The Royal Box II L.williamson

Princess Treatment

Tara Carpenter x gn!reader

Request: can u write about tara being clingy to the reader. it's like tara wont let go of reader, she follows wherever the reader goes

Words: 1k

Warnings(?): some talks of Tara’s past trauma, honestly it’s just fluff idk what to tell you

“Tara, the love of my life, you can’t come with me to work”

“Why not?” Tara groans, wrapping her arms around your waist in a grip that rivaled a gorilla

“Baby, they hired me. Not me and my girlfriend”

“Being a barista surely can’t be that difficult!“ The younger Carpenter only holds onto you even tighter

“How about this. You can sit in the cafe and watch me work while you finish your studying” You offer, pressing a kiss to her forehead while holding her face in your hands

“Well I can’t study while I’m busy staring at you, babe”

“Would you rather me leave you here?”

“Studying at a coffee shop it is” Tara beams, and you can’t help but roll your eyes with a smile on your face

Work was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary other than Tara not being able to keep her eyes off you, which, you send her multiple glares to do her homework. Honestly, you didn’t really mind how clingy Tara was. You knew what the smaller Carpenter has been through

Coming to the conclusion your girlfriend refused to ever leave your side was due to past trauma, you quickly decided there was no harm in making Tara feel better. “Happy wife, happy life” as they say

So Tara stayed. She stayed until her eyes were heavy. Tara stayed with you until the shop was about to close, and your boss gave you a questioning look and a raised eyebrow. You shrug in response, moving to wake up your sleepy girlfriend

Tara’s eyes flutter open, and you can feel your heart melt at how fucking adorable she is. You could never be able to understand how anyone would willingly try to put her in harms way. A single look from her sent your heart spiraling

A small yawn comes from the brunette’s mouth, making her eyes crinkle just the way you liked

“C’mon, Tar, it’s time to go home” You whisper, trying your best to not wake her too much. You’ve already packed Tara’s school things in her bag by the time she’s awake

Tara does her little grabby hands towards you, and you can hear your coworkers snort at your little interaction. You give them the finger before putting on Tara’s backpack, and also somehow putting on Tara. Her legs wrap around your waist while her arms around your neck. Being close to you was one of Tara’s favorite things

Even in her sleepy and blissed out state the younger Carpenter smiles into your shoulder, inhaling your scent. Tara always associated you with safety. You were there when she cried, smiled, cried some more, and now you were here carrying her to your car like the angel she was. Princess treatment, if you will

But you were okay with being Tara’s knight in shining armor, princess charming, or whatever the hell she wanted. But right now Tara wanted to sleep in your arms. Her brain threatened sleep, but she didn’t want you to be carrying her around like a rag doll. Like she wasn’t already one to begin with

Tara couldn’t recall the night if she tried to. First she was studying with half-lidded eyes, the next she was being carried to your car, and now here she was tucked under your blanket with one of your clean shirts on her body and nothing else but underwear

The bathroom light was turned on in the hallway, and Tara wanted nothing more than to be in your arms again. She missed you quite a lot in her sleep

Against her body’s will, Tara trudged to the bathroom. The wooden floors were cold under her feet, but they were a small price to pay to see you. She could hear your electric toothbrush spin as she neared

Some of the wooden planks squeaked as Tara walked, so you weren’t surprised when she opened up the rest of the door and wrapped her arms around your torso. You spit out your toothpaste, and quickly rinsed out your mouth to start your skincare

“You weren’t in bed, (Y/n/n)…” The younger Carpenter mumbles sleepily

“I’m sorry, Tar. I had to finish up cleaning around the house and my schoolwork”

“It s’okay, I just missed you” Tara yawns

“How about you go back to bed? I’ll be done in a few minutes”

“Mmm… I wanna stay here with you.”

“You’re tired, love. Go to sleep for me?” You try to convince her with a kiss, but it only seems to drive her closer into your back. You sigh in defeat, and Tara knows she’s won when you focus on your skincare again

Tara sways behind you a little, holding onto your stomach like you’ll fly away if she doesn’t. Tara wants to keep you all to herself. She was greedy like that

Tara thinks a few minutes pass? She’s too tired to keep track. Your girlfriend may as well be asleep when you’re finished in the bathroom. You turn off the light, still in Tara’s embrace, and turn around so she’s no longer facing your back

“Wish you were in bed, yet?” You whisper

“No, cause you’re here…” Your girlfriend mumbles again. You’d probably never be able to get over how cute she could be without knowing it. Unfortunately, Tara doesn’t show any signs of moving and you know exactly what she wants

Hooking your arms under her knees, you easily hoist you girlfriend up and onto the bathroom counter. Tara gives you a quick kiss before she nuzzles into the crook of your neck as you carry her for the second time tonight

If Tara made you carry her until the ends of the earth, then so be it. Sore arms were worth it if you got to see your girlfriend smile. You gently place Tara on the bed, yet her arms still wrap around your neck like a tiny koala. A very tiny koala

You have to manually remove her hands from your neck, and you can hear her huff in frustration. You’re quick to make it better by cuddling her, your front to her back. Tara falls asleep again with you on her mind

Enemy [D.M.]

A/N: I get so much inspo from Dani and Nani tbh, but this is for @silverdelirium 🤍

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!virgin!reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: kinda based on this. Enemy Draco fucking virgin reader, leaving her to slip into sub space.

Warnings: NSFW! (+16), virgin reader, dub con, daddy kink, vaginal sex, degradation, praise, oral (f receiving), sub space, choking, crying. Lmk if I missed anything.

