing your bibles with each other whenever one of you left them at home, sneaking donuts away from the box at the table outside the sermon hall that was supposed to only be for the adults.

you did everything together, and told each other everything. that is, until you reached middle school. boys and girls weren’t allowed to sit in the same services anymore, and you had to stay in separate buildings for every church camp and conference.

the worst part was you didn’t even understand why. what did they think you were gonna do with him? kiss him? no amount of money in the world could get you to do that! joshua was your best friend. who else were you supposed to climb trees and build forts and sneak donuts with? kissing was stupid.

when you asked your mom about it, she told you the same thing everyone else did: about how men of god had a different path and needed to hear different messages in order to grow up to lead their own churches one day. you thought it was stupid. what if a woman wanted to lead a church, why are men the ones that have to do it? but she would just shake her head and tell you it's just the way things work in the church, you'll understand when you're older.

you were allowed near him less and less until the only time you were able to see him was at the after-service brunch with his family, and even then that began to happen less and less as the years went on.

and of course it was church rules, so there was no arguing with them because that would mean arguing with god, and who were you to question his authority? there would be no special exception for you, no matter how much you protested to your mom that you would never, ever think about joshua like that. in a fit of anger one day you blew up at her, shouting that she had had friends of the opposite gender when she was in high school, so why couldn’t you? it wasn’t fair. but she had just sighed and stared out the window, clearly ending the conversation. many years passed before she finally told you about her life before she came to church, recalling all the times she had been hurt by men she had loved and trusted. you understood then why she had wanted to keep you sheltered and safe, but you still didn’t agree. but then again, if you had been allowed to do what you wanted then maybe things would never have ended up the way they did. perhaps you have her to thank.

back then, all you could do was hold on to the little time you had with him until eventually you stopped seeing him altogether.

more summers passed and you started spending all of your time memorizing bible verses with your fellow “women of christ”, missing the way you used to spend your time with your best friend.

but then you went off to bible college like had always been planned for you, and everything changed. instead of continuing to follow the strict schedule that was laid out for you, you finally got a little taste of freedom, and you realized what you’d been missing all this time. everything that you’d been taught was sinful, evil, wicked, was what brought you more pleasure than you’d ever known was possible.

you still had to pretend to be a good girl for the people around you, who, for reasons you couldn’t comprehend, were still dedicated to their life of purity. or at least they acted like it. maybe everyone was secretly just like you, hiding their sins behind a friendly smile and a firm handshake every sunday morning.

you weren’t hurting anyone with the things you did in private, and the feeling of rebellion was a kind of satisfaction you didn’t know you were allowed to feel. you were an adult, making your own choices now and facing whatever consequences that came with them.

there was only one consequence. for some reason, all the impure thoughts you had always centered around joshua. no matter what dirty books you read or videos you watched, the man you always pictured giving it to you was joshua.

you hated that after all these years, everything still came back to him. you fought it, tried imagining actors or celebrities in his place instead; characters from your books and movies and shows, anyone but him. you wanted to save whatever memories you had left of him, think of him in a good light like you used to when you were younger, but the way he plagued your mind was worse than the ones in the book of exodus.

but now, in your final year of college, you thought you had finally gotten yourself under control.

that is, until you were leaving one of your bible lectures and all the control you’d convinced yourself that you had crumbled away in mere seconds when you saw a startlingly familiar face standing by the door. a face you hadn’t seen in far too long.

“joshua?”

“hey,” he says with a smile, like no time has passed at all. like it’s been hours since you’ve seen each other, not years.

there are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask him, but you’re frozen in place. why is he here? where has he been? how did he find you again?

“it’s been a while,” he says with an awkward laugh when you don’t say anything.

you nod, still in a daze. “yeah. quite a while.”

he smiles. “well, anyway, i’ve got a meeting to go to in a bit, but… i just wanted to see you.”

“oh,” you say. what else is there to say? what can you say to make up for the years lost that you’ll never get back?

he looks at his watch, the conversation clearly coming to an end.

“can i give you my phone number?” he says. a deep shade of pink creeps into his cheeks but he either doesn’t notice or purposely doesn’t acknowledge it. “maybe we can talk sometime, catch up.”

“i– yeah,” you manage. god, it’s so good seeing him again. “yeah, that would be really nice.”

you’ve given up on homework for the night, spending your entire afternoon in a daze since you ran into joshua.

so many years, yet you still can’t get his smile out of your head.

you close your eyes, hand dipping below the waistband of your pajama pants automatically. it’s frightening how easily you’re able to bring up a picture of him in your mind, so much clearer than before now that you’ve seen what he looks like all grown up.

and grown up, he has. you had been too stunned to get a good look at him while he was in front of you, but the way he’d changed was immediately apparent and the image in your brain now feels almost unreal.

his hair was a little longer and a little darker, and he was much taller, with broad shoulders that looked way too perfect in a suit jacket. but his face hadn’t changed a bit. maybe his jaw was a little bit sharper and his smile lines were a little bit deeper, but his eyes were the same ones you had always known.

your hand slips lower and lower until you’re gently running the tips of your fingers over the panel of your underwear covering your pussy, moaning quietly when you feel how wet you are already.

no wonder it’s been so hard for you to focus all day. you’ve been too busy pushing away thoughts of joshua burying his fingers in your tight, wet cunt, cooing about how good you’re being for him and how long he’s waited for you.

automatically you feel your other hand grabbing for your phone, desperate to hear his voice again. you hadn’t said more than a few sentences to him earlier, but you feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t hear him while you’re in this state. so needy for him and only him, and he doesn’t even know it.

your fingers shake as you press the buttons, knowing you’re about to get yourself into a whole world of trouble but not being able to stop yourself.

“hey.” he answers on the second ring. his tone is deep and husky, and your breath catches in your throat for a second, not used to hearing him talk like that; the last time you heard his voice was long before puberty, and you’re still navigating how to talk to this older, sexier joshua.

your first thought is to wonder if his morning voice sounds equally as sexy, but you’re immediately pushing it out of your head when you hear what sounds like him stifling a yawn.

“sorry, did i wake you? it– it’s not important,” you start, ashamed of how needy you are that you’d call him in the middle of the damn night, unprovoked, like some kind of bible group booty call.

the regret is already starting to set in. he probably hasn’t changed as much as you've built him up in your mind, probably still the obedient gentleman he was before. he’s probably already well on his way to being the head of a church, so of course he wouldn’t be thinking about you like that—

“no. it’s fine,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “always have time for you, sweetheart. what’s up?”

you shove down the butterflies that flutter up in your stomach at the name he calls you, a nickname he always called you when you were kids because he was taught it was always polite to talk sweet to a lady.

except it feels so much different now. talking sweet to a lady as kids was easy, innocent. but one wrong word now would completely change the meaning behind those pretty words of his, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it.

“i… just– it’s been so long, joshie,” you whisper, surprised at the sudden feeling of tears springing up behind your eyes. you didn’t mean for this to happen— you didn’t mean for any of it to happen. not back then, and certainly not now.

he lets the line go quiet, finally sighing into the phone after a long pause. “i missed you… so much.” he murmurs your name, and the way the rumble in his voice goes straight through you immediately reminds you why you called him in the first place.

your free hand toys with the hem of your underwear again, fighting to keep down the whimper that threatens to escape you. “missed you too,” you breathe out. god, you can’t believe you’re doing this. but for the first time in years, the man you’ve been picturing in your head is right here with you, fulfilling some of your fantasies that you never thought could ever come true.

somewhere deep in your stomach you feel guilty about it, getting off to the thought of him and he doesn’t even know it. would he want to know? would he be okay with it? would he hate you forever if he knew?

he clears his throat, snapping you back to attention and you realize you must’ve been silent for a while, thinking.

“um, so, what are you doing?” you ask, trying to seem casual, but it comes out as anything but. nobody calls anyone this late at night and asks what they’re doing without having a dirty reason for doing so.

all you can do is hope he’s either too innocent to pick up on it, or that he doesn’t believe you’re the type of person who would call for something like that. you wonder if he still thinks of you as that perfect little obedient church girl he grew up with.

“nothing, just–working on… stuff,” he replies awkwardly. clearly he doesn’t want to go into detail about what he’s doing, and you’re already afraid you’ve interrupted his sleep; you’re mentally kicking yourself for all the blunders you’ve made, and you haven’t even been on the phone for five minutes.

“what are you doing?” he asks back, and you freeze, trying to come up with some excuse, anything. fuck, think of something!

“h-homework,” you sputter out, attempting to hide your unconfident answer with a cough.

apparently it works, because he hums in response, the line falling quiet. you hear the rustling of papers on his end, and you press your fingers harder against your cunt, heartbeat racing in your ears.

your fingers brush against your clit a little rougher than you intend, and a little whine escapes your lips, catching you off guard. you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it had been too quiet for him to hear and he hadn’t been paying attention.

“are you…?” he asks suddenly, and your cheeks flush, caught red-handed in your sinful act.

you clear your throat, praying (both metaphorically and literally) that he doesn’t notice anything off about you. “am i what?”

his silence on the other end of the phone speaks volumes.

“joshua, oh my god, no, i–”

“what did you just say?”

you freeze. “what… did i say?”

when he speaks again, his tone is even. “don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

that nickname again, and now you know he’s doing it on purpose. innocent, pretty words, completely changed in a split second.

you let out a short laugh, scrambling to find a cover. “must’ve forgot then.”

he hums. “i remember you spent a whole month trying to memorize the ten commandments. we must’ve been what, eight or nine? you wouldn’t have forgotten. i may not have seen you since we were kids, but i’ve still known you most of my life.”

“it was an accident, you know how it is. just slips out. of course i remember them all.”

he tsks, and it feels like your heart stops. “did you forget that lying is a sin, too? you’re two for two now, wanna try for a third?”

damn him! damn his good memory and damn his stupid witty comebacks and damn the way he so quickly manages to unravel you.

you scowl and don’t respond to his question, your silence enough of an answer for joshua to know he’s right.

“why did you call me tonight?” he asks calmly.

you answer truthfully this time. “just wanted to hear your voice again. i really did miss you.”

the phone goes quiet again, and for a second you’re afraid he’s hung up, but then you hear him exhale. “it’s late. what are you doing?”

“i’m in bed, josh. don’t worry, father, i’m not staying up past my bedtime.”

he chooses to ignore your remark. “in bed doing what?”

you give him a half-suppressed laugh. “in bed laying down. what else would i be doing?”

“well, with the way you were trying to hide your moans earlier, i would’ve figured you were doing something more exciting. but if you’re just laying down, then i don't want to keep you long, might as well hang up…”

“no!” you squeak out, cutting him off. you swallow, trying to collect yourself as you repeat the word. “no. fine, whatever, you caught me. but– please, stay.” you can hear the plea in your voice and you know you should be embarrassed at how pathetic you sound, but you aren't. the only thing you can think about is joshua, joshua, joshua, and how good it feels to talk to him again.

“i’m here,” he says softly, and you let your eyes close with a sigh, relieved he’s not going to chastise you. but as much as you’ve both changed as you grew up, deep down you knew he wouldn’t. you figure you could do just about anything and he wouldn’t try to tell you what to do. he’d always been like that, and it’s what you’d loved about him; he never tried to control you or shame you for not acting like the perfect little angel everybody wanted you to be.

you couldn’t say the same about others in the church. maybe that’s why you’d started to drift away from them and why joshua’s friendship coming to an end had left you so devastated. he had been the one and only person you could always count on, and they had not.

“are you still there?” he asks gently, and you realize you’ve been quiet for too long thinking.

“yeah,” you say finally.

“are you still touching yourself?”

you pause, stifling a gasp, taken aback by his forwardness. hearing him say it out loud made everything seem so real, the realization setting in about what you’re actually doing. “n– no.”

and it’s true. your hand has long since dropped away from your pajama pants, too nervous about being discovered to continue.

“well, why not?” he says. “don’t stop on my account.”

your mouth falls open. “i–”

“clearly you wanted something from me when you called. what is it, sweetheart? i can’t help you if i don’t know what it is you want.”

your brain practically short circuits at that, and it takes a very long minute for you to collect your thoughts into a coherent sentence. you want a lot of things, but you don’t know what’s okay to say or not or if he even wants to keep going. which is a silly thought, because he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. it dawns on you that maybe… maybe he’s curious, maybe he’s thinking about you, too.

“what kind of help?” you ask, still testing the waters. you think you have an idea of what he means, but you ask anyway. you’ve never done anything like this with anyone else, only by yourself; not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t want it to be with someone who wasn’t joshua.

“you said you wanted to hear my voice,” he says, and you swear his tone has dropped an octave. “then let me talk to you.”

you whine a little, still holding back but not putting in as much effort to hide it. “m’kay.”

“would it make you feel better if i told you i’m hard right now?”

you suck in a breath. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “just thinking about you.”

you feel a rush of emotion at his admittance. pride? satisfaction? whatever it is, it makes your cunt throb, knowing that just the thought of you can get him going.

finally you dare to slide your hand down your pants again, unsurprised when you find your underwear sticking to you with how wet you are. you’re soaking, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“hold on,” you manage, putting the call on speaker as you set your phone on the table beside your bed, scrambling to shove your pants and ruined panties off and onto the floor.

once free, you pick up your phone and turn off the speaker, holding it to your ear with shaky hands.

“all ready now?” he asks softly, and it reminds you of what he used to say before you’d play pretend games together. always making sure you were ready. he was hot back then, too, and you mentally curse yourself for never realizing it sooner.

you hum. “mhm. comfortable.”

“good,” he says, and you can almost hear him smiling. “go ahead and do whatever you’d like. but i want you to tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

you squirm a little on the bed as you start to circle your clit with your fingers. “thinking about you, joshua,” you sigh, finally beginning to feel relief.

“yeah?”

“yeah. you look even better than i thought you would,” you groan, picking up your pace a little as you slip your index finger inside your walls.

he chuckles. “oh, really?”

“mhm. god, i never thought i’d be doing this. especially not with you.”

“and why is that, baby?”

the name makes you shiver. you’d imagined him calling you it many times, but hearing him actually say it is completely different.

“because—” you whimper, losing your train of thought when your brain suddenly pictures his fingers inside you instead of your own. “i’m so close already, please—”

his tone is gentle but firm. “i want you to stop now.”

“but– ah, feels so good, shua,” you say, moans spilling out of you, finally letting him hear everything you’ve been holding back.

you hear him curse in that low voice through the phone, and your hand stills for a split second in shock, your eyes widening. as far as you knew, he never swore. but then again, there were a lot of things he never did that you're discovering about him now. looks like you weren’t the only one who changed over the years.

“that’s not my name.”

you sit up a little in confusion, pushing your phone closer to your ear to make sure you’re hearing him right. “huh?”