The breath was knocked slightly out of you as your body bumped against the side of the tall figure walking in the opposite direction to you. A scowl decorated his face and an annoyed grunt left his lips.

“Watch where you’re going, y/l/n,” he growled, stopping in his tracks to turn towards you.

“Oh, Malfoy, didn’t see you there,” you smirked, angling your head up to look at him as he stepped closer.

“You better watch yourself.”

Your smirk only grew, your bodies so close your chests were practically touching.

“What're you gonna do, huh? Tell your father I bumped into you,” you poked, playing with fire. You knew you’d struck something by the way his eyes blazed and nostrils flared.

A small smirk twitched on his lips, “y/l/n, I’d advise you to shut that little mouth of yours.”

The electricity buzzed all around you, the silence bouncing on the walls of the empty corridor as you stared into his grey stormy eyes.

“Make me,” you whispered smugly.

Draco closed his eyes, shaking his head, “that’s it.”

Before you could process what was happening, Draco had your arm in his grasp hauling you with him. You were pushed into a dusty broom cupboard, one abandoned by Filch many years ago.

Draco shut the door firmly behind him, pushing your body against the dusty wall, pressing himself up against you.

“What're you doing?” you asked, voice strained as you were pressed against the wall.

“Teaching a slutty little brat a lesson.”

You gasped as Draco’s hand snaked around your body, grasping your throat with his large hand, squeezing just enough for it to be felt.

He used his free hand to flip up your skirt, landing a harsh smack right on the smooth flesh.

“Ow, Malfoy!” you tried turning your head, but he only squeezed your throat tighter.

“Shut your mouth, stupid brat…- and you’ll address me as daddy, you got that?”

You tried straining, but to no avail.

“I said, you got that?” he growled right by your ear, pinching your thigh.

“Yes,” you breathed out shakily.

“Yes, what?”

You shut your eyes, “yes, daddy.”

Draco let out a pleased hum, moving your lace panties to the side and running a finger through your folds without warning.

“Such a fucking slut, all wet from being pressed against a wall,” he chuckled sadistically.

Nerves ran through your body and mind, your mouth shut quiet as you listened to the zip of Draco’s school trousers and the clinking of his belt. You let out another gasp as you felt something run through your folds once more before prodding at your entrance.

The nerves clouded your mind and your body tensed right as he pushed into you in one swift motion.

“Ow, Daddy,” you whimpered, knuckles turning white as they balled against the wall.

“Aww, can your slutty little cunt not handle it?” he cooed mockingly.

He thrust his hips against yours, fast deep strokes that hit spots within you, you didn’t know existed.

“Not so smart are you now,” Draco smirked, pulling your head against his shoulder as he kept rutting into you.

You shook your head, the pain bleeding into pleasure and a buzz ringing through your mind.

Draco just laughed, squeezing your throat.

“It hasn’t even been ten minutes and you’re already fucked dumb, dirty little slut.”

You could only moan in response, mouth open and slack as he kept moving his hips against your bottom.

His free hand moved over the front of your body, landing inside your panties; his finger found your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive nub. You jumped at the friction, a whimper tore from your throat and your cunt squeezed around Draco’s cock.

“Daddy, feels weird in my tummy,” you whined, Draco’s fingers speeding up on your clit.

“Such a greedy fucking slut…- cum around my cock then,” Draco grunted, voice strained as he neared his release.

Your legs shook and your body stiffened as you tumbled over the edge, pushed by Draco’s hard thrusts into you. Your knees buckled, but his grip on you kept you up against him, your chest pushed into the wall.

“Can’t even stand by yourself, ‘s fucking pathetic,” Draco growled, his grip on you tight.

With a few more thrusts Draco stilled, filling you up, letting out an outright pornographic groan.

You tried catching your breath, eyes closed and mind fogging like a windshield. It crept its way up your body, filling your mind with static, leaving you unable to focus on anything but Draco and his cock still within you.

He gave your parted lips a peck before patting your cheek and pulling out; a whimper was pulled from your lips, your body stiff in place. Draco moved your panties back over your cunt, keeping in your mixed releases, patting your bum.

“That should keep you in check,” he murmured with a smirk, pleased to watch you speechless, struggling on shaky legs to turn around.

He tucked himself away, giving you a quick look before he left.

You were so confused and out of it, heart stinging as you watched the door close behind him - you felt so useless and used.

.

The static never left, it trailed after you, making everything impossible to hear. A couple of your friends had tried talking to you, but nothing could break you out of the mindset you were in; your friends didn’t think much of it, you just seemed distracted, your eyes slightly out of focus. You didn’t see Draco for most of the day. Your mind was fuzzy, but all of his words still played on repeat, plus a nagging voice that told you, that you needed to find him, to be close to him - you craved him.

Draco watched you, books in your grasp as you made your way down the same corridor as before. You hadn’t seen him, you looked lost and confused, walking without a real destination. Draco smirked slightly, even if confusion did spark within him; you hadn’t even looked at him or acknowledged him, he knew that you were supposed to hate each other, but that didn’t mean ignoring each other.

As your figure grew closer, he moved slightly onto the opposite side of the hallway, so when you eventually went to pass one another he bumped purposely into you. What he didn’t expect was with so much static rummaging through your mind your balance wasn’t fully functional and you lost your footing. The books you held scattered around you as you landed on the ground with a ‘thud’. Your eyes widened and you looked around confused, that was until your eyes landed on Draco, stopped in his tracks, his eyes as wide as yours. At this particular moment, your brain couldn’t piece together why he would be so mean to you, your emotions running at an all-time high.