“my name is joshua. if you’re gonna moan like a sinner about how good it feels when i tell you how to touch yourself, you better use my name properly.” he sounds almost angry, but it only spurs you on even further.

you let his words sink for a second before responding. “yes, sir.”

“fuck,” he moans, he actually moans, and if you weren’t already so far gone you would’ve stopped to listen closer, to ingrain the noise in your brain so you never again forget how he sounds. “what did i just tell you?”

“what, you don’t like being called ‘sir’? thought you wanted to be a pastor, joshua,” you say with a smirk, and you know he hears the mischief in your voice, daring him to give you what you want.

it’s probably a good thing he’s not physically in the room with you, because there's no way you would have been able to muster up the courage to say something like that to his face. you wouldn’t have dared to even look him in the eyes, but being on the phone gives you a head rush. because with only his voice and not seeing his face, you can convince yourself that he still isn’t real, that this whole phone call and even your meeting earlier had just been an elaborate figment of your horny imagination, your denial being the only thing saving your last shred of dignity.

“didn’t realize you’d grow up to be even more of a brat than you were before,” he scoffs, and your cunt pulses.

“what are you doing right now?” you say, a little desperately. the change of subject isn’t very subtle but you don’t care. you won’t lie, you’ve been curious since the start of what he’s doing but he’s been so focused on you he hasn’t said anything about himself. you want to know everything about him— how he’s moving his hands, where he puts pressure, what he thinks about to get himself closer and closer.

he grunts unceremoniously. “i’m fucking my hand and pretending it’s you.”

“me too,” you whimper, closing your eyes as you focus on the movement of your fingers.

after a while he stops responding, and you can hear his heavy breaths over the line matching with your own gasps for air as you curl your fingers inside of you. you figure he must be getting close, but you ask him anyway, because you want to hear him say it.

“yeah– fuck, so close,” he chokes out, and the way his voice gets higher as he lets out a whimper is what finally makes you come undone.

with a moan of his name—his full name—you cum, clenching around your fingers as you struggle to keep your hand moving. your wrist is starting to cramp up a little from the position you’ve been in, but the pleasure coursing through you is more than worth it. it’s almost dizzying, more powerful than any orgasm you’ve had before and when you finally remove your fingers from your aching cunt your head is spinning and your heart is pounding.

you can hear a muffled string of curses through the phone and you know he’s right behind you. thoughts of him sitting on his bed run rampant in your head, imagining his stomach covered in milky cum and his pretty, pretty lips parted as he catches his breath.

the silence is heavy as you feel yourself come back down from your high. you struggle to find something to say after… whatever that just was, so you say the only thing that’s on your mind.

“i really did miss you, joshua,” you say quietly. unlike before, there’s not a hint of teasing in the way you say his name now.

and he sighs contentedly, finally hearing his name on your lips like he always wanted to. “i know. i missed you too.”

you both say your goodbyes and good nights quickly, still basking in enough of the remnants of your orgasms to not be too awkward about it. but after you’re settled in bed (for real, this time) and about to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder if things between you and joshua will ever be anything but awkward.

a memory surfaces: you and joshua running around at the park behind the church after a sunday evening service, no older than kindergarteners, laughing and playing until you collapse on the grass. your mom called for you both to get ready to go home, and no you’re not allowed to have a sleepover because it’s a school night but maybe this weekend if his mom is okay with it. before you ran off, he thrust his pinky out towards you and you shook on it, making a pact to always be best friends, even when you can’t have sleepovers. it didn’t ever occur to either of you that there might come a day where you wouldn’t be best friends.

you don’t remember what prompted him to make the pinky promise, but you know he’s never broken it. and you can only hope that he hasn’t forgotten it.

it’s a few days later at one of your bible study groups when you see him next, and yet again you’re caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.

you’re sitting with a group of other ladies, annotating material for a test you couldn’t care less about when you hear your name called out– a familiar deep voice you can only pray doesn’t belong to who you think it belongs to.

oh, but it does belong to him, alright. it feels like you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you when you turn around and see joshua standing behind you, a warm smile on his face that makes you doubt anything ever happened. maybe it really was all just a delirious dream, too many years of yearning built up into one intense wet dream.

he puts a hand on your shoulder lightly, turning you away from the rest of the ladies. “hey, can we talk somewhere?”

and oh shit it was definitely not a dream.

your cheeks burn as you excuse yourself from the table, packing up your bible and pens and shoving everything in your bag as quickly as you can. you can almost hear the snickering already, the gossips whispering to each other that you must have done something unspeakable if the top-student, pastor’s son, joshua hong has to speak with you privately. ah, if only they knew.

you only wish you could go back there and wipe the smirks off of all their faces and tell them about what the perfect little gentlemen they all pretend they don’t have crushes on was doing on the phone with you last night. you wouldn’t do that, not in a million years, but just the thought of it is satisfaction enough.

joshua leads you down the hall to a room that looks like an empty office. he opens the door for you, then closes it softly behind you.

“whose is this?” you ask, glancing around the room.

“it’s… mine,” he says almost shyly, gesturing idly to a little engraved nameplate on the desk. joshua hong, pastor’s assistant. because of fucking course he would be.

“oh.”

he clears his throat, and in that moment you realize he’s just as nervous as you are. “listen…” he starts, taking a pause. “about the other night–”

“are you gonna kick me out?” you interrupt.

his brows knit together in confusion. “what?”

“are you gonna expel me?”

“no?” he says, still looking at you, baffled. “why would i do that? i don’t even think i have the power to, even if i wanted. which, for the record, i don’t.”

you don’t reply, focusing your gaze on the carpet instead.

he frowns. “is that really how you think of me? that i just go around tattling to my dad? from that… conversation, i thought it was clear i’m not like that anymore.”

the tips of your ears are burning at the memory of all the things you said to each other over the phone. but it never occurred to you that maybe he was just as sinful as you had been.

you stay quiet, the silence stretching on as shame and embarrassment and a hundred other emotions swirl in your mind and you struggle to figure out what to say.

luckily for you he fills the silence himself. he exhales, looking down at a stack of papers on the desk. “god, you… you don’t know how much i missed you. i thought about you all the time.”

“so did i,” you manage to whisper. “in more ways than you know.”

he gives you a teasing smile. “oh, i have a feeling i do know.”

you hold back a cough and look away, focusing your attention on a painting of flowers on the wall. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“if that’s how you wanna play this, fine.”

your curiosity piques, and you look back at him. he motions to the seat in front of the desk, wordlessly asking you to sit. hesitantly you do, and he starts to sit down at the swivel chair behind the desk, but you clear your throat and he glances up.

“can– can you not sit over there?” you ask softly. “feels like i’m being scolded.”

his expression softens a little, and he rolls the chair back into place, opting to sit next to you instead. “of course.”

except maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to do that, because now he’s sitting toe to toe with you and the closeness is overwhelming. at least on the other side of the desk there was enough distance for you to shrink and hide behind, but here, sitting like this, he can see all of you. and you don’t particularly want to be seen right now.

the tension is palpable as he takes his seat, still watching you. you take the moment to study his features: the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the light catches on his long eyelashes and the way his broad shoulders look in that perfectly tailored sunday morning service suit.

“i always liked you,” he starts, and your gaze shoots up to his eyes. you open your mouth to ask something, but he shakes his head and you immediately fall silent, letting him finish. “i was almost glad when they made us go to different sunday school classes, because i wouldn’t have to sit there and pretend i didn’t have the craziest crush on you.”

“joshua, i–” you trail off, not even knowing what to say.

he pauses, as if debating his next words. “and i know it’s wrong, but i couldn’t get you out of my head when i… y’know.” his cheeks are flushed but he doesn’t look away from you, eyes searching your own for any hesitance or any sign that you don’t want this.

it’s then that you realize that the boldness you had felt hiding behind your phone, he had felt it too. saying words alone in your room at night was easy. sitting in public, in the daylight, and saying those same words to his face was so much scarier. and knowing that you’re both feeling awkward and shy and a little uncertain of how to talk about it gives you the confidence to keep going.

“when you would what?” you pry. you already know the answer but you want to hear it come out of his mouth anyway. you’ve already heard him say it, but something about sitting in his office, in a church, speaking such filth ignites a spark in you that’s completely different from the spark you felt a few nights ago.

he clears his throat and looks you in the eye, maybe gaining a little bit of that confidence, too. “when i would jerk off i would always wish it was your sweet little mouth instead of my own hand.”

you inhale sharply, and that’s when he finally breaks eye contact, his guilt-ridden gaze shifting to the wall behind you as his cheeks burn redder. “i didn’t feel good about it. felt like i was doing it without your permission, and i didn’t want that. i–”

“yes,” you say hurriedly.

he stops short at your interruption, instantly looking back at you. “yes…?”

“yes, you have my permission. whatever you want, joshua, always.”

his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, but you recognize it. even after all these years, after so much has changed, you still know his tells. you wonder if he still knows yours.

he murmurs your name in response, almost like a warning. “don’t say stuff like that,” he says, letting out a shaky breath.

“why not?” you ask, feigning innocence. but you know exactly what you’re doing, and you know exactly how you affect him: the same way he affects you.

he looks up at you. “you really are just as much of a brat as you were back then, aren’t you?” he says with just a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“why don’t you find out?”

he groans, leaning back in his chair. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to kiss you?” he says finally.

“probably just as long as i’ve wanted to kiss you,” you counter, and he raises an eyebrow.

you both stand up at the same moment, closing the distance in less than a second.

you stare at his chest in front of you to avoid his eyes, until he brings up a hand and gently tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“are– you gonna get in trouble?” you breathe, heartbeat pounding in your ears as you stare at his perfect, perfect lips.

he hums, and it sends a shiver down your spine at the close proximity. “are you still giving me permission?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head yes.

“always.”

he smooths his thumb across your cheek. “then i won’t be in any trouble at all."

and then his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and he's tilting his head and bringing his lips towards yours and then finally, after years of dreaming about it and even more years of denying it, you're finally kissing joshua and there's so many things happening at once that you can't seem to focus on anything because your mind is so full of everything and nothing and joshua and it all just feels so right.

you’re melting in his arms and falling into his touch and enjoying every fucking second of it. your heart speeds up when his hands slide behind your back, wrapping around your body to pull you closer to him, pressed chest to chest.

he pulls away to kiss you again, and again, and again, and you decide you’d be content to be like this forever, standing in his office in the church building making out like you’re the only two people on earth.

but finally his lips leave yours, and he takes a tiny step backwards, heaving out a shaky breath as he looks you in the eyes. “what are we gonna do now?”

your heart plummets, doubts racing through your mind. did he not like it? does he not like you? did you really just ruin everything? why did he stop? why did he ask that—

but all your questions are answered in an instant when he coughs and you look down, finally noticing the prominent bulge in his dress pants. oh. that.

when you look back up at him his cheeks are flushed bright red, and he immediately begins to apologize.

“shua,” you call out to him, repeating his name the way you know he likes. “joshua. don’t worry about it. it’s fine.”

in fact, you find it incredibly flattering, that just a few kisses and gentle touches could get him this worked up. maybe it really has been you all along.

with a surge of confidence, you step back towards him, wrapping your arms around him and leaning to kiss him. “are you busy today?” you murmur, your cheek brushing against his.

he shudders, hands automatically finding your waist and pushing your hips against his own. “no. are you?”

you sigh, kissing the corner of his mouth. “not anymore.”

“fuck,” he curses, his grip on your body tightening “you really want to…?” he asks, almost shyly, as if he’s in denial this is really happening.

“absolutely,” you say, and you’ve never meant anything more in your life.

in a second he’s got you shoved against his desk, sending papers flying to the floor as he lifts you by your ass to sit you down on top of it. your kisses turn rougher and needier, your hands grabbing at anything you can reach to ground yourself: his hair, his shoulders, his back.

finally he breaks free, dropping to his knees in front of the desk. “please, let me eat you out.”

you moan out loud, probably too loudly for the thin walls of the office. but the visual of him on his knees to do anything other than pray drives you mad, and you need more of him, desperately. “joshua, please.”

he pushes your skirt up your thighs, moving it out of his way so he can stare eye to eye with your pussy. you whimper and instinctively try to hide your face in embarrassment, but something tells you he wouldn’t like that, so you resist, keeping your hands firmly planted on the edge of the desk.

“fuck, you’re soaking,” he says, his voice broken. “you’re so perfect.”

his hands reach up to tug at the hem of your underwear, and he looks up at you, silently asking for permission to continue. you nod eagerly, lifting your hips off the desk so he can slide them off of you, revealing your glistening entrance.

he whines at the sight, pretty lips parted in shock? awe? as if he can’t wait to taste you. he pushes his face into your pussy, gently at first, but when you moan and bring your hand up to his hair he dives deeper.

the moment he attaches his mouth to your clit, you jump, gasping as you try to shut your legs around his head but his large hands keep you held open. his tongue explores every inch of you, moving back and forth, up and down, mapping out your cunt with his mouth.

“fuck, never dreamed you’d taste so good,” he sighs against your pussy, leaning away to take a breath after what feels like forever.

your legs are shaking and your cunt is throbbing as you also try to catch your breath. you’re not used to being touched like this and you’re definitely not used to being touched by joshua. so many thoughts running through your head and not a single one of them coherent enough to put into words. all you can do is weakly whine out joshua’s name and tug on his hair, pleading for him to keep going. you need release, and you don’t want it from anyone but him.

he stands up, his pants wrinkled from kneeling on the floor but still tented with a bulge so uncomfortably large you feel dizzy just thinking about it. you don’t even know if he’s going to fuck you or even if he wants to, but god you want to see his cock so bad. too many restless nights spent thinking about it, and now you might finally have the chance to see it in front of your face.

your mouth waters at the thought, and you start to slide off the desk, but joshua stops you. “what are you…?”

you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust and you don’t even attempt to hide your eagerness. “please let me suck your dick. joshua, please.”

he whines, running a hand through his hair. “god, i want that so bad, but… i don’t think i can last if you do, and i was really hoping to fuck you.”

you close your eyes and roll your head back, moaning at his vulgar confession. but he sighs, and he sounds almost defeated, and you look back at him quickly, afraid he’s suddenly changed his mind.

“i’m not—prepared,” he admits, and you tilt your head in confusion before it sinks in what he means.

“ah. don’t suppose you would have any condoms lying around, would you, mr. pastor’s assistant?” you ask playfully, and he shoots you a glare.

“brat,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it, and your walls clench in response. “no, i don’t have any. not interested in anybody else, so… no reason to.” he looks like he has more to say, more serious things to say, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes searching your face nervously.

your stomach flips at his words, feeling your cheeks heating up. you hadn’t thought you would ever get this far, and especially not with him. because of the kind of school you were at, it wasn’t like the people here were doing the kind of things you’ve been doing—at least not publicly. even if you’d wanted to hook up with somebody (which you didn’t), everyone in your vicinity would shame you for even bringing it up. you may have experience with yourself, but anything with anyone else is completely new territory for you.

you fall silent, not sure how to continue the conversation as all your newfound confidence begins to crumble. what were you thinking? caught up in the heat of the moment, saying things you weren’t sure you meant. you were in love with him: that much you were sure of. but everything that comes after that is too new, too scary, at least for right now. you can barely even comprehend that he just went down on you, but you know you enjoyed it and honestly, you’d give anything for him to do it again. but there’s too much going on inside your head for you to even begin to process that right now.

he calls your name and you blink, looking back at him anxiously. “we… don’t have to. right now, or even at all,” he says gently. the tips of his ears are burning red but his voice is calm and steady.

“joshua, i want to,” you start, clasping your hands tightly together in your lap to give you something to focus on other than the way he’s watching you so intently. “but i– don’t know how.”

“neither do i, baby,” he says. the nickname makes you shiver; even though it’s not the first time he’s called you that, especially after the other night, you’re still not used to it. but somehow it’s comforting, and it makes you relax knowing that he’s still the same person you grew up with, the same person that knows almost everything about you. you’ve both changed so much, but deep down you haven’t changed at all.

he pauses when you don’t say anything back. “we’ll wait, then,” he says and wraps his arms around you, lightly at first but then squeezing when you don’t try to pull away. “we have all the time in the world. no need to rush.”

“we… do?” your voice is laced with uncertainty.

he smiles. “of course. i let you go once already, i’m not letting it happen again. never again.”

you turn your head away from him and hide your face, flustered by how sincere he sounds. he hums, and you can hear the pout in his tone so you fight your embarrassment and turn back towards him to ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind since you first saw him days ago. “this is gonna sound so stupid, but… shua, what are we?”

first you were childhood friends, you were best friends, and then you were nothing. right place, wrong time? and then you were… doing something on the phone together, whatever you could call that. and now you were just sitting on top of his desk, sweating from having almost had sex. how do you even begin to put a label on this?

“well, i’d like to be yours,” he says shyly, and just like that all your questions are answered with six small words. you realize it doesn’t matter what label you have; as long as you have him, that’s all that matters.

“yes,” you breathe, lifting your eyes to finally meet his and you see all the love in his eyes threatening to spill over.

he reaches up to brush a piece of your hair out of your face. “i’m just glad i finally have you back,” he says with a soft smile as he watches you. “we’ll go slow, we’ll wait— whatever you want. whatever it takes not to lose you again.”

you bury your face in his chest with a whine. you’re hiding again, but even the uncomfortable scratchiness of his dress shirt can’t pull you away from him.

“besides, i don’t want our first time together to be in my stupid little office,” he chuckles and holds you tighter against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that makes your heart flutter. “you deserve better than that.”

you stay there for a long moment, hugging him like it's the last time you'll ever see him. but this time you know it won't be the last. it's the first, the first of hopefully many, many more.

when you feel like you've been standing there too long, you clear your throat and lean your head back to look at him. "so, um… now what?"

he pauses, those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "do you have plans for lunch?"

"no, i just had that study group you pulled me from. i'm free for the rest of the day."

his smile widens. "perfect. you still like grilled cheese, or did you grow out of that, too?"

you laugh, putting your chin on his shoulder as you hug him. "i haven't changed that much, shua."

after taking a while to collect yourselves (waiting for his erection to go back down so you can leave together without looking suspicious), you walk out of joshua’s office the happiest you've felt in years.

he'd wanted to hold your hand, too, but you were still anxious about anyone seeing you together that you'd refused him until you made it to his car. you were probably just being paranoid and no one would care about two responsible adults talking to each other, but all the time you'd spent hiding from your peers had put you on edge.

so, it wasn't until you were safely out of the church parking lot and in the driveway of his apartment complex that you let him touch you, kissing you over the cupholders with his hands gently holding your neck.

it took everything in you not to climb over the center console and sit on his lap in the driver's seat and kiss him as hard and as deeply as you really wanted, but you knew once you started you wouldn't be able to stop. and besides, he still didn't have any condoms. it didn't bother you either way, since you'd been taking birth control since high school to help with your periods, but if it was what he wanted you'd be more than fine with it.

you don't know what you'd been expecting the inside his apartment to look like; probably some tacky cross-stitch bible verses or a wooden cross hanging on the wall, but his apartment just looked like… a normal apartment. a very clean apartment, actually, though you weren't surprised. he'd always been a neat, organized kid, and it looked like that was one thing he hadn't grow out of.

you watch as he puts his keys on a hook by the door, following him into the kitchen and sitting at one of the chairs.

he grins at you as he opens his refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for your lunch before taking out a pan.

"shua…" you interrupt him, standing up and walking towards him slowly. "you're not— really thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches right now, are you?"

he hums, eyes following your every movement as the pan sits cold and abandoned on the stove. "there are… other things on my mind, yeah."

"so why are you still trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches?"

by now you're close enough to stand toe to toe with him, and you're sure he can feel the heat radiating off your body when he wraps his hands around your waist, backing you against the kitchen counter. "because i wanna make you lunch. maybe i just wanna spoil my girl a little bit."

a shiver runs down your spine at the new name he calls you. never in a million years did you think this is where you'd end up.

"i think you have all the time in the world to spoil me later, joshua," you mumble, leaning in closer and closer until your lips touch.

in a flash he's hoisting you up and sitting you on the counter. his mouth never leaves yours as you slide your legs around his hips to drag him closer, kisses growing deeper and more desperate now that you can finally be alone together.

his hands slide down your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt and only breaking apart for a second to slide it over your head before his lips are crashing against yours again.

your hands find his hips, experimentally tugging on his belt to see his reaction. immediately he pulls away from you,

cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. "sweetheart, i still don't have any condoms. if you really want to now, then we gotta run to the store first."

“i’m on the pill,” you burst out, hoping he gets the message. maybe he has some other reason for wanting to, but you're too impatient to wait for who knows how long it'll take to go to the store, and you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off him for that long. you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off of him for even a few seconds.

his face goes blank as he processes your words, struggling to understand if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “you’d let me…?”

you grab onto his arms, a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to feel more of him. “raw, yes, joshua. just—please, i need you,” you beg him, cunt throbbing with neglect as you wait for him to answer.

he buries his face in your shoulder with a groan, gripping his hands underneath your thighs and sliding you off the counter.

with a shriek you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he starts to walk out of the kitchen carrying you. "joshua! what the hell are you doing?"

his face is still pressed against your shoulder, and you can feel his lips tickling your bare skin as he speaks. "i'll fuck you on my kitchen counter any day of the week, baby, but i want to have you for the first time in my bed, please?"

his voice is low and whiny, just as desperate for you as you are for him and it makes you moan with excitement.

he finds his way into his room, stumbling a little when he accidentally runs you into the wall instead of through the doorway, but you just giggle and kiss him harder until he finally drops you on his bed, immediately unbuttoning his shirt.

you run your hands along his chest as he leans over you, feeling the toned muscle that feels almost wrong to be seeing. his physical changes are much more obvious to you now that he's like this, and you know the image will fuel your fantasies for weeks.

your hands move to his belt again and this time he allows it, letting you unbuckle it and toss it away before slowly lowering the zipper. he's already hard again, and your heart races when you put a little bit of pressure on the seam and he lets out a guttural groan in response.

his arms flex as he reaches down to slide your skirt off, and you help him and kick the fabric away, leaving both of you in nothing but your underwear.

joshua pauses, letting his gaze wander your body as you look away shyly. he hums and you look back at him in confusion. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, please," he says, but it comes out more like a whine; not like he's asking, but like he's begging. it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever heard, and even with your nerves he makes it hard to resist.

"dreamt about this for fucking years. years," he moans as he leans over to kiss your chest, reaching behind your body to undo your bra and let it fall away. you whimper when he brings his hands up to cup your breasts, wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples as he starts to slowly grind against your clothed pussy. you can already feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you're sure he can feel it, too.

his hands are like nothing you've ever felt, and you roll your head back against his pillows, arching into him as he massages your breasts with his large hands. you'd noticed them before, but you hadn't realized just how big they were until they were on top of you and made your body seem almost tiny beneath his massive palms.

"shua…" you breathe, tentative hands reaching up to touch his shoulders.

he looks up at you, mouth covered in spit. "yes, angel?"

you whimper at the nickname. no angel you'd ever learned about in sunday school had acted like you are right now, begging a man to fuck you. and on top of that it was before marriage, too; surely if there was a god they would be extremely disappointed in you. but right now you didn't care if the entire universe was disappointed in you, as long as joshua hong wasn't.

it takes you a few more seconds to build up your courage, but finally you open your mouth and tell him, "joshua, please— fuck me."

he slides forward to kiss you again, before sitting back and repositioning himself between your legs. "anything you want, sweetheart."

he lines his cock up at your entrance, and just before you think he's about to push into you, he looks up at you instead.

"i love you, so much," he says, and you have to fight the urge to hide your face as you grin and giggle like a fucking schoolgirl; like the past version of you would have, if she'd had any sense and figured everything out sooner.

and, like always, he asks, "ready?", and you nod, and it's better than you could've ever imagined.

the whines that leave his mouth drive you close to the edge already as he begins to thrust into you, slowly, gently, just a little bit at a time but it still leaves you gasping from his size.

he keeps moving at a snail's pace until you reach up, fumbling to grab at his bicep as tears nearly spill out of your eyes and beg him, "joshua, more, please."

he leans over you, pressing his body flat against yours as he starts to rock his hips faster, and you cry out from so much pleasure and so much emotion hitting all at once.

"wanted you so fucking bad, for so long, and now you're finally here," he whispers, his thrusts never faltering despite how close in proximity he is to your face.

you whine as your hands claw at his back, digging in as you struggle to hold on and he curses again, pushing into you harder.

"you said i was better than you imagined," he groans, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. "but you're even better than i imagined. you're a fucking angel, so fucking beautiful."

you gasp his name, falling into your orgasm from his words alone as you clench impossibly tight around him. you always thought of him as the nice kid, the rule follower, but here he is, fucking you through the hardest orgasm of your life and saying such filthy things in between praises and compliments.

"jo-oshua, please!" is all you can manage, still struggling to recover before he crests into his own high with a whimper. his eyes scrunch up as he releases inside you, eyelashes fluttering and sweat dripping down his temples, and you think it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.

a constant stream of curses fall from his lips and you swallow them with yours, kissing him as if you're afraid he might disappear into thin air if you don't hold onto him tight enough.

his breaths are shallow when his mouth falls away from you, resting his forehead on your shoulder with a long exhale.

"god…" he starts, then stops and laughs, and you have to tug on his hair to make him face you again.

"what are you laughing at?" you say, cheeks growing hot when he looks at you with droopy, hooded eyes and a lopsided smile.

"nothing," he laughs. "just god. what a funny word."

"and why is that, baby?" you say as you try to hold back a smile, testing out the nickname.

he grins. "because it gave me you. or maybe it didn't. who knows?"

you finally laugh along with him, remembering what he'd said to you on the phone that feels like years ago. "don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

the church is humming with activity as you make your way to the front pew, carrying two donuts in your hand. people greet you as they mingle about the hall, talking and laughing. some wave excitedly when they see you, others simply smile and offer their hand for you to shake with a friendly “good morning and god bless!”

being a pastor’s wife isn’t something you ever imagined yourself doing, but then again, a lot of things in your life you never imagined doing. you never imagined seeing joshua again, and you never imagined marrying him, either. you certainly didn’t imagine taking over your father-in-law’s church when he retired and decided it was time for joshua to take his place as head of the church. you always knew he would someday, whether he wanted to or not, but you’d be happy to spend the rest of your life by his side no matter where he was or what job he had.

you’d been almost nervous when you decided it was finally time to tell your parents you had been seeing each other, but to your surprise they had been overjoyed at the news. both his family and yours were “just so glad when it happened to be you!”, saying things like “we’d always known it would happen, back since you were children!”, and “so when are we going to get some beautiful little grandchildren to take to sunday school!”

it had been five long and happy years since that very first phone call, and every minute you spend with joshua has been the best of your life.

you walk up the steps to the stage where your husband is waiting, flipping through his notes for the morning’s sermon. you hand him his donut with a grin, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. he smirks at you, imperceptible to everyone else but you can tell what it truly means.

everybody in the congregation always talks you’re the perfect example of a happy, god-loving couple. such nice looking people, so well put together. but behind closed doors, they’d be horrified by the things you say and do together. wolf in sheep’s clothing, as is your husband’s favorite parable to preach.

it’s not the life you imagined, but it’s perfect to you and him.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging with tags or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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#1k #kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #[💟] — joshua #[❤️] — smut #[💙] — angst #joshua smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #joshua hong smut #joshua imagines #joshua x reader #joshua hong #svt imagines #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #joshua fanfic

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slowsweetlove · 3 months

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Yay we got new content!

With Masters of the Air finally out we got a few promo interviews. Most of the time Austin was paired up with Callum Turner and the friendship these two have built really shines through. The teasing, giggles and all around being totally comfortable with the person next to you is so nice to see. I think they totally cast to type with Buck and Bucky as Callum seems to be the more outgoing type and Austin being his reserved shy (albeit at times goofy) self.

There are two interviews from this press circle I just love so I'm going to share both of them for SPECIAL VOICE SUNDAY.

youtube

I really liked their TV show appearances too, but for the sake of this being for us voice addicts you get more Austin talk out of these interviews.

Tagging my dear ABVA members:

@areacodefan @manic-pixie-dino-nuggies @girlnairb @klizzie93 @presleysdarling @generoustreemystic @chasingwildflowers @austinbutlermischief @arianatheangel-girl @feral-fae-writes @justafangir1 @kendralavon7 @samfangirls @kiankiwi @ellie-24 @butlerette @darlingelvis @butlersbabe @prompted-wordsmith @purejasmine @kingdomforakiss @faegoddessog @richardslady121 @austinswhitewolf @sc-rp

If you'd like to become a member just send me a dm. I post on every first Sunday of the month. Follow/search the tag #abva or #special voice sunday to find previous installments.

#abva #special voice sunday #austin butler #asmr #eargasm #masters of the air #Youtube #monthly member service #voice kink

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luvring · 3 months

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IS THAT ALL?

gn!reader | 900ish words, really just fluff despite the opener ^___^

megumi fushiguro considers himself a coward.

it’s sunday, 10:00am bright on the clock behind you. wings flap outside as the birds that like to adorn the neighbour’s fruit tree caw, and the blanket is pulled up to his chest, up to your cheeks.

your face is only a few inches away, and all he can think about—besides the curl of your lips as you smile at him again—is whether his breath still smells like mint from brushing his teeth the night before. whether you can see his skin breaking out on his temple and forehead, or the scar on his jaw from falling when he was seven—if you’d notice them after he said the three words that’ve been sitting on the tip of his tongue for weeks.

because megumi’s realized he can do a lot of things, plan more, fight even more, but it all crumbles apart when it comes to you.