Draco internally panicked as he saw the tears well up in your eyes, your chin wobbling as you curled in on yourself. Luckily the hallway had been relatively empty, except for the odd student here and there, but that didn’t stop him from quickly walking to your side, crouching down to where you sat on the ground.

“Why are you crying?” he asked softly, instantly recognizing the out of focus look in your eyes, cursing himself for not noticing it before.

You sniffled, looking away from his face, “you’re mean.”

Draco let out a sigh, collecting the books around you and dumping them in his bag, “I know, darling… I know.”

The tears flowed freely down the apples of your cheeks, running down your neck wetting the top of your school shirt. Draco picked up your bag along with his own, hooking his hands under your arms to help you stand.

“Let’s go, love,” Draco said softly, snaking his hand around your waist to lead you toward the dungeon, to his dorm.

You pouted, but followed along with him, ignoring the weird stares you got from your fellow students.

“You’re so mean to me,” you whimpered meekly.

Draco squeezed your waist, holding in a chuckle, “I’m sorry…- but, darling, you’re just as mean.”

You gasped, tears welling up in your eyes once more, “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“No need for tears, princess.”

He shut the door to his dorm, leading you over to his bed, letting you sit before kneeling in front of you, using his thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“We’re always mean to each other… - it’s just for fun,” Draco explained, trying to ease your mind.

You shook your head, “no, I hate it when you’re mean to me…- I just wanna be good for you.”

“Oh, darling girl, you were so good for me,” Draco said, a sympathetic look on his face as he helped your stand.

“- let’s take a bath, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him lead you to the bathroom. You sat on the countertop in silence, watching as Draco filled the tub, putting expensive bath salts and soaps in the warm water.

He helped strip you of your clothing, touching you with gentle hands; his hands trailed up your sides, touching you as if you were made of glass, ready to shatter in his hands any second.

You let out a soft whine as you descended into the tub, the warm water scolding on your cold skin, “ow, too hot, daddy.”

“Shh, baby…- just gotta get used to it,” Draco shushed as he helped lower you until you were properly seated.

You sat silently as Draco washed your hair and body, making sure you were clean and taken care of. You could feel the staticky fuzz in your brain starting to clear, a warm feeling spreading through you as you watched Draco care for you. He went to fetch you a glass of water, making sure you finished the whole thing, smiling proudly as you did.

He stood with a towel open for you, wrapping it around your body, hugging you close. You shut your eyes, breathing in his scent, letting him dry and warm your body.

Draco led you back to his room, finding you a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts, dressing you carefully.

His hands cupped your face, forcing your gaze upon him. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you were still out of it.

“You tired, baby?” he whispered.

You nodded the best you could with your face in his grasp. Draco hummed in acknowledgement, leading you to his bed, drawing the covers for him to get under, pulling you with him. He laid you almost completely on top of his chest, rubbing your back as he felt you relax against him.

“Thank you, Draco,” you whispered.

Draco chuckled lightly, “it’s no problem…- do you always get all fuzzy after sex?”

“I-I…- I wouldn’t know,” you mumbled.

Draco’s movements on your back stopped, his hand frozen in place as he processed your words. He could feel his heart cracking in his chest as he came to the realization; you let him use you, take you.

“What?” Draco asked lowly, using his free hand to angle your face up, forcing you to meet his eye.

“You… Uhm… today was m-my first time.”

The confirmation fully shattered his heart, his eyes softened, but he was lost for words, just staring at you in disbelief.

“It’s okay, Draco,” you reassured, but he shook his head.

“No, it’s not… I’m sorry, it’s not supposed to be like that… if I would’ve known I wouldn’t have done it like that… you- you deserve better than that… better than a filthy broom cupboard,” Draco stuttered, rambling and tripping over his words, guilt swimming in his gut.

You grasped his hand that held your cheek, giving it a small squeeze, “but at least it was you,” you smiled softly.

Draco’s heart melted, confused by your words, yet they made perfect sense.

“Darling girl,” he cooed, stroking your cheek softly as thoughts raced through his mind.

It looked like he was thinking things over, finally coming to a decision before leaning his head down to connect your lips, much to your surprise. You let out a sigh as you relaxed into the kiss; the kiss was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the last time. Draco’s lips moved gently against yours, treating you with the utmost care. His tongue slid into your mouth, moving with yours softly. He grasped your waist to pull you fully on top of him to straddle his hips.

“Let me take care of you,” Draco whispered breathily against your lips.

“Okay,” you nodded, holding onto his shoulder as he held your hips.

He reconnected your lips, using his grip on your hips to help move you, grinding you against him. You let out a shaky breath into his mouth, a small whine tore from your throat as the friction cursed through your body.

“There we go, baby,” he praised, his grip tightening, moving you faster.

In one swift motion, he had flipped you around, laying on top of you between your legs, grinding his hips into yours.

Draco’s hands slid along your body, stopping at the hem of your t-shirt, sliding it off you with skilled hands.

The shirt slid off your figure and just a minute later his boxers you were wearing joined, strewn on the floor carelessly as Draco’s hands kept exploring every inch of your body. His touch left tingles in their wake and you couldn’t help the small whines that escaped your lips, desperate for him to touch you more, to feel you.

He took his time, kissing your face, your neck and down your body slowly, worshipping every inch of you.

You whined when he gently kissed the inside of your thighs, the anticipation built up in you and he smirked, his chest swelling with pride at the state of you.