“why are you staring at me?”

“i’m not,” he answers too quickly, muttered as he looks to the pillow underneath your head instead of your eyes.

you squish your face further into it to meet his gaze again. “is there something on my face?”

“no.”

“is there food stuck in my teeth?”

“we haven’t even had breakfast.”

“because if i turn on my phone and see either of these things, i’m going to be very angry with you, megumi fushiguro.”

the sound of his name draws him back to you, your squinting eyes and frown that holds no anger.

his lip twitches up, only just. “there’s nothing on your face or in your teeth.”

you hum, keeping your accusatory facade, even while reaching for his hand beneath the blanket. “swear i don’t look bad?”

megumi’s fingers easily slide into place between yours.

you could never look bad.

he huffs. “seriously?”

“‘seriously’? oh, wow, forgive me, my dear, for not believing your plainly spoken words while you still won’t tell me why you’re staring.” you ruffle his hair and push strands to cover his eyes. he rolls them as he pulls up the collar of your shirt to muffle your laugh.

it’s a lovely sound.

he hopes you let him hear it again and again.

a bird caws at the same time you swat at his hand and the hold on your shirt loosens, his fingers moving to smoothen the evidence.

“you just look nice.” he finally says as his eyelids droop, and he lets himself look at your lips for a fraction of a second. “that’s all.”

you smile and ignore the heat in your ears. “that’s all?”

the words claw at him again, and his throat constricts the same time his stomach ties into a knot.

it should be something special, megumi thinks—saying it out loud for the first time.

maybe at a fancy restaurant, with candles and expensive meals between you, his best suit on, quiet jazz and clinking glasses in the background.

maybe outside somewhere, in a nice meadow or under a tree, a picnic blanket sitting underneath you.

maybe after a long-winded monologue of how his curiosity grew to infatuation, a crush, something more. after he’s told you he wishes he could spend every morning with you, turn to you when the neighbour’s kids laughing and screaming wakes you up in place of an alarm on a saturday, watch you playfully groan and complain about today’s youth.

after he’s laid his heart out to you, instead of now, a random sunday morning, as the sound of cawing and birdsong fills the space between you instead of his voice, and all the words he wants to say before the three.

he wonders how long he’s been silent when you scrunch your brows and confusion shifts your smile. “hello? earth to megumi?”

“i love you.”

and across megumi’s face, there’s a fleeting shadow as a bird flies past—the blue of his eyes darkening, but not hardening, never hardening—not while looking at you.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

the birds caw loudly outside.

and it’s all he can do to not bite his lip, to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest as you open and close your mouth—a sensation that he usually comes to you for to get rid of.

you blink again, twice, three times, and a different three words find their way to the tip of his tongue at the sight, heavier than the last, a little more strained.

but then you smile, just like always.

let out a laugh of disbelief that makes his apology disappear.

your reply comes as a murmur, it flows over him and muffles the noise outside, easing the clawing at his gut with expertise—“i love you, too.”

and it really is a random morning; megumi couldn’t tell you the date if you asked. but your grip on his hand tightens, and he promises to write it down (sunday, 10:07am) when you both get up.

he lets all his tension loosen as he finally smiles back.

your own smile widens into a bright grin at the sight, and though his mind’s reeling, he can hear what you’re going to ask before you do—

“is that all?”

it’s silly, and megumi almost rolls his eyes, almost pulls the blanket over your head and threatens to take it back,

and he loves you.

even, and especially as he hears the neighbour’s door creak open, and the first sound of the kids yelling—as he pinches your cheek and snickers when you let out a surprised noise. “that’s all.”

noo nia don't make something that's supposed to be big happen in a mundane warmth again nooo don't make another guy completely in love w reader noooo... does i'm sorry technically count as three words btw. lol? well. obviously totally unrelated but i'm hungry as fawk rn. goodbye everybody i'm gonna eat toast. yaaaaayy!!!

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#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #i have conflicting feelings over this But if i stare at it longer or let it sit in my drafts i Will set it on fire #hopefully im asleep when this posts. honk shoo....

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 25 days

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Napping with Gaz | 497 word Drabble

My Blog is 18+ as is 99% of my content. Do not interact if you are a minor/under the age of 18.

Gaz has upped his nap game since meeting you.

Before you, he would just fall asleep on whatever broken sofa, dilapidated office chair, or cold stretch of floor he could find. You wonder how the man is as lithe and spry as he is, as you know you’d have a permanent crick in your neck if you napped the way he used to.

Now, he’s got a whole plan, with a Do not Disturb schedule set with only extreme emergency contacts allowed to bypass the setting. He has a special wake up sound for a slow, easy rousing from the nap. He also has specific timers depending on the kind of nap he wants to take.

One hour for a good, relaxing deep nap to take with you on lazy Sundays. Half an hour for a refreshing nap midday when things are feeling a little groggy. And a forty-five minute nap for those times his brain is on edge and he knows he needs that extra fifteen minutes to wind down.

Today is the former. He has your shared bed covered in blankets and pillows, and your favourite plushies. There’s a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol on the bedside table just in case either of you wake up with a dry mouth and a headache.

Your heart swells as you see him in just a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare as he lounges amongst the assorted pillows, hand outstretched to beckon you to bed. He’s beaming ear to ear as he looks at you.

“Gaz,” you giggle as you take his hand, lowering yourself down into his open arms as you gather a selection of blankets to wrap around you both, “You’re an angel you know that right?”

“Just want to make sure we’re optimising the time and getting the best out of it, babe,” he responds giddily as he arranges one pillows around both your heads, you crane your neck up to let him slide one under you.

“And I love you for it, thank you,” you say with a sigh as you settle back into his embrace as he spoons you from behind.

“Love you too,” he says, his smile evident in his tone of voice, “Now, timer’s set, close your eyes.”

“So bossy,” you chuckle as you do as you’re told, nestling back against his warm body as he pulls you in tight, his strong forearm banded across your middle.

“You love it,” he returns sleepily as he presses a barely-there kiss to the underside of your jaw before nuzzling into your neck.

You grumble something in mock-protest as you feel yourself drifting off. You feel warm, protected, safe. You stay dozing, napping, drifting in and out of sleep for what seems like hours.

As it happens, Gaz set the wrong timer (he set his morning alarm by mistake) and you both wake up groggy and disorientated three hours later. But you don’t mind, clearly you both needed the rest.

“Just resting my eyes” (Napping with Ghost) Napping with Captain John Price Napping with Soap Napping with König CoD Masterlist

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elatedfool · 1 month

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yandere behavior, jerking off, mention of kidnapping.

i read in someone's tweet that the birds thingy in dream's edge area are some sort of drones that might belong to sunday, so what if he's just chuckling in amusement as you use them to connect the different levels of grounds in the area? frolicking around without realizing that the family's spokesperson is keeping tabs on you?

ah, and imagine if all of the recordings are saved into his device—which means he could use those clips as a reference for penacony's best painters and sculptors, commissioning them to immortalize your beauty and keeping the results in the hidden corner of his chambers.

one more thing—sunday can and will pleasure himself using your sweet voice, stroking himself and shamelessly releasing thick blobs of cum into the screen, right when the drone's camera zooms into your face.

oh just you wait until he takes advantage of his power and authority to keep you in a special dreamscape he has created just for you and himself to live together forever.

#restricted section．．．#reusing the concept of sunday caging his darling in the dreamscape #becase why not #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #sunday x reader #sunday x you

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wndaswife · 7 months

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(fic request) pls write this w nun!wanda (if you want) 😵😵😵

to worship and submit | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Being the daughter of the man that leads the church choir means attending the services when you run out of excuses to be anywhere else, but a young woman who's recently joined the parish to become a nun has begun to make your time there worthwhile.

Word count: 7419

Tags: smut, fluff, humour, sacrilege, quite literally fucking in front of a crucifix, even i feel slightly guilty for writing it, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader | MINORS DNI

A/N: SO... i did do some research for this fic... but only SOME... meaning some of the info may be incorrect fyi!!!

gif credit to evilly

Every Sunday since your dad joined the church as their choir leader, you’d been making yourself busy in advance just in case he’d ask if you wanted to come to the services.

You were proud of your dad — really, you were — because he loved music and loved the community the church brought him, and the church was closeby to where your mom worked as an elementary school teacher, so your parents were able to work together when there were community events that involved both the school and the church.

Though, being happy for your dad didn’t mean you also had to be happy when he invited you to the services.

Sometimes you’d attend special occasions like Easter and other holidays and church events wherein your dad prepared his own assortment of music and such for the choir to play, but only because you were there to support him and what he was passionate about — music and community and his family.

Such events were big deals at the church he volunteered at because it was well-known for its large community; the church itself was closely connected to a nearby convent where it had close ties to the nunnery there, as well as having one of if not the most ornate architecture all preserved within a historically-significant religious landmark.

But for the last few weeks, he hadn’t asked you to go with him because he was so busy with the new influx of students joining from the Catholic elementary school your mom worked at; they were all there singing on the weekends for their volunteer hours, but at the very least, your dad said they were still enthusiastic and friendly kids.

So on the morning of one of the very rare occasions in which you hadn’t had anything planned for the Sunday because you weren’t expecting him to invite you as he hadn’t for the last while, your dad invited you to the service.

You could’ve truly made up an excuse and flat-out lied about being busy, but it’d been a while since he asked and you knew he’d been working hard with the new students in his group, so you supposed it wasn’t so much trouble to accept his offer, even if you did groan it out in a superficial fit about having to get out of bed earlier.

It wasn’t that you not being religious had anything major to do with avoiding going to church, because you didn’t entirely mind when your religious parents brought you to the services for special occasions, but rather because you didn’t very much have the patience or sufficient concern for the readings and worship to attend the nearly-two-hour services.

That was truly your most pressing issue with attending the Sunday services with your dad, but today was different, with an unexpected experience to make you dread going even more than you did previously.

“Excuse me?” a timid, unfamiliar voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a young woman standing by the doorway of the back hall where the entrance to the choir balcony was.

Typically, you sat around there when your dad was conducting because you weren’t very involved in the church enough to sit at the pews nor were you part of the choir.

But from where you were sitting, you weren’t entirely uninvolved as you could still see and hear the services — it was the perfect spot.

“You aren’t allowed to sit here,” the young woman told you, running the pads of her two fingers along the edge of her sleeve.

Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a conservative bun and she was wearing a black plain dress with a modest plain scoop neckline to show the buttons and collar of the crisply-ironed long-sleeved white blouse underneath that all of the church’s nuns wore, but the simplicity of her outfit and the uncovering of her hair meant to you that she was presently studying at the church to become a nun.

“I’m the choir dude’s daughter,” you said with a polite smile and looked away, expecting for your response to be all the elaboration she needed.

In a way that was subtle with the intention not to be offensive but in that very manner was offensive in itself because of how irritating her caution was, the woman cleared her throat.

“I-I know,” she pressed, “but this area isn’t open for seating. For anyone.”

When you didn’t answer for a moment as you stared at her, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. They told me to tell you.”

“I’ll find a spot in the pews,” you answered and collected your things.

From the corner of your eye, it seemed that she wanted to offer a seating alternative just to make up for what she was forced to tell you, but there wasn’t very much else she could offer.

That Thursday, you were back at the church to pick up an ironed uniform for your dad; it was for a special event set for the upcoming Sunday, and the church pressed it for him and everything.

It was a nice gesture.

They were nice people.

On Thursdays, there were only morning services and events for children in another spacious room where they could colour and play with the church’s team leaders and nuns.

But in the afternoon — which it now was — there wasn’t anything going on.

When you arrived, the church was still and warm with gentle sunlight shining through the stained glass windows and casting a myriad of colours against the pews.

You looked over your dad’s text again and walked through the directions he told you to take to get to the back halls of the church, just a few turns from the stairway that led up to the choir balcony.

The room where you were to pick up the uniform was as pretty as the rest of the church; it was a small prayer room with a pedestal and stained windows and red carpeting, but it was much cozier and probably hadn’t been used for prayer for the group size it was designed for in a little while.

You could see through the glass door the folded uniform for your dad on the windowsill behind the pedestal with a name tag placed on top of it ready for pick-up along with a few other clothes for some other church volunteers.

Upon entry, you closed the door quietly behind you and stepped into the room where you could now see a small table by the window and a familiar young woman sitting with a notebook, jotting a few things down from what looked like a leather-bound book.

“Can I just get my dad’s uniform from there, or do I need to sign it off or something?” you asked, announcing your presence.

She looked up from the notebook and at you then to the uniforms on the windowsill.

“Oh, you’re…” She paused and thought for a moment. “The choir conductor’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sign it off for you,” she replied and smiled.

She stood from the table and walked around it to the uniforms, where a piece of paper was set beside the line of neatly-folded clothes.

You watched as she jotted down a few things onto the paper with a pen before carefully picking up the packaged uniform and turning to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you answered.

“Of course. Have a good day,” she replied and bid you a goodbye before heading back to the table by the window.

You were on the way to leave the room, but you couldn’t, for some odd reason, take your eyes away from the way she lowered herself into her seat and resumed her notetaking.

She didn’t notice when you changed your direction and walked towards the table she was sitting at until you were perhaps just a metre away from her, when she then looked up from her notes and up at you.

“Did I give you the wrong uniform?” she asked, worried and now standing up from her chair.

“No,” you answered quickly and waved your hand.

She stayed standing, curious as to why you walked back.

“Hard at work?” you asked, pointing at her notebook.

Confused for a moment, perhaps by your curiosity in speaking with her, she looked over to her notebook and then back at you with a friendly smile, “Yes, a little. They gave me something to study from. I’m just taking notes.”

Carefully, you reached forward and spun her notebook around so you could read it.

Her curiosity seemed to spike when you leaned forward to read her notes, and she looked at you with a small smile.

“Um,” she started awkwardly. “I want to apologise for earlier this week. For making you move seats.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you replied and looked up from her notes to smile at her reassuringly. “I know they just made you tell me because you’re new.”

The young woman seemed reassured, her shoulders even relaxing a bit when you said it.

“You’re still… What do you call it? Like, you’re studying to be a nun here? Not fully one yet?”

She shook her head.

“Yes, I’m in the study period before becoming a novitiate,” she answered.

Your fingers ran over her delicate handwriting, feeling the indentations of her pen against the paper.

“To worship and submit,” you read aloud from the notebook. “Fascinating.”

She caught onto your twinge of sarcasm but approached it with humour, laughing a little and conceding, “It is a bit medieval, but an important quality, I’d presume.”

Reflecting suddenly on how young the woman seemed much younger than the other nuns, you asked her, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

She was a bit older than you, but still quite young.

Her hair was down now, though still neatly brushed and free of frizz and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length black skirt patterned lightly with gardenias.

“How did you get into wanting to be a nun, anyhow?” you asked and moved your attention away from the notebook and towards her. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I-I don’t?” she inquired, almost sounding nervous at the implication that she wasn’t training herself properly.

“I mean, pious and submissive — sure,” you said, referring to her notes, which made her seem a bit flustered, “but not like a nun.”

She questioned curiously, “More like…?”

After humming aloud in thought, you turned to her with your hip laying against the edge of the table and suggested, “Elementary school teacher. Vet. I don’t know, something like that.”

She was pretty — truly.

Cute, even.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet,” she told you, smiling sweetly.

“Changed your mind?”

“Younger as in quite young, perhaps around ten,” she recalled. “My parents are both rather religious and ever since I turned fourteen it’s always been their intention to have me join a congregation.”

Interest piqued, you asked, “And your intention for yourself was…?”

“For myself?” she repeated as if taken by surprise.

You nodded once.

She paused for a moment to hum thoughtfully before saying, “I was happy to follow whichever path my parents intended for me.”

“You find passion in nunnery?” you asked. “Genuine question — not judging.”

“Of course,” she answered.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly checked it to see that your dad had messaged asking if you were able to pick up his uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding you back from something,” the woman apologised and stepped to the side to allow you to leave.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket and adjusting your dad’s uniform in your hand, you replied, “No, not at all. My dad’s just impatient. I should get going now though, since here’s a few errands I have to run before noon.”

She nodded in understanding.

“It was nice being able to talk with you,” she then said. “I haven’t been able to talk with very many people since I came here. It’s all just been about studying and the church.”

Before you left, you made sure to ask for her name, to which she replied telling you it was ‘Wanda.’

Cute name.

It’d been quite a while since you ever attended the services two weeks in a row. The last you did was during the last half of August the first year your dad started conducting the church choir, during which you had nothing else to do but wait for classes to start — so you went to the services.

This time, because the church was celebrating something special, your dad asked both you and your mother to attend the service because he’d been working on preparing a set of songs for the occasion.

Under the guise of being a supportive daughter, your parents didn’t second guess why you were so willing to attend the service this week, nor did they ask if there was a certain individual you were perhaps a bit excited to see again.

Truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda since you last saw her a few days ago. There was much to her you felt laid dormant and sleeping, awakened only just in the slightest during the conversation you had with her. She was kind and curious, but also painfully naive.

She was a few years older than you but knew far less about the truth of her own ambitions and strayed perhaps not even a foot’s distance away from behind her parents’ shadows.

Wanda was interesting, but intrigued you for far too long for her to be only that. Though you couldn’t very well figure out what it was about her that made her bounce around in your head like a pinball until an unassuming evening.

It was sincerely an unrelated act when you first started, travelling your hand down between your legs in the silence of the evening to relieve yourself of the pent-up stress from classes that’d come over you during the last few days.

Truly, it was completely unrelated to Wanda and anything and everything about her when you started, and even during, until you reached your peak of release and found your imagination flashing with curiosities about what she looked like under her garments, how she’d squeal if you spanked her ass and if she’d like it, or how she’d cry out in sheer pleasure if you forced her down and made her take her spankings regardless.

For a moment afterwards there was guilt, but every day onwards there was curiosity, wondering for hours about what you’d seen when you reached that point of pleasure during which Wanda was your only muse.

You’d like to tell yourself it was only that curiosity that guided your willingness to attend the service with your parents, but it was something else entirely too — something completely carnal.

For the first hour of the service, Wanda was still nowhere to be seen. Because of the church’s connections with its convent, the nuns had a large role in some of the day-to-day happenings, but mostly during important church events like what you were presently attending.

Wanda wasn’t a nun yet; she was yet to be even a novitiate as she had mentioned, and so perhaps she just didn’t get to attend events like these.

Though you personally found that counter-productive, you weren't one to complain about the convent’s decisions, but you did wish you got to see Wanda.

If she wasn’t one to be able to attend such events, when would you see her next?

After coming to the realisation that you probably just weren’t going to see her today or perhaps even for a little while, you excused yourself after having been present for nearly all of your dad’s song arrangements and with enough time to be able to be back from the washroom with well-enough time to catch the rest of his songs.

To your surprise, you saw the very woman who’d been on your mind for the last hour was sitting in the hall by the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. She was wearing the same outfit as she had been the first time you met her, with her hair done up in the same way too.

“Excuse me, but you aren’t allowed to sit here,” you teased, approaching from the right and walking into the hallway.

She quickly swiped at her eyes and began to apologise before she raised her head and saw it was you who had spoken to her, and you who now stood beside the bench she was sitting on.

Though she smiled and seemed relieved and happy to see you, you could tell that she’d just been crying — alone in this hallway away from the service and the nuns and sitting at the far end of the bench so as not to be seen by the people attending the mass.

Wanda stood, running her palms down the sides of her dress with a friendly smile while saying, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly as you focused on the slight redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose.

You then asked once you were sure she’d been crying, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious after realising it must've been obvious that she’d been crying, Wanda carefully wiped under her eyes again and even tried making herself seem less dishevelled by tucking her hair behind her ears before you took her hands away from her face and made her stop fidgeting with her appearance.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you pressed.

Dismissively as to not bring any more attention to herself, she told you, “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing to bother you with.”

“I wanna be bothered,” you answered lightheartedly. “Come on.”

Wanda smiled at your gaiety and you urged her to tell you what was wrong once more before she finally exhaled in surrender though she didn’t sit down before speaking, implying that in spite of the fact of giving in to you, she wasn’t very well planning on delving too deep into what had been bothering her.

“Earlier today, I had accidentally misplaced the leather book I’d been studying from — the one you saw me with a few days prior, if you can remember,” she said. “And I was scolded terribly for it. It was quite deserving as it was an important collection of notes and such, so I do not question from where my scolding had come, but it seems to me that all I’ve done since I started here is get myself in trouble with the other nuns.”

Here, you tried taking her hand and urging her to sit down, but she wouldn’t, and slipped her fingers out of your hold.

“They found the book in one of the small prayer rooms I’d been studying in, so at the very least it was not a mistake of ruining the integrity of the book by losing it completely, but rather the very principle of having been given something so important and misplacing it,” she continued.

Wanda swallowed and seemed to be contemplating whether to go into more detail, and you could tell that there was something else that had been bothering her that didn’t exactly have to do with misplacing the book.

Before she had the chance to make a decision, there was a passerby who came from the service in search of the restrooms, which interrupted Wanda’s train of thought as she and the man exchanged a brief hello.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered, taking her hand and heading down the hallway with her. She didn’t take her hand away from you this time, but instead told you that she only needed time to be on her own and that she was fine now.

The only other place you knew was the prayer room you picked your dad’s uniform up in, and fortunately it was unlocked.

You ushered Wanda into the room and she smiled at you from behind and you led her forward to one of the front seats in front of the altar, regarding you with admiration for the effort you put into wanting to express your concern for her and make sure she felt heard.

The early morning beams of light shone through the stained glass like they had that afternoon you’d come here a few days prior, but the room was far less stuffy now, familiar and almost reminiscent of something nostalgic.

The feeling could easily be because of the fact that you’d been envisioning what you could remember from it nearly every hour since that past Thursday, with the room in the background of your mental portrait of Wanda.

She settled down in the seat beside you, feeling encouraged more so because she wanted now to be closer to you rather than solely to sit and talk about what had been bothering her.

But she could partake in the latter if that was what you asked of her — and it was.

“I know that I hardly know you, but I’ve been here for nearly a whole month and you are the person I feel closest to,” she confessed.

You felt flattered, though you knew telling you that she felt close to you wasn’t exactly the point of why she said that.

Wanda further reflected aloud, “I’m getting nowhere I’m supposed to, not finding the call to God like both my parents and the nuns told me about though I have even given it plenty of time. I studied English in college and yet can find not even a little interest in my religious readings.”

While she thought in silence for a moment, you didn’t interrupt her.

When she found the words to verbalise what she’d been meaning to say, she began with a question: “Do you remember when you asked what my own intentions were for myself? On Thursday?”

You nodded.

“It’s ridiculous, but I can’t even recall the last time I sincerely asked that to myself, but perhaps in shallower terms, such as wondering where I might be in a few years or what I might do with my time in the convent.

“But never what I wanted — never who I wanted to be.”

After a moment, when you were sure she wasn’t trying to find words to express herself nor contemplating whether to say something, you asked, “And do you know who you want to be?”

For a brief moment — half of one, really — Wanda looked thoughtful, and then she said and gestured to her clothing and the prayer room, “Not this.”

“So then, what?” you inquired further.

You teased, “A vet?”

Wanda giggled and sat back a bit in her seat. “Perhaps if I were ten,” she said.

Then more seriously, she added, “But now, I’m not very sure.”

“How did you come to realise what you were interested in?” Wanda asked. “For example, your studies. What are you studying?”

She was talking fast, obviously very invested in your conversation together and also rather curious about you.

You thought that was cute; you liked Wanda.

“I’m studying philosophy,” you told her to which she straightened and was eager to hear more about. “But with studies, it’s different, because you’re talking about more personal matters. Academics are far different from personal paths.”

Wanda seemed a bit disappointed because she was looking for a definite answer, but what you explained certainly made sense to her.

She pondered about something then instead asked, “So about personal matters, then. What about those?”

“What about them?”

“Give me a principle to follow,” she sought. “Something I might be able to apply here. Something as general as you’d like it to be, but applicable.”

Her steadily growing smile made it clear that though she was certainly looking for advice, she also thoroughly enjoyed exchanging quips with you and exploring more about you.

In a way, she was as eager to learn about you than how to help herself, if not more so.

You hummed thoughtfully and Wanda watched as you were deep in thought.

“A principle for you,” you said, “could easily be that it’s okay to be selfish, to think only of yourself when you’ve spent so long doing anything else.”

Wanda asked, slightly amused but far more curious, “You recommend hedonism?”

“To you?”

She nodded.

You replied, “Indubitably.”

If you hadn’t already been thinking of Wanda in painfully great amounts before that morning, then you certainly were afterwards.

The third week came around and by then Wanda was banging against every square inch of your skull like an intruder, necessitating the need to be seen and thought of every other minute in any way you could.

Perhaps the relationship you developed with her thus far was one of friendship and nothing more, yet her persistence that never strayed too far from your mind seemed to you that she had become reminiscent of something greater than a platonic figure.

In any case, you had to muster the ability to ask your dad in the most nonchalant manner you could if it were possible for you attend Sunday’s service.

You did it in a way that did not make it seem to him that you were about to become a familiar face in the church, but rather that someone had simply happened to ask you for help during the last service and wondered if you might be able to attend the next — which is quite literally what you told him.

It wasn’t a lie.

Not even when you said that it was a young woman who was studying to become a novitiate at the convent that was curious about the choir and the other volunteers and had asked you about it last week, because Wanda did truly ask about the choir and the other people who volunteered at the church once.

But that wasn’t at all the reason why you wanted to attend the service that Sunday.

“Y/N,” a voice called in a hushed tone when you passed the hallway leading up to the choir stairway where your dad had already walked up towards.

You slipped away from the people filing into the pews and quickly came to Wanda’s side.

“Don’t you have places to be aside from fraternising with the guests?” you teased as she took your wrist and led you towards the room you both seemed to like talking in the most.

“After last week’s ordeal with the book, I’ve been put on some kind of probation from participating in the services so I have more time to study independently,” she told you, not seeming particularly worried.

She added, “On Sundays, the convent is rather empty, so they wouldn’t notice that I’m off not studying. Though I could very well say I chose to study in one of the extra prayer rooms here.”

“And I’m sure they remember how much you love the prayer rooms here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at your reference to her having lost the book in one of them.

Wanda faked a laugh in the driest manner you’d ever heard and you nudged her arm to which she told you to stop joking around with her so she could tell you something important.

She closed the prayer room door and sat you down beside her.

From a small bag on the chair to her left, she pulled out a small dictionary.

Here, you were tempted to make fun of her and ask why she was carrying around a dictionary so tiny, but you recalled that she had wanted to ask you about something serious.

She flipped open to a page she had bookmarked.

“Hedonism,” she read aloud. “In philosophy, the belief that pleasure and the absence of pain is the most important principle in determining the morality of an action.”

Wanda looked up at you from the dictionary. “This is what you meant?” she asked.

You nodded.

Curiously, you inquired, “Do you agree with it?”

She looked back down to the page in which had written three definitions of hedonism, the third being the one defined by philosophy.

The first two you could not quite read upside down.

“I have never heard of it in such detail before the time you mentioned it last week,” she said, running her eyes over the words in contemplation, “but it’s interesting.”

“What would be your first endeavour to pleasure, if you had to make a guess?” you asked her.

Wanda ran over the words of the definition again with her eyes, perhaps still deep in thought about it or absently doing so while she contemplated an answer to your question.

“My first?” she repeated.

You looked down at the dictionary page now that she was holding it at a slightly different angle that oriented the letters better for you.

The first definition read, ‘Pursuit of pleasure.’

And the second — you had to tip your head to the side a bit to decipher it — read, ‘Sensual self-indulgence.’

During your deep concentration, Wanda had come to an answer to your question, and it wasn’t until she leaned forward and kissed your unsuspecting lips that you realised she had even stopped looking at the page.

It was the uttering of her muffled words against your lips that triggered something deep within you, perhaps equally as restrained as her own.

An unfinished sentence, but one on its own nonetheless.

‘I want…’ she had uttered, breathless and with one hand cupping your cheek and feeling with the pads of her fingers the softness of your skin.

With that, you hastily reached forward and grasped at her ass, lifting her from her seat and stripping her down so she was in nothing but her undergarments.

The paths of your nails streaked red against her pale skin while you devoured her every step of the way, your lips following every inch of skin that became exposed to you while your hands made quick work of unzipping her dress and unbuttoning her blouse.

She sighed when you kissed her breasts and squeezed your hands around her waist and hips, taking her selfishly and finally spreading her legs and sitting her down in your lap.

“Are you…” you began between breaths, pausing to figure out your wording and sitting back in your seat to look at her. “Have you had sex?”

Wanda giggled, finding your question amusing. “Of course I have,” she replied and took your hands and placed them on her hips again.

“Cocky,” you jested, hooking your thumb under the clasp of her bra and releasing it so it snapped against her back, causing her to arch her body into you with a soft gasp. “Thought you might’ve been abstinent or something.”