“Just relax, sweetheart… gonna make you feel good,” he mumbled softly before he attached his mouth to your weeping cunt.

Your whole body twitched back arching and a long moan tore from deep within your chest. You curled your fingers into the green sheets that adorned Draco’s four-poster bed, his tongue lapping away, producing wet sounds echoing throughout the prefects' dorm.

“Mmm, Draco, feels so good,” you whimpered.

Draco kept his eyes on your face, enjoying the way your eyes shut in pleasure and your mouth stood slightly agape. He smirked as your hips started grinding against his mouth, the pleasurable peak building up in your abdomen.

“Tastes so good, sweetheart,” he replied, voice muffled by your cunt.

His fingers dug into your hips, caressing them with his thumps softly as he let you grind against him; your movements turned more frantic and less rhythmic the closer you came to your release.

You couldn’t have held back if you tried, Draco’s tongue on your clit was what pushed you over the edge. Your right hand gripped Draco’s, squeezing it as you came. He used his tongue to work you through your release, revelling in the way you tensed and your body shook from the stimulation.

Draco parted with your cunt, a smile on his face as he wiped the slick from his chin with his free hand, cleaning it off his fingers with a smack of his lips.

He crawled over you, moving your hand with his to lay beside your head, leaning down to peck your lips.

“Think you can take one more, princess?”

You nodded, using your free hand to caress his cheek, leaving a gentle smile on his face.

“Good girl,” he hummed.

He quickly kicked off his boxers, only disconnecting your hands for a moment to remove his shirt before it was interlaced with yours once more.

Before he prepared himself to push into you, he grabbed a pillow from the headboard, tapping your hips for you to lift, placing the pillow under you. He smiled a pleased smile, checking that you were comfortable before he gently ran his tip through your folds, using your arousal as lubrication.

You both let out simultaneous gasps as he pushed in, the pleasure much better than before, but a slight burn still lingered from the stretch. You whined at the intrusion, your eyes shutting.

“Hey hey, sweetheart, look at me… good job… kiss me,” Draco soothed, leaning down to connect your lips to distract you from the slight discomfort - something he wished he’d done before.

You squeezed his hand and whimpered into the kiss, letting the pain turn to pleasure as Draco bottomed out in you, stilling for you to adjust.

After your nod of consent, he began moving his hips, thrusting into you with care and determination.

“Pretty angel,” he whispered, face hovering above yours.

You only moaned softly in response, your brain shutting down, the only thing occupying your thoughts being the feel of Draco’s cock dragging against the walls of your cunt.

Draco’s pubic bone dragged against your already sensitive clit, leaving your brain numb with the pleasure from the overstimulation.

The level of your noises increased with every snap of his hips against yours and your eyes fluttered, yet you desperately tried to keep them open.

“You’re close, baby…- just let go, cum for me,” Draco spoke softly, squeezing your hand and leaning down to meet your lips in a loving kiss.

You tried reciprocating the kiss as best as you could, interrupted now and again by a moan. It only took a couple of more strokes for you to fall over the edge, your free hand reaching up to grasp Draco’s bicep; your nails dug into his flesh as your body tensed, squeezing around his cock.

“Fuck fuck fuck, Draco,” you moaned and whimpered, lips brushing against his.

Draco smiled, his thrusts faster, seconds away from reaching his peak, “gonna cum.”

You whimpered, squeezing Draco’s hand, “please, inside me… need it.”

Draco chuckled lowly, releasing a grunt as he reconnected your lips. You moaned, feeling warmth fill you, Draco’s hips stilled flush against yours. You could’ve cum again just listening to the deep moaning grunts he produced, his body close and connected with yours as if you would disappear if he didn’t stay close.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, voice just above a whisper.

You pecked his lips, moving your free hand up to caress his face, “it’s okay, Draco.”

He watched you, his face twisted as he was considering something, hesitating.

“You hate it when I’m mean to you?”

You were slightly taken aback by the question, his softening cock still inside you.

You nodded softly, “but it was the only way to get you to talk to me…- or notice me,” you blushed, embarrassed by your confession.

Draco’s face softened, even more, something unreadable flashing in his eyes, “pretty baby, that’s not true,” he cooed.

You smiled softly, “maybe we can talk about this when you’re not still inside me.”

Draco laughed, a genuine laugh, “of course, darling… let’s get you cleaned up.”

Hers. | w. maximoff

summary: in which natasha has a hard time staying away from what isn't hers, so wanda decides to teach her a lesson.

warnings: top!wanda, jealousy/possession, voyeurism, fingering

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

masterlist.

It was another one of Tony's exorbitant parties. His mansion, as grandiose as it was, felt suffocatingly small with the number of people packed into the place. Nevertheless, it was classy, and the music was drifting gently in the air with the ambience consisting mostly of laughing and talking and drinking.

Wanda, your girlfriend, had naturally prompted that she would pick out your dress. You were surprised earlier that evening when you walked into your room to see a tight black minidress with a plunging neckline laying on your bed, along with your black heels and necklace. It was surprisingly that Wanda had opted for something so showy and obviously far from modest.

That possessive streak in Wanda was not unknown to you and the rest of the team at that point. While she was never demanding or controlling, she had issues with her jealousy. It was something the two of you had been working on together, and you thought that maybe her picking out this dress for the party was her way of showing that she was confident in controlling her jealousy.

And as far as the night had come, you were right. Wanda had not casted a deathly glance nor harshly squeezed you closer to her all night. Her spirits were high, her laugh echoing in your ears as the two of you talked with Steve and Clint. You were happy that the night was going so well, considering parties weren't your favorite thing in the first place.

You glanced to the glass table that you were all seated around and noticed that both you and Wanda's glasses were empty. Leaning forward, you took the glasses and stood up.

"I'm gonna go grab us some refills," you told Wanda who looked up at you and nodded, grazing her hand over your arm and thanking you.

You could feel Wanda's eyes on you as you walked through the crowd of people and towards the bar. As you approached, you noticed a familiar redhead standing behind the bar making a drink.

"Nat," you greeted her as you sat down on the stool across from her, placing the glasses on the counter. "This Avenger gig isn't working out for you? Decided to take up bartending instead?"

A pair of cool green eyes met yours, her red lips forming a smirk. "The pay is so much better," she joked, her lips breaking into a grin. "Tony bullied the bartender he hired into retirement because he didn't make his drink exactly how he wanted it. And, seeing no one else around here can make a good cocktail, I decided to step in."

She gave a husky laugh which you returned, and you suddenly felt eyes burning into your back. "Want to whip two up for me and missus?"

"Most certainly," she remarked, taking the two empty glasses and rinsing them out as she began making the drinks. You sat there in silence for a moment before noticing her eyes flicker to your dress. "That's a nice dress. Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, I don't remember," you said bashfully, glancing down at the dress as if you hadn't seen it before. You felt aware of your exposed chest and adjusted it when Nat finally looked away. "Wanda picked it out for me."

"Hmm," the redhead hummed as she began shaking the drinks. "Tell her she has excellent taste." You watched her eyes rake over you again, her lips set into a shadow of a smirk.

You blushed, averting your eyes and feeling a little stiff. It was common knowledge that Natasha was flirty to nearly everyone she spoke to, but somehow you couldn't recall her ever looking at anyone else on the team in such a way.

"I don't think Wanda would like to know that," you half-joked as you pulled the short end of your dress downwards, feeling painfully conscious of your looks.

Natasha broke into another velvety laugh and shook her head. There was a gleaming smile on her face, but she pursed her lips and said nothing.

Your curiosity piqued. "What?" you asked with a nervous chuckle.

"Her eyes follow you wherever you go, you know." She looked at you again for a fleeting moment before her eyes moved behind you.

Turning to follow her stare, you caught Wanda's mid-air from all the way across the room. She was leaning against her chair in her all-black suit, legs crossed as Steve talked at her without realizing she probably wasn't listening. Her dark green eyes burned in yours, an unreadable expression inked across her features that you didn't get a chance to analyze before she was turning back to Steve and responding to what he had said.

Sighing, you turned back around to Nat who was giving you an amused look. "I can't say I blame her. If you were mine, I would be hellbent on keeping it that way, too."

A blush rose to your cheeks at the bold way she worded her sentence. You nervously tucked your hair behind your ear and leaned your elbows on the counter. "You shouldn't say things like that. Wanda can read minds."

"Believe me, I'm aware," she said as she finished your drink and slid it in front of you before starting on Wanda's drink. "Ever wonder why she hates me so much?"

You took the drink gingerly, looking at her in confusion as you deciphered what she meant. "What... are you saying she has reason to?"

Nat looked at you with a crawling smirk as she shook the drink. "I'm not saying anything, baby."

Her stare was hot on your figure as you decoded what she meant by that. Was she meaning that she thinks things about you that gives Wanda cause for her jealousy? Was she thinking those kinds of things right then?

The lustful look on your face answered her question. And as you turned to look at Wanda again, you saw that she was staring hard at the floor. Her sharp jaw was clenched tightly, and even from a distance and looking only at the side of her face, you could see a glare of red in her eyes. She was reading Nat's mind, and Nat was torturing her.

You quickly turned back to Nat, growing slightly irritated. "Nat, stop," you whispered. You didn't want Wanda to get the wrong idea that you were flirting back, nor did you want her good mood to be ruined.

"It's hard to stop when you're wearing something like that, doll," she responded, quickly finished Wanda's drink and setting it down beside you. As soon as the glass hit the counter, you felt a presence beside you. You gasped to see Wanda appear beside you, taking the drink almost as soon as it touched the counter.

"Just in time," Wanda remarked, her voice deep and raspy as she sipped the drink. She licked her lips and looked at it thoughtfully. "Not the worst cocktail I've ever had." She set the drink down as she sat on the stool beside you, leaning obviously far to your side. "Definitely not the best one, either."

Nat smirked and leaned her elbows onto the counter as her eyebrow quirked. "I guess my talents lie elsewhere."

You looked between the two, noticing a strained mixture of a smile and a scowl form on Wanda's face as her head tilted, holding Nat's intense stare. You quickly caught on that Wanda was reading Nat's mind again, and Nat was giving her a good idea of what talents she was referring to.

Nat finally broke the silence, leaning up and taking a drink of her own cocktail. "Y/n was just telling me you picked out that dress for her. I told her to tell you that you have good taste, but for some reason she thought that wouldn't be a good idea."

"Oh, really? Well, I think that would have been a great idea." Wanda leaned over and slid her arm over your lower back, and you stiffened when her hand dipped down to cup your ass. "It is a great dress, isn't it?"

You looked at Wanda incredulously to see she was only staring cheekily at Nat, making it as obvious as possible that she was touching you.

"It is," Nat answered, eyes flickering to you for a moment. "But y/n didn't let me finish what I was going to say after that."

"Yea? And what's that?" Wanda countered, her voice sounding edged.