“I don’t mean to be cocky,” she said in a low voice. “But I am certainly not abstinent.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you choose to be.”

“I choose to be,” you said with conviction. “So for whom should I be jealous, then?”

“College students.”

You gasped superficially.

“You fuck college students? Exclusively?”

“No!” she laughed. “I mean I haven’t been very active since my time in college.”

“Haven’t had sex since college?”

She corrected, “I didn’t mean that either.”

“So what did you mean?”

“This conversation is like pulling teeth.”

“Why? You want me to fuck you hard against this floor right now, baby?” you asked. The very crudeness of your words, albeit teasing, made Wanda’s breath hitch, and so within that reaction you found her first tell. “No foreplay or anything?”

“This isn’t foreplay?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is?” she asked though sounding slightly pouty about it.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re all turned on and impatient from just that. Teasing gets you off?” you pressed. “Didn’t even have to be told how I wanna see your gorgeous ass bruise when I fuck your cunt from behind like you’re my sick little fucktoy whore?”

Her hips twitched.

“Y/N…” she muttered, perhaps out of impatience or forewarning for how you were teasing her, either way you could not tell and weren’t very rushed in trying to figure it out.

You pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts, slapping it lightly with your fingers and causing her to gasp before pinching one of her sensitive pink buds.

There would be no indulging her past what you were willing to indulge; you were careful not to touch her more than what was intentional.

You bucked your hips up under the guise of adjusting your seating, grinding your stiff cock against the soaking panties which were now beginning to soak your pants.

Her cunt was sensitive beyond the thin fabric, causing the strap to rub her perfectly through her soft, swollen folds; you could practically hear how sticky she was without even looking.

“What is that?” she quickly asked, looking down between her thighs. She tried moving back to get a better look, but you quickly held onto her hip with your other hand and pulled her harshly back to her original position, making her throbbing clit rub directly onto your cock.

A strangled yelp was breathed past her lips.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, you understand?” you told her.

She nodded.

“Everywhere else in this building, there is only one God, but here in this room, I am yours. You will listen to what I tell you and take what I give you, even if it hurts. You’ll be grateful that I make you hurt as much as you will when I give you pleasure.”

In spite of everything, Wanda repressed a tiny smile and said, “You’re scary when you’re authoritative with me.”

You laughed through your nose and replied, “I can get scarier.”

Her smile widened into a grin and Wanda’s hand came to the back of your neck when you leaned forward and kissed her, one arm circling around her waist and carefully slipping her off your lap as you stood from your seat.

“We’ll get caught,” she voiced concern against your lips.

“Then be the lookout.”

You made sure she didn’t trip on her way up to the podium, and soon you had her chest laid flat against the lectern and facing the front doors, the shadow of the large crucifix behind the both of you casted against the red carpet from the morning sun shining from behind the stained glass.

Wanda listened as you unzipped your pants and when she made an attempt to turn her head and look at what you were doing, you put your other hand against her upper back and pressed her back down, reducing her line of sight to your face and shoulder and nothing else.

Her clothed cunt was prodded at, the stiff tip of your strap finding her hole through her panties and nudging at it teasingly. She groaned impatiently and reached back to take hold of your hand, to grab onto anything and urge you forward.

In response, you spanked her harshly and made Wanda yelp out in surprise and wince.

“You dirty, impatient slut,” you spat.

She immediately whimpered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

That satisfied something in you that you hadn’t even known you wanted, and you were more than happy to share in that satisfaction.

You hummed and tucked a finger under the waistband of Wanda’s panties, making her twitch impatiently while also doing her best to listen to her orders. Then you laid your hand flat against her lower back, rubbing her supportively and making a warm flush form across her face.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Wanda?” you asked, looking up her bent-over half-naked body to the back of her head.

She nodded.

“Good girl,” she confirmed with a nod.

Gently, you squeezed her ass and danced your fingers up to the waistband of her panties that you finally pulled down, exposing her gorgeous, glistening cunt.

It took just as much resistance from you not to shove your cock right into her as much as it took Wanda to not thrust her hips back and grind her clit against your strap.

“Why don’t you tell me all you’ve been studying about the last little while?” you said, running a hand down her ass and sliding a thumb into her pussy, feeling heaps of pride with the way you slipped inside with no resistance.

She was incredibly wet and so, so warm.

Distracted by the way your thumb probed shallowly at her hole, giving her just enough pleasure to make her throb but just short of enough to satisfy her entirely, it took Wanda a few moments to regain her focus before she finally asked, “S-Studying? About what?”

“You’re a smart girl, Wanda,” you encouraged, slowly sliding your thumb out and grazing the pad of it lightly over her swollen slit and across the hood of her clit. “Methods on how to be a proper nun. For example, swear yourself to the Lord, abstain from sex, so on and so forth.”

Wanda swallowed and tried her best to focus with the way your thumb began spreading her cunt out, revealing to you the glistening folds of her pussy. She began stuttering and finally squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to be able to recall some of her studies.

“Um, there was…” she uttered and ran her fingers along the edge of the wooden lectern, “living in modesty; not showing off one’s body in any crude manner, not partaking in pleasures of the flesh.”

Three of your fingers began rubbing slow circles against Wanda’s hole, squelching against her dripping cunt and making her tremble and moan shakily.

“And what next?” you asked.

“I-I can’t… Can’t focus…” she told you helplessly.

Your thumb flicked at her clit and Wanda’s body jerked forward.

“One more,” you urged. “Come on. Give me one more good one and I’ll fuck you with my cock. You want that, don’t you?”

Intentionally, you began to focus on her clit now, having your index finger graze it as your middle and ring finger slowly began delving in and out of her sticky hole, purposefully making it even more difficult for Wanda to find the words for herself.

“I want… I want that,” she shuddered, hanging her head and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“So, then, give me one more.”

Wanda’s breathing deepened as she tried her hardest to focus.

With every intention to make it more difficult for her, you reached up with your other hand and pulled her bra down, allowing you access to knead her breast and feel her nipple harden against the palm of your hand.

She whimpered into her arm and bit down on her bottom lip.

You stepped forward and removed your fingers from her cunt to rub the length of your strap through her pussy, wet fingers taking hold of its base and running it through her swollen folds.

“A-Ah, Y/N, please…” she mewled, though neither of you were quite sure whether she was begging for you to stop and allow her to think thoroughly or for you to have mercy on her completely and just fuck her.

“One more,” you reiterated and aligned the tip of your cock with her entrance.

You placed both hands on her hips and began pulling her backwards, fucking her shallowly and watching her pussy take your cock with just as much anticipation as Wanda was struggling to withhold.

She hugged around you beautifully and it was truly only the tip; you couldn’t wait another moment to fuck her until she was begging for you to fuck her until it hurt.

“A-Another,” she finally trembled out, “is to be, by nature, a woman of submission, to worship your God and seek no amount of personal domination over–”

Fully satisfied with her answer and terribly impatient yourself, your fingernails dug into Wanda’s hips and you jerked her ass back against you, forcing her to take your entire cock in one swift movement.

She cried out and you wrapped a hand around her waist, running your nails down her side and feeling an inexplicable need to mark her, to cause her pain, to reduce her to a whimpering trembling, bruised mess so cock-drunk that all she’d feel for the next three days is the aftermath of being rough-fucked like a slut.

“Hit me, please, daddy,” she begged, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the lectern and arching her back.

So you did — repeatedly.

You spanked Wanda over and over, having the sound of your palm meeting her ass echo through the room and only reiterating to the both of you how she was much less of a nun or a student or any reflection of purity, but a braindead nympho whore good for nothing but getting her pussy fucked raw.

She was a loud fuck, crying out in whimpers and moans and other strings of partially-comprehensible words telling you how good your cock felt and how much she loved getting fucked by you.

The playing organs and belting choir playing during the service muffled Wanda out, but Jesus Christ, if any of them out there had been able to hear her getting fucked down the hallway, they might just think for a moment that it was the calling of an angel or at least something in some way divine.

But none of them would ever know what it looked like to fuck Wanda from behind, pulling her up with their hand around her neck so you had access to slap her face and spit into her mouth like you could, pinching her clit and fucking her through to her third orgasm.

How beautiful she looked, sweaty and a mess with her long brown hair fanned out and stuck in strands against her back, crying out in equal parts pain and pleasure and finding herself incredibly pleased by being used like a filthy object.

And you’d make sure no one else could get the chance to see the sight but you.

“I’m gonna come again, Y/N,” she cried, breasts pressed against the cold wood of the lectern and arms pressed against her back. “This is my last, please, I can’t take anymore.”

You let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her from the lectern. She was arched at a slight angle so your arm could assist in continuing to fuck her, but she was now much closer, and she was now able to loll her head back against your shoulder.

“This is the closest thing a slut like you will ever get to heaven, angel,” you told her, kissing her temple. “Make your God proud and come on my cock, filthy bitch.”

Wanda reached back and held onto you for support while her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting as a silent cry escaped her, her third and final orgasm coming over her without mercy.

You squeezed at her breast and leaned your head down and bit at her shoulder and up the back of her neck, getting in as many markings of your ownership as you could.

She sighed out and uttered your name, to which you ran your hands up her stomach, one hand moving up to her face and gently tilting her head over so you could kiss her lips.

Her knees buckled out and you carefully set her down on the floor before sitting down beside her. Wanda panted heavily into your chest, one hand on your knee and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder.

You had your arms around her waist, rubbing her back supportively and whispering in her ear words upon words of how beautiful she looked, how good she’d been for you, then soon confessing how much you’d been thinking of her over the last few weeks, how much of your mind she occupied and how much of your time you spent thinking of her.

Wanda liked hearing that last part most, but she particularly enjoyed when you told her how it felt to masturbate to her, to imagine her looking up at you and choking on your cock at your final point of release, and how really being with her was plenty more enjoyable and, quite frankly, more beautiful than you ever could’ve fantasised about on your own.

The both of you were on your knees, sweaty with the labour of sex and kneeling in each other’s arms at the foot of the towering crucifix, whispering and giggling to each other all the equally sweet and dirty confessions you could exchange before the service was over.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen #heliumknife

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thebimbopalace · 14 days

Text

ᡣ 𐭩 blurb: finals week has put you through the wringer but luckily your handsome, wonderful, caring boyfriend has a special treat for you.

wc: 1k

ᡣ 𐭩 tags: fluffy fluff, sfw, older bf!nanami kento x fem!reader, established relationship, age gap (reader: early twenties, nanami: late twenties), reader’s in college, feminine pet names, teeny angst, one kiss, self-indulgent cause i wanna be loved like this

"keep those eyes closed hun," kento's honeyed voice hits your eardrums as his large hand envelopes yours. he guides you to. . .god knows where, all you know is that you're outside. the soft, calming breeze flows through your hair gently blowing your flowy pink spring dress behind you.

his eyes scan your beautiful ensemble and he thanks whatever deity that's in the sky that you happened to walk into his life one friday afternoon. "are we there yet ken?" you inquire excitedly as you tighten your grip on his hand. he smiles at your excitement "almost," as he tries to stifle a chuckle at your cuteness.

his free hand goes the the small of your back moving you in front of him as you both walk to this destination he spoke of earlier. his expensive cologne invades your nostrils and your body immediately relaxes at the close proximity. "can you at least tell me where we're going?" trying to coax it out of him. "then it wouldn't be a surprise now would it?"

a pretty pout graces your glossed lips as you turn your head to scrunch your already closed eyes at him in a glare. "over here pretty girl," kento teases noticing you turned your head in the wrong direction. you follow the sound of his voice and turn your head in the correct direction of his face, adorable pout still adorning your lips.

"don't pout baby, i promise you'll love it," he chuckles as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. your pout is replaced by a small smile that effectively melts kento's heart into a puddle of goo. you let him lead you to this mystery he's set up. the walk is silent as you take in the sounds of nature. the rustling of the grass as the light air rakes through it, the birds chirping along with the trickle of water in the distance.

you haven't felt this calm in months. college has been a thorn in your side for a while and now that you took all your finals, you're agonizing over your final grades, wanting nothing more than to pass. kento knows this. he's seen how hard you've worked. hours of studying, late nights, and those stressed tears that broke his heart with each stream down your cheeks.

he'd catch each escaped drop with the pads of his thumbs as you were nestled in his lap in a comforting hold. in his arms, you knew nothing would harm you, especially sunday 11:59 pm due dates. and when you submitted your last final exam yesterday, he knew he had to do something big for his special girl. his only girl.

"okay, stop," he utters and your feet come to a halt. you feel the sun kissing your skin as you stand next to kento waiting with nervous-excited butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "open your eyes, baby," he whispers. his candied voice filling your senses increasing the jittery feeling in your gut.

you open your eyes, pupils adjusting to the sunlight and what you see takes your breath away.

a picnic. a beautiful picnic assembled on a vast green field beside multiple tall apple trees. a white plaid picnic blanket is laid flat with various foods. gourmet sandwiches arranged scrumptiously on a sliver oval platter, a full charcuterie board that includes various deli meats, crackers, cheeses, and fruits, a bottle of wine alongside two long-stem wine glasses, and a circle-shaped frosted cake with 'you did it pretty girl!' written in red icing.

not to mention the big bouquet of flowers that lay next to the picnic basket. your favorite flowers at that.

"kento," you mutter softly in disbelief. he really knows how to take your breath away. warmth spreads through your cells, filling you with affection for your lover. no matter how many times he surprises you, no matter how many times he shows you how much he loves you, it never fails to make you tear up.

he pulls you smoothly into his embrace, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. you bury your face into the crook of his neck. "wha—when did—," "last week," cutting you off. "i know college has been putting you through so much hun, i jus' wanted to treat you for working so hard, my smart girl," he coos the last part softly then proceeds to pepper kisses all over your head. like he's kissing your overworked brain.

that feeling of love and safety spreads through your veins like molasses. you savor the feeling. "i don't deserve you ken," you mumble quietly hoping he doesn't hear the insecure tilt in your tone. oh, but he did. his hands trace the curve of your waist sliding up until they reach your cheeks. he cups them in his calloused palms, thumbs stroking the apples of them.

"nonsense sweetheart. not only do you deserve me, but you deserve the world. and i'm going to give it to you, from now until my last breath." loving but determined. nanami kento in a nutshell. and that makes any remnants of insecurity vacate your mind. to prove his point, kento leans in and presses his soft lips against your glossy plump ones in a tender kiss.

not one of lust, not one of eroticism, one of affection. a kiss that says 'you are my love, my heart, my soul, my everything.'

he pulls back, interlocks your fingers in his, and guides you to the picnic blanket. you move to sit down, but not before he places a pillow below you so you don't have to sit on the hard ground. a gentleman through and through. "c'mon hun, can't let this food go to waste, can we?" as he sits on a pillow next to you.

"not with our appetites," you chuckle as you grab a cracker off the charcuterie board and poke a toothpick into a slice of ham. kento laughs with you as he gazes at you fondly. he believes this is where he's meant to be. on a blanket, with you, eating and drinking as the horizon turns orange in front of you both.

and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#✎ᝰ. ( signed your majesty ) !#nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami fluff #kento fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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bau-muffin · 22 days

Text

“Live Mas”

Word count: 6343

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, dbf!Hotch if you squint

Content warning: oral sex, fingering, p in v sex

Summary: you had a bad week at work, and Aaron suggests you go on a cabin trip. What could possibly happen?

Author’s Note: this is for my friend’s (@rivnxm) birthday! Happy birthday darling, and I hope you have a WONDERFUL day <3 xoxo

“Oh my god, thank you for letting me crash here,” you said, half gratefully, half apologetically, with a bottle of wine in your hand. Aaron raised an eyebrow at you with a half smile from where he was sitting in an oversized armchair, beckoning with his hand for you to set your things down.

“You’re lucky you caught me on a day where I actually got to go home at a decent hour. Jack’s at Jessica’s until Sunday night, and this house sounded a little hollow.”

You sat your bag on the floor unceremoniously beside the couch, the wine on the coffee table, and yourself on the couch, flopping a bit.

He eyed you, and you almost rolled your eyes as you felt him “profile” you.

“Rough day?” Aaron asked.

“Rough week. JD is giving me issues and I can’t stand him! He said my article was frivolous. Frivolous! Can you believe the gall?”

“Isn’t this the same guy who said your use of the word “persnickety” in an editorial was entirely too casual?”

“The one and only bastard.”

“If only he was the only bastard. It would make my job easier.”

You rolled your eyes, “you know what I meant.”

He reached for the wine bottle and pulled out a bottle opener and popped it open, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I do.”

Of course, your friendship with Aaron Hotchner was probably a bit strange. He was in his 40s, a father, and a widower who had been through a divorce, and you were… well, quite a bit younger and not as jaded or cynical.

You were acquainted with him through your father, whose expertise was consulted for a case as a favor to Aaron, and somehow you two clicked and became better friends than he was with your father. You’d met him after your father invited him to a barbecue, and you realized you’d never met a more stoic man, nor one who could wear the hell out of a quarter zip shirt like he did. Did you form a small crush on him? Yes. Did you dare utter it aloud? Hell no. You suppressed the snot out of it.

“You know what I need? I need a vacation. Just… to relax. Maybe become one with nature, let the moss grow on me like a rock.”

Aaron got up to get wine glasses from his wet bar, and came back, sitting down in his chair as he poured the wine in the glasses. “What would your ideal vacation be?”

“Gosh… I love the mountains,” you said dreamily, your chin propped up on your knuckle, “I haven’t stayed in a cabin since… I don’t know, since I lived with my parents.”

He handed you a glass of wine. “I see.”

“You sound awfully pensive, what’s ticking in that head of yours?”

“I was thinking… maybe, we could take a vacation. Just you and me and a cabin in the mountains. A retreat, if you will. Jack’s at Jessica’s, and I have an overstock of days off.”

You took a sip of wine and leaned forward. “Where were you thinking?”

“West Virginia. I’ve rented a cabin before that was about four or five hours drive from here- easily doable for a weekend getaway. We could leave tomorrow after work, Friday, and come back Sunday evening.”

“Why would you come?”

He shrugged. “Keep an eye out on you. Plus, I need a break too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you not believe I can take care of myself at all?”

“I don’t doubt that you can,” Aaron insisted, “I just… I don’t know, I don’t want to risk anything.”

You were aware of his overprotective tendencies, partially because of the horrors he saw at his job, and also because of what happened to his wife. Your eyes and lips softened a little at the layer of concern in his voice. “Well… I guess it’s always more fun with friends.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “You could bring some board games.”

“Are you telling me Super Special Agent Aaron Hotchner is fond of board games?”

“That is not what SSA stands for, and you know it,” he said with a laugh.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in the passenger seat of Aaron’s SUV after work the next day. He had loaded up your bags, snacks, and cooler of drinks into the trunk without much complaint, which surprised you. You were sure he would make the typical sarcastic “traveling light?” comment that most guys did, but it was nothing from him.

“I guess I’m the passenger princess,” you said with a laugh before you popped a gummy worm in your mouth from the bag between your legs.

His eyebrows raised in bewilderment as he looked over at you. “I- if you mean exactly what the term sounds like, yes, I guess you are.” Aaron looked at the road before looking back at you. “Gummy worm, please?”

“I’m surprised Penelope hasn’t taught you more internet slang,” you said as you handed him a red and green gummy worm.

“She taught me what “rizz” and… um… “slay” means. That was too much for me.” He popped the worm into his mouth. You studied the side of his face for a second before he glanced over at you. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a gummy man.”

“I love gummies. If Ronald Reagan ate jellybellies to concentrate on ruining our country, then I eat gummies to help save it. It’s not so great for my physique, though.”

“I like your physique,” you blurted.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t say anything as he turned his attention to the road, though even your view of the side of his face didn’t hide the small smirk.

“You’re smug,” you said, teasingly accusatory.

“I don’t get many compliments on my physique nowadays- give me a minute or two to stew in it.”

“It- it kind of reminds me of Atticus Finch. You know- from To Kill a Mockingbird?” You said ramblingly.

“Are you saying I’m Gregory Peck?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he had that damn smirk on his face.

“I-“ you paused for a moment before lifting the bag of gummy worms comically, inspecting the back of it. “What level of alcohol content is in this anyways?”

“Hopefully none, considering I’m driving us, and you gave me one.”

“You’re a lightweight if all it takes is a gummy worm to get you tipsy- but there is none, you are very astute, Aaron.”

By the time you guys drove up the winding lane to the cabin, you were exhausted. You planned on taking a nap as soon as you hauled your luggage in, and you had told Aaron as much about fifteen minutes before the estimated arrival time. It was nightfall anyhow.

“I’m the one who drove, and you’re exhausted,” he mused with a smile as he carefully set some luggage on the porch.

“You’re more than welcome to take a nap too, if you’d like,” you said with a soft scoff as you waited by the door for him to open the cabin, “I’m sure there’s more than enough space for you to lay your weary head.”

“I’m sure there is,” Aaron said with a small smile as he opened the door to the cabin, with the instructions that the owner had given. When you lugged the cooler and snacks in, the smell of wood met your nose.

“This makes me so nostalgic,” you said breathily, carrying your load to the kitchen.

It was a medium sized cabin, so the living room, which featured a nice fireplace, and the kitchen were all in one open space. You didn’t study it much further as you began loading your drinks and food onto the counters and into the fridge, and Aaron began pulling in suitcases and toiletry bags.

“I’ll check the layout, and you can decide which bedroom you want to stay in,” he explained.

“Be quick about it, I need to get my blanket and pillow,” you said lightheartedly.

“Yes ma’am,” he said sarcastically before venturing further.

You cleared your throat when you realized the formal address made you feel something low in your stomach, but you tried to ignore it. You continued putting things away, then you turned and Aaron was standing there, his brows creased.

You rolled your eyes as your hand landed on your chest by instinct. “God, you scared me.”

He ignored you. “We have a problem.”

“What is it? It’s not a leak, is it?”

“If only. I could fix that. No, it turns out I booked a cabin with only one bed.”

“Oh-“

“However, I can probably sleep on the couch. If it makes you feel better, we can take turns.”

“Aaron, no, take the bed. Not to make you feel old, but your back-“

“My back is fine,” he said gruffly, “I sleep on my couch at home all of the time.”

“Aaron…”

“Don’t ‘Aaron’ me,” he said with a tiny smile, “I insist. Besides, you’re tired, and it’s almost time to go to sleep for the night anyway.”

“You damn smooth lawyer fbi agent,” you muttered as you moved to carry your stuff to the adjacent bedroom, “you make a good argument.”

“I know I do. Now, go get some rest. We can start planning the itinerary tomorrow morning.”

“What makes you think I won’t just sleep in until lunch time?” you asked sassily.

“Then I suppose that’s your prerogative.”

You moved to give him a hug, setting your bags down. “We’ll see. Good night.”

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“I hope they do,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Good night.”

You thought you heard an amused hum behind you as you tote everything to the bedroom. It was cute- a queen sized bed with a nice quilt on it that had an adorable design featuring bears, a large dresser that looked hand carved, and side tables with rustic lamps that had antlers for shades.

The bathroom was a decent size, and you found that the shower looked like a dream. But when you looked out of the sliding door where there was evidently a deck… you were surprised to see a hot tub. A hot tub, but not two bedrooms, you mused.

Then you saw the mountains, lit faintly by moonlight, and you gasped, awe filling you as you studied the range, your eyes tracing every pinnacle.

But after you put on your cotton pajamas and brushed your teeth and showered, you slid under the covers, the weight of the quilt settling nicely on you, and you realized- you can hear every damn scampering and skittering creature in the woods. The crickets that once seemed to be a comforting constant now sounded more ominous, and the frogs that were croaking innocently seemed to take on an edge.

You scrolled on your phone for a while, all of the lamps turned off and your face illuminated by the screen. But your brain was not winding down, and you were not sleepy. You set your phone on the side table, and turned from the window, your face towards the door, and closed your eyes.

No bueno. Those critters and the chirping and the croaking and various skittering wouldn’t let you sleep.

It took about two hours before your resolve melted and you got up out of bed.

As quietly as you could, you padded to the kitchen- you had not made it to the fridge well before you heard Aaron’s groggy voice saying your name and then, “are you okay?”

You could barely see his head peeking over the back of the couch, pointed away from the kitchen.

“I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d get some water. Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

You paused, wondering if you should admit the embarrassing truth. “The noises outside.”

“Someone’s not accustomed to the great outdoors and being away from highways and interstates,” he said a tad bit teasingly.

“I’m not,” you admitted as you filled a cup with water.

“C’mere.”

You sipped the water. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to help you go to sleep.”

You set your cup on the counter. “And your method would be…?”

“Stop asking so many questions and just c’mere,” he said, a tad bit exasperated.

“Okay dad,” you said sarcastically as you ventured towards the couch.

Aaron was half laying on the couch, his elbow propping himself up. His legs were covered by a thin blanket, but he was wearing a slightly tight green t-shirt with the Schweppes logo on it that made you bite your lip. You could clearly see an outline of his chest and the small chub of his belly even only lit by the moonlight through the window, and it was… well, he was an attractive man and you’d never felt a greater impulse to bury your head into someone’s chest before. You ignored your baser instincts.

“I’m here,” you say, almost sounding annoyed, your hands on your waist. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flitted over your pajamas.

“Sit on the couch with me. Maybe we can watch something until you fall asleep.” He sat up and patted the seat next to him.

“Were you not asleep when I came in?” You sat down beside him, and he threw part of his blanket over your lap.

“I’m a light sleeper because I’m constantly listening out for Jack. Or my phone, for the bureau.” He put his arm behind your head on the back of the couch. “You can lean into me, if you want, you know.”

Your head instinctively laid on his shoulder. “Aaron, I’m still befuddled why you would ask me to go to a cabin with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… our friendship is so unlikely anyways. You’re… frankly, middle aged. We’re in totally different areas of life. You have more… experience.” You cleared your throat nervously. “In life I mean.”

His eyebrows raised but he said nothing as he turned the TV on. Of course it was George Lopez.

“You make my life feel a little lighter,” Aaron said finally. “I love having you around and…” he studied his lap for a moment. “I would probably consider you my best friend. I’ve told you things I… I hadn’t told my team for… for a while. Maybe ever.” He looked up at you with a small smile. “You drag it out of me without saying a word.”

You stiffened a little at being called best friend, but you felt his eyes studying you keenly.

“And what do you want me to say? Call you my father figure?” You said teasingly.

“God, no,” he said almost a little too emphatically, cringing, “We’re definitely two adults. I don’t want that sort of… dynamic. Besides, I am way too young to be your dad.”

You grinned a little, but your eyes started to droop closed.

Aaron shifted so that you could lay more comfortably, but soon, despite the canned laughs from the TV, he too drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, you did not expect your pillow to feel so warm or firm. Your hand patted around, and you felt a moment of panic course through you.

You opened one eye to realize that your pillow was none other than the chest of Aaron Hotchner. Your face was buried into his chest and your cheeks flushed at the thought of it. You patted one more time to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Somewhere in the night, you guys had laid down, and your legs were tangled with his, your back against the back of the couch and Aaron facing you, kind of… pinning you.

“Having fun there?” His voice said softly, though a smile was evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry-“ you scrambled to sit up but he shushed you gently.

“Don’t worry about it, we were asleep. It’s not like you could have helped that.”

“Still-“

“I am not going to tolerate you blaming yourself for something so innocent and harmless,” Aaron said sternly, his voice deepened by the morning grogginess. It was too early in the morning for you to need to clutch your legs together. Your resolve or the lack thereof was embarrassing, really.

“Is this how you talk to your agents?” You asked teasingly.

“Yes,” he admits, “I have had to remind my agents that sometimes things don’t go as planned on missions, and it’s not always their fault. Some of them take it hard.”

You leaned your head back against his chest, and his hand moved to the small of your back.

“Do you think…” you started but then hesitated.

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think it would be inappropriate if we flipped so that I’m… you know, on your chest?”

No words were spoken; you felt his strong arms move you, and you were laying on his chest.

“I take that as a no,” you murmured. His chuckle rumbled within his chest underneath you.

“We’re friends, we can take it, right?” Aaron said, almost cryptically.

You attempted to sit up, but when you realized how… intimate that felt, you laid back down. “I really don’t think you’ve been telling me the whole truth,” you said daringly. You looked up at him and you could see his arched eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“We have some sort of tension, and I need to know if you feel it too.”

“Tension?”

“Don’t play dumb, Aaron.”

He said your name, and it was followed by a second of hesitance.

“Aaron. We’re both adults here,” you said pleadingly.

He looked down at you, his eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t explain what you saw in those dark eyes of his, a vulnerable yet guarded fortress that you could occasionally peer into like a dollhouse. He looked so… conflicted. Like he wanted something that was well within reach, but fear or uncertainty was holding him back.

Aaron easily could have leaned down and kissed you. He knew that.

But instead he said, “do you want coffee? I brought the coffee beans you said you liked and a grinder.”

You could have pushed further but you didn’t. “I do, yeah. I probably need to change for the day anyway.”

After you awkwardly scrambled away from him, you sat in the bedroom on the bed for a couple of minutes after undressing down to your underwear to stew on what could have happened. Why didn’t he kiss you? You could have sworn he was going to but stopped himself. Why was he forbidding himself from something he wanted, that he could have enthusiastically?