Nat set her glass down and pressed her palms flat on the counter, leaning close to Wanda. There was a knowing smirk on her face that made you dread what she was going to say next. In a low, rasping whisper, she answered, "That I would have preferred it off her."

The fake smile Wanda had plastered on her face faded, her head tilting even further. Crimson filled her irises, and you noticed that she was gripping her glass so hard it was bound to shatter in her fist. Quickly, you stood up and tugged Wanda's arm. "Alright, that's enough." You pried the glass from Wanda's hand and slid it to Nat. "Thanks for the drinks, Nat. We're gonna get back to—"

"Why don't we continue this conversation in private?" Wanda said as she stood from the stool, holding Nat's stare. "The three of us."

You looked at her in disbelief. "What?"

"Nat can tell me more about the dress and how she wants it off you."

Nat stood up straighter and took the towel sitting to the side, wiping the bar counter clean before tossing it away. "I could talk about it all day." She looked at you as she came around from behind the bar.

You looked up at Wanda in confusion as she took your hand in hers and held it firmly, dragging you out of the room with Nat following close behind.

"Where are we going?" you whispered up at Wanda, but she kept her stare straight ahead as she led the three of you up the stairs.

"Your girlfriend's ass looks great from here," Nat called from behind you, causing you to blush.

Wanda smirked and sucked her tongue behind her teeth before saying, "You should see it when she's bent over."

Your mouth fell open at Wanda's words. What kind of game was she playing? By now, she would have ripped Nat's eyes out for saying such a thing, but she was acting as if she was going along with it.

"Wanda!" you exclaimed, but you had no time to scold her before she led you through a door, and suddenly you were on the rooftop of the mansion. The night breeze flitted through your hair as you looked around at Tony's rooftop patio. Stars littered the sky above, and besides a few soft golden lights placed around the roof's edge, it was dark. You grew suddenly anxious that Wanda was going to shove Nat off the roof or something equally as murderous.

Nat came onto the roof behind you and closed the door, looking around in confusion. Suddenly, red threads of magic wrapped around one of the patio chairs and flew it towards Nat, hitting the back of her knees so that she was forced to sit down. More red magic latched her wrists onto the arms of the chair, and the widow immediately began struggling against the constraints.

Your eyes widened as you jerked your hand away from Wanda's and backed away from her. "Wanda, what are you doing?!"

Calmly, Wanda walked to another patio chair and carried it to the center of the area, directly across from Nat. "Sit, my love," she gently commanded you.

You eyed her warily. "Wanda, let Nat go."

Wanda's face tilted downwards, and you could see red harboring behind those green eyes. "Sit," she said much firmer, and you felt like you really had no choice because she would probably use her magic to make you sit, anyways.

Hesitantly, you walked towards her, keeping her unreadable stare as you carefully sat down in the chair. You waited for your wrists to be bound like Nat's, but it never came.

Wanda leaned down behind you, brushing your hair from your neck. She looked at Nat's equally confused and worried stare as she trailed her hand over your neck and to your chin, holding it gently with her index finger and thumb.

"I think Romanoff is having trouble understanding boundaries," Wanda spoke deeply beside your ear. "Perhaps we should set her an example."

"Wanda," you said warningly, but she turned your head and captured your lips in hers. You did kiss back at first, due to feeling Nat's burning stare, but as her lips moved gently against yours, you found yourself kissing her deeply. She washed her tongue over her lower lip, asking for permission, and you reluctantly granted it to her, opening your mouth so she could slip her tongue inside. Your body was burning hot due to knowing Nat was watching Wanda kiss you, and the mixed feelings in your stomach made your head spin.

Finally, Wanda released you, leaving your lips puffy and damp. She gently turned your head back to face Nat who appeared to be a confused mixture of uncomfortable and intrigued.

"Romanoff, why don't you let y/n know what you were thinking back there at the bar? I'm sure she would love to know," Wanda spoke against your neck, eyes locking with Nat's.

Nat pursed her lips and gulped. "No."

"Why not?" Wanda voice lilted, her hand coming to rub your hip. "You were thinking it so boldly while I was listening. Are you shy now?"

Nat clenched her jaw and shook her head, staying silent as she watched Wanda pepper kisses on your neck. You had to admit that you were curious, because you had never been aware that Nat had any sort of attraction towards you before tonight.

"Fine, I'll tell her myself," Wanda said, her voice high in amusement. "Romanoff was just thinking about how she feels she could make you cum better than I ever could. She thought about how it would feel to bend you over the bar and take you right in front of me."

You watched Nat's eyes burn as Wanda spoke, blush rising to her cheeks. She tried again to struggle against Wanda's magic, but of course it was to no avail.

"Should we let Romanoff keep her word and try it for herself?" Wanda said in a harder tone.

Immediately, your wide eyes snapped to Wanda. "No," you said firmly, fear growing in your stomach. You were shocked that Wanda would ever suggest such a thing, and you started to rapidly panic.

"Don't worry, detka," Wanda purred, kissing you softly. Her hand cradled your jaw, her thumb brushing over your lips as she pulled away. "You know I would never let anyone else touch you."

Relief washed over you. As crazy as Wanda was seeming right now, you trusted her word and knew she would never do something like that, especially against your will.

Her hand moved to your knee, gripping it firmly and sliding up your bare thigh. "What I really had in mind is that we should show Romanoff just how well I can make you cum, since she doubts me so much." Her strong hand glided to your very inner thigh, squeezing it hard. You squirmed under her touch, cheeks blushing hotly at the thought that made you equally embarrassed and turned on.

"As long as that's alright with you, Romanoff?" Wanda said humorously, looking up to Nat to see her furious stare. "Oh, that's right. I'm forcing you to watch."

Wanda punctuated her sentence by slipping her hand up your dress, taking the hem of your black lace panties and dragging them down. You gasped, looking at Wanda apprehensively as she pulled your panties down to your ankles.

"Relax, milaya," she whispered, kissing your jaw as her hand returned to your thigh. You felt cold air hitting your core, and the sensation made you realize, to your surprise, that you were wet.

"How about we make a deal?" Nat suddenly spoke, causing Wanda's hand to freeze on your thigh. You both looked at the redhead expectantly, seeing the challenging smirk on her lips. "If you can't make her cum, then I will."

You swore you could feel heat radiating off Wanda's body in that moment. You waited for Wanda to say no, to possibly slap Nat for boldly saying such a thing, but what happened next had you gasping in shock.

"Sounds like a fair deal to me."

Your eyes widened. You opened your mouth to oppose, but Wanda's fingers dove under your dress and pressed into your clit. You sucked in a breath as she rubbed you firmly, her lips coming to kiss your neck. "Trust me," she whispered as she slid her fingers through your folds before returning to your clit.

You watched Nat bite her lip, shamelessly watching you grow flustered. You weren't sure how much she could see between your dress, but the thought made your cheeks blush in embarrassment.

Wanda bit into the flesh of your neck, causing you to sigh as she sucked on a tender spot right below your ear. Her free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to the side to give her more access. Desire was swirling dizzily in your stomach, your hips bucking up to meet her hand.

"Wanda," you breathed, trying to make sense of the situation. You were trying your hardest to avoid Nat's burning stare, but it was hard with the way Wanda kept your face trained forward.

Her fingers came down to your entrance, pushing in only slightly before coming back out to circle it. You whined, earning an approving growl from your girlfriend who was quickly leaving hickeys down your neck.

"Gonna get to the point anytime soon, Maximoff?" Nat spoke thickly, desire evident in her voice. It was obvious she had her mind hinged on the chance that she would get to fuck you, but you knew that Wanda had only given her false hope to keep her more attentive to the show she was performing on you.

Chuckling against your ear, Wanda responsively sunk two fingers inside you, eliciting a moan from your throat as your hips bucked into her hand. She hummed into your neck, turning her face to look at Nat. "If only you could feel just how wet she is for me."

"Believe me, I can see it from here," Nat grunted, lust clear in her eyes.

The confirmation that Nat could see between your legs made you instinctively close them. Wanda's hand pushed them back open harshly. "Let her see, y/n. I want her to watch your pussy take me in."

You gritted your teeth as Wanda thrust her fingers inside you, curling them at your deepest point. You kept your legs open, too overcome with pleasure to try to do differently than what she commanded.

"That's a good girl," she purred, moving her mouth to your collarbone and biting it. Her hand in your hair kept your neck stiff as she added a third finger, the stretch causing you to whine and spread your legs wider to take her in. "See how well she takes me? She's so good, isn't she?"

The praise made you feel drunk as Wanda hammered her fingers inside you, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. Your walls throbbed around her fingers, pressure coiling in your stomach. She was fucking you hard, going in until her knuckles were flush against you every time. You knew she was putting on a show for Nat, and you couldn't complain because it felt so damn good.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, Romanoff. It's not looking to great for you." Wanda rubbed her thumb against your clit, and your eyes squeezed shut from all the pleasure. She gave you a quick and painful tug at your hair. "Look at her, milaya. I want her to see you cum around my fingers."

Hesitantly, you forced your eyes open and trained them on Nat's dark ones. She was squirming in her chair, turned on by the sight of watching you get fucked and also uncomfortably jealous.

"W-Wanda," you moaned, feeling your climax approaching. You were bucking your hips up to her almost pathetically, your dress having ridden up around your hips and leaving you completely exposed.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me."

Your body instantly obeyed her words, your orgasm washing over you. Your insides clenched around Wanda's fingers, and your eyes bore into Nat's as your mouth fell open. Your hips stuttered as Wanda fucked you through your climax, chuckling victoriously against your neck.

A look of disappointment washed over Nat's face. As turned on as she had been, she was now more frustrated than ever at being proven wrong.

"So good," Wanda praised you as you panted, eyes fluttering closed as your climax faded. She pulled her fingers out of you, holding them up to show how glistening they were. Turning to Nat, she placed her fingers inside her mouth, slowly pulling them back out and humming at your taste. Smirking at Nat's furious stare, she turned back to you and moved her fingers towards your mouth. "Open up." You obeyed, letting her slip her fingers between your lips, pressing them against your tongue. You closed your eyes and sucked on them, tasting yourself and you licked them completely clean.

Humming in approval, Wanda removed her fingers from your mouth before trailing your panties back up your legs and pulling your dress down, reminding herself she would be burning it later. Looking back to Nat, she smirked cockily. "So sorry, Romanoff. Looks like her pussy still belongs to me."

Finally, Wanda released Nat from the magical constraints. The redhead fiercely stood up, balling her fists at her sides. For a moment, it looked like she was going to lunge for Wanda, but instead she only glared at her, eyes flickering to you for a moment before she stormed away, slamming the roof door closed behind her.

Wanda helped you stand from the chair, your legs wobbly. Holding your waist, she looked down at you much softer. "Are you okay?"

You dumbly nodded, holding onto her shoulders as the breeze picked up and caused you to shiver.