When you did finally reemerge (dressed of course), you smelled the coffee perking in the coffee pot provided by the cabin owners.

“Did you sterilize that thing?” You asked him worriedly, sending a look to where he was leaning against the counter, texting on his phone.

“I did, don’t worry,” Aaron reassured you, looking up at you from his phone with a smile, “I know how you are about sterilizing kitchen items.”

“I am not risking a brain eating amoeba even for you, Hotchner.” You sat down at the kitchen bar with a sigh.

Stealthily, you scanned his outfit- a brown and orange plaid flannel shirt, rolled up to the forearms, and khaki pants. God forbid he wears jeans even away from the office, you smiled to yourself.

“Apparently everyone at the office is making bets about why I went on leave.” Aaron slid his phone into his pocket as he began pouring coffee into a mug.

“What are the reasons given by them?”

“Morgan is saying that I sprained an ankle and didn’t want to risk mandatory leave. Rossi says I’m finally gaining my wits and letting loose for a weekend and getting ‘shitfaced.’ Garcia is saying I’ve eloped and went to Paris. Emily and JJ have decided not to bet but are keeping up with the money.” He placed the mug in front of you on the bar. “Prepared just the way you like it.”

You sipped it, holding the mug with both hands. “This is perfect.”

“As many times as I’ve picked up your order from the cafe, I ought to know it by heart.” He picked up his own mug and sipped on it, his strong hand wrapped around it as though he could crush it, and you felt something filter through you. The curvature of his hands, the strength evident in the veins and his fingers- but the way they were holding the fragile mug, carefully and cautiously picking it up and placing it down again.

The way his lips rested on the rim, his throat gulping slightly with every drink- there was something so vulnerable and intimate about watching him drink, even though you’ve seen each other drink a million other times. And yet, you began feeling a little green.

Aaron lowered his mug to look at you.

“You look like you’re a million miles away. Not to mention you’re staring.”

“Mm? No, um… I’m okay.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He was a profiler. Why bother hiding anything from him.

“I’m jealous,” you blurted.

His eyebrows raised until his forehead wrinkled. “Jealous?” he asked.

It was like a floodgate opened.

“I’m jealous of the coffee mug because you willingly put your lips on and take tender sips from it. I’m jealous because you wrap your hands around it protectively. I’m just… downright envious of the way you hold it, Aaron. Because I know you refuse yourself me.”

After you had said it, you covered your face with your hands. This cabin was way too small for such a confession.

And yet, you felt his hands, still warm from holding the coffee mug, tug your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Aaron said softly, “you’re… right that I refuse myself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re young. I’m so much older than you, I would be holding you back. I have a lot of baggage, for crying out loud, I don’t want to haul that into your life just for you to…” his voice trailed off. It struck you.

“You’re afraid of me leaving you.”

“I know you’re ambitious,” he admitted, “and you should be with someone equally as ambitious. I’m in the phase where I could retire from the FBI to be home with Jack. I’m in my career because it’s… it’s my passion.”

“You’re still thinking about Haley,” you said softly.

“Yes,” Aaron admitted, “I won’t lie and say that what all happened with Haley doesn’t affect how I go forward with relationships.”

“I’m not so ambitious that I can’t appreciate a good man, Aaron. That’s not to say I would quit my job or my pursuits for you, but I don’t think you’d want me to either.”

He took your hands in his. “I wouldn’t. I like you just as you are. You and your work drama, the way you’re so finicky about certain things but carefree in others- driving you to the mountains may have been the highlight of the trip because as soon as ranges came into view, your nose was stuck to the window, and I’m almost certain you’d still see your nose print on the glass. The way you adore people and the little things in life… I’ve never been able to master that, but it comes so effortlessly to you.”

The revelation hit you like a nerf bullet to the forehead out of nowhere. “You notice those things?”

“I do.”

“You know… the drive up doesn’t have to be the highlight,” you said a little teasingly.

“And what are you suggesting?” A small smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m suggesting we either get this out of our systems and forget it ever happened, or we start something that we can’t finish without one of us breaking our heart.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron said quietly.

You didn’t have to think before you pulled him closer by his unbuttoned flannel, and your lips wavered half an inch away from his. His eyes flitted down to look at your lips before gazing into your own eyes.

“I’m so sure,” you said breathlessly.

That was the only cue he needed before he closed the distance between you, his lips landing on yours softly before they sought your lips like he was scouring for water in a desert. His arms pulled you out of the bar stool and onto your feet, his hands settling on your back on and around your waist. The old man had it in him, anyone would have to admit it.

Not too old for surprises, apparently, as he gripped you and hoisted you onto the counter. You squealed a little, and you could hear him chuckling. Your hands went to his shoulders, and your legs hooked around his waist.

His hands held your face on either side and pulled you in closer. If he could inject himself into your skin, you know he would.

You playfully nipped, pulling his lip between your teeth and sucking on it, eliciting a groan from Aaron that made you grin as you continued kissing him.

Your tongues waltzed together in intricate circles, and you felt his hands ease to your bottom as they splayed out to support you.

“What do you think you’re doing,” you murmured. He grinned like a cat who got the milk.

“I’m about to take you to the bedroom, and we’re about to make love. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

“Carry on,” you said lightly, your lips against his neck as he toted you to the bedroom.

It wasn’t long before your back hit the mattress as he laid you down carefully.

“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” you quipped with a smirk as you looked up at him. Aaron chuckled as he tugged off his flannel and threw it to the side.

“I have to be at least a little fit to be in the FBI. Besides, I’m not that old. Now, Rossi…”

“You are not about to mention Rossi before an intimate moment,” you interjected, half incredulous and half amused.

“Sorry, sorry. But point being, I’m not exactly ancient, and my muscles haven’t completely disintegrated.” His T-shirt was soon discarded, and flung it to who knows where.

Your eyes roved over his muscles, and the sight of them made you want to salivate. He wasn’t what most would consider “ripped,” but his muscles were defined while also having a little bit of a tummy. You wouldn’t change a thing about him.

“They haven’t disintegrated,” you agreed with a small smile.

Aaron leaned down over you. “Do you mind if I relieve you of your clothes?” He asked teasingly.

“Be my guest,” you murmured lazily.

He took his time, pulling your sweatpants down and disposed of it, tugging off your baby tee shirt next. You could see him visibly gulp as he studied your bra and panties.

“Now, before we go forward…” his finger was hooked on the waistband of your panties, playing with it, “are you sure you want this? Absolutely sure?”

“I’m absolutely sure, Aaron, I swear.”

“At any time, if you want to stop, please tell me,” he said earnestly, “it’s absolutely necessary for you to know that we can stop if you don’t want to go any further. I don’t care how far into it we’ve gone, if it’s any less than enthusiastic then we timeout.”

“You’re precious, you know that?”

Aaron almost looked horrified. “You better tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this from a partner.”

You nibbled on your lip. “You’re just very thorough about it. Usually a simple “uh huh” suffices.”

“Sweetheart, like I said, I want nothing less than enthusiastic consensual sex. It’s just important to me.”

“Then you’ve got it,” you smiled up at him.

His hand fished under your back to unhook your bra, and when he pulled it away from your chest, you swore he was in awe like some people are of a sunset.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful, baby,” he said breathlessly.

You felt yourself flush and it traveled well into your chest area, and he chuckled, amused, as he kissed the nipple of your left breast, feeling the heat against his lips.

“You’re adorable when you blush like that,” Aaron said warmly.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and freed you of them. The cold air hit you and you squirmed, but he surged into action, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. The noises he made, almost sounds of desperation, turned you on almost as much as his mouth on your breast.

His hand began kneading your other breast, and you breathed heavily.

“Fuck,” you muttered, a shot of lightning down your back, “you’re so good at this.”

Aaron moved away from your nipple and smirked at you. “Oh, do you mean that I’m… experienced?”

“Shut up and suck a tit,” you groaned, your hand going to your face in embarrassment as he chuckled.

“Did you really think I missed that earlier?”

“Not really, I was just hoping.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

Your hand went to your clit, and you began rubbing it in soft circles with your index and middle fingers, and Aaron resumed sucking your breast, transitioning to the other one. Of course you’ve masturbated before, but the combined sensation of him on your nipples and your own fingers was sending you over the edge as you lifted your hips to ride them, moaning in his ear.

When you felt that sweet release, your head tilted back, and you relaxed. Honestly, you could have slept, but Aaron clearly had different ideas.

“My turn, pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin?” You asked in surprise.

“Listen, I was trying something,” he said a little defensively, “but the point being that I want to make you feel good. You’re already so wet.”

He took your hand, pulling it away from you, and he sucked the cum off your fingers, his larger hand engulfing around your hand. He finally pulled your fingers out with a loud “pop.”

“Sweet- just like you, actually,” Aaron said smugly.

“And I’m sure you’ve got a sweet tooth in your head somewhere,” you replied as you watched his head approach between your thighs.

If only you could tell the version of you that had seen Aaron at the barbeque and thought he was handsome “for a man his age” that eventually his black hair would be seen bobbing between your legs with his tongue delving into your pussy. That version of him that had been wearing his brown quarter zip, looking down at you while your dad introduced you two. Who would have thought?

And fuck, that man was talented with his tongue. Was tying cherry stems with your tongue mandatory in the FBI? If it wasn’t, it should be. But otherwise- that G-Man knew his way around the G-Spot.

He made your insides feel like they had been melted down, sitting low in your stomach as the coil tightened. If this was just his tongue…

Aaron lapped at your depths, making those same desperate noises he had been making earlier. You moaned, your hands searching for something to grasp, and they found his shoulders. Your hold was so strong, it left red marks behind on his pale skin.

Your own guttural noises, some you hadn’t been sure you ever made before, melded with the sound of the wet noise of him eating you out, and you were suddenly so glad that you were in a cabin on a winding road.

“Aaron,” you said breathlessly, your chest heaving beautifully, “I’m ready, I think I’m ready for… for you.”

He lifted his head up at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, although… um… I didn’t bring lube.”

“Mhm… What about protection?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Well… to put your mind at ease, I’m clean, I just got tested a few months ago as part of a physical, and it was after I broke up with Beth. I haven’t… had sex since we broke up.”

“I’m clean too.”

Aaron kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good.”

“Is it… do you think I could…”

He kissed from your belly button up to between your breasts. “Say it with your words, darling.”

“Can I ride you? Please?”

“Far be it from me to withhold pleasure from a princess,” he said smugly. You flushed.

“I’m not a princess,” you protested weakly, not even sounding convinced of your own statement.

“You absolutely are. You’re my princess, at least.”

“Then do the princess a favor and remove your bottoms,” you said coyly.

With a laugh, he stood up from the bed and began unbuckling his belt, and slipped off his pants. You hadn’t taken him for a boxer guy, but you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised. The outline of his dick was visible through his boxers, obviously hard, but when he slipped them off, your mouth gaped a small bit.

You saw the size of his shoes and his nose, you knew what the chances were of him being well endowed. But you didn’t ever really think you’d get to see for yourself. He didn’t look like he was too big, but he certainly wasn’t too small- not terribly long, but certainly girthy.

Absent-mindedly he stroked it, smearing the precum on the head. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Aaron, if you put this off one second longer-“

“Patience,” he stifled a laugh as he laid down on the bed beside her, his hands patting his thighs in a beckoning motion.

You moved to straddle his thighs, and carefully, you lined his dick up with your entrance, and sunk yourself onto it, inch by inch, taking deep breaths as he stretched you. When you fully sheathed him, he groaned as he held your hips, his hands splayed to support you, and your hands on his chest with small soft splatters of hair under your palms.

“Baby, you take me so well,” Aaron breathed. You clenched around him and he groaned again, his head tilted back.

Every time you moved your hips, every time he felt your ass bounce even slightly, he felt he had to fight from finishing right then and there. He truly wasn’t as young as he was, but… you had exceeded his expectations.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, his hold on your hips tightening as you rutted against him.

Your face held sheer determination, but Aaron could see when you were hitting a sweet spot by the look on your face- your eyes would glaze over slightly, and your lips would fall agape. He wished he could capture your likeness and hang it up beside the Mona Lisa- it was art, a wonder of the world.

“Baby, make some noises for me,” he urged, “I need to hear you.”

Your breasts heaved, and you whimpered as you moved up and down on his dick. His hips bucked, and you squeaked at the sudden shift.

“I’m almost there,” Aaron warned you apologetically.

“That’s okay,” you said in between panting.

True to his word, he painted your walls with his cum, and you felt like you were so soaked.

At one point, you stopped bouncing and thrusting, and panted, looking down at him and him looking up at you for what seemed an eternity, his dick still inside of you.

You slipped off of him, and rolled over to lay beside him. He pulled you against his chest, spooning you from behind.

“We really need to clean up,” he murmured against your neck, “but… I could lay here with you for so long, darling. You feel so right in my arms.”

“Ditto,” you said lazily.

Despite the urge to not get up, you both cleaned up and did the usual post sex hygienic stuff. You guys dressed again, and you sat in his lap on the couch, his arm circled around your waist.

“Mm… pretty good for an old man, wasn’t it?” Aaron teased you.

“Shut up, cradle robber,” you muttered, though a wide grin was on your face.

He pinched your thigh as he chuckled.

You both fell silent, the only sound coming from the AC unit whirring on. But there was a tension of a different kind between you two now, a silent undertone of questions.

“Aaron…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said slowly.

“If we could DoorDash Taco Bell?”

Aaron’s face visibly fell and you chuckled as you kissed his cheek. “It is getting close to lunch, but I’m joking. What do you think I’m thinking, hm?”

“The… the ‘what are we’ question.”

“Maybe I was thinking of asking if you would be my sugar daddy,” you said with a straight face. He rolled his eyes, clearly caught on to your sense of humor now.

“It…” he paused. “I know there’s a large age gap between us. But you are… I can’t imagine not being intrigued by your mind. You’re intelligent, and beautiful, and…” Aaron’s eye somehow meandered to your lips, “one of the sweetest women I know. And I would be honored if you would consider being my girlfriend.”

“There’s no consideration needed. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“And my job… my job doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. Obviously this is a relationship we would have to take one step at the time,” you reminded him, “but I understand your job takes you away sometimes. I understand that your situation is unconventional in a way.”

Aaron kissed your forehead. “Did I ever tell you you are so sweet? When you’re not being a snark, that is.”

You blushed, remembering him calling you sweet earlier, after tasting you. “Perhaps once or twice?”

“And Taco Bell?”

“Live Mas, baby.”

“I don’t remember the terminator ever saying that.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that DoorDash would probably take forty minutes to an hour to deliver to you- you had checked this morning. But… What could you guys possibly do to pass the time?

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #dbf!hotch

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