Grazing your chin with her hand, she pressed a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away and looking down at you intensely to whisper, "If you ever let her flirt with you again, I am going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for a week."

What’s a MILF?

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

warnings: none

summary: Wanda gets called a MILF, which should be flattering, but does she know what it means?

word count: 1.6k

a/n: think of this story as a bday gift to both myself and to you guys!! hope you enjoy it :)) also this was inspired by this lovely swan queen fic! 

Keep reading

Awwwwwwwww hehdscydv

The Assistant (Leonora Lesso x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Lesso is certain her assistant is working to take her down. After all, you're too good to be true.

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of smut, choking

You should be scared. That was the only thought going through Lesso’s mind as she loomed over you, staring down into your wide eyes and small smile. One hand had slammed into the wall beside your head and she was leaning in, teeth bared in a snarl. You weren’t cringing away from her, looking up at her expectantly, as if she was amusing you with her antics.

“Yes, Lady Lesso?” you asked, voice light and bright, the way it always was.

She growled, pushing away from the wall. She could feel the weight of your eyes on her, the way she always could. You watched her often, assessing her, trying to read her motives. It itched, the way your gaze seemed to burrow beneath her skin, seeking out her vulnerabilities. That had to be what you were doing, searching for ways to hurt her or bring her down, to manipulate her for your own gain.

Only you remained as you always were, sitting outside her office, following her orders like the obedient little thing you wanted her to believe you were, never influencing or questioning.

“You’ve been missing from your post for too long,” she said, needing an excuse for her anger towards you.

If you knew she was on to you, she’d lose the upper hand. She wouldn’t be able to ferret out your true intentions if you buried them further in the face of her suspicion.

“My apologies, Lady Lesso. Billious was holding me up in the kitchen,” you replied, voice soft, a note of guilt darkening your words.

You were a wonderful actor, she would give you that.

“No excuses,” she snapped.

She swept away from you, leaving you leaning against the wall beside your desk. You followed her into her office, the familiar scent of vanilla following you. It would linger, she knew from experience, far longer than your presence would, and she would be forced to inhale the putrid scent for the rest of the afternoon.

You were careful as you placed the cup of coffee you’d been sent to retrieve on her desk, avoiding the stacks of paperwork she’d been ignoring. Counting the seconds you’d been gone had taken up enough mental energy to keep her occupied.

“Will that be all, Lady Lesso?” you asked.

She lowered herself to her seat, considering you on the other side of her imposing desk. You stood with your hands clasped in front of you, in one of those infuriating dresses she found herself so distracted by. Dipping necklines and flashes of your knee when you walked had her mouth turning dry and her thoughts fleeing her like a scared fairy. A small smile was curling your pink lips and your eyes were looking at her from under long lashes, sparkling in the fire light.

“Remove yourself from my presence,” she ordered.

Your chin dipped in a small nod and she watched your back as you slipped from her office. She would find your secrets, the plans you were building on the back of her work, the betrayal you would be committing. It was a perfect ruse, innocence and sunshine, hiding a deeper insidiousness she would root out. She would expose it to the light and sneer at your snivelling body, grovelling for mercy under the weight of her might.

She settled back in her chair, leaning back as she considered the door. Of course she’d hunted through your desk, picking the singular lock to discover a drawer full of sweets and notes filed away in perfect order. Nothing suspicious which only piqued her interest further.

You were smart. Of course you were. She wouldn’t have tolerated your appointment as her assistant if you weren’t. You held your own and anticipated her needs before she could ever voice them. In all ways, you were the perfect assistant. And it grated on her.

You had grown to be the bane of her existence.

Straining her ears to hear your movements on the other side of the thick wooden door, she found herself leaning forward. A curl of steam rose from the cup of coffee before her, placed there by your sure fingers, not a single drop spilled. Raising it to her lips, she had to admit you made a wonderful cup of coffee. She would miss that once she’d crushed you beneath the heel of her boot.

Your voice was muffled when it finally reached her ears. Bright and airy, your tinkling laugh made her stomach clench. Joyous laughter was wrong in her school, an aberration she aimed to squash from her halls. All attempts had failed with you, indulgence lining your expression whenever she tried.

She rose from the desk, tiptoeing to the door to listen in. Stealth was of the upmost importance, not wanting to alert you to her presence. To stay one step ahead you must be kept in the dark. Pressing her ear to the cool wood, she listened, hoping to overhear something you wouldn’t want her knowing.

“I’m hardly going to show up at the crack of dawn,” you said and she could just imagine the bright smile on your face, “I’m more of a midnight stroll kind of gal.”

“But they only bloom in the early hours of the morning,” the person you were talking to was saying, a hint of a whine in his voice.

One of the new teachers. Young and enthusiastic, built in the style of Hort with his overeagerness to prove his villainy. Villainy was not provable, it simply was. Apparent in every action you took.

Which is how she knew you must be a spy, looking to ingratiate yourself into her trust only to strike her when she least expected it.

In every sense of the word you were the complete opposite of villainous. You were bright and happy, smiling at every turn. You laughed and you hummed, your singing voice sweet. When you walked it was like you were floating with the grace you exhibited.

And worst of all, you were kind. To everyone. Including her.

“And I’m sure they’re beautiful but I’m at my worst in the morning I’m afraid,” you said.

Lesso filed that fact away for later use.

“Well, perhaps we could take that midnight stroll,” he said, turning a touch cajoling.

She could understand his desperation to secure your undivided attention on a romantic stroll. She’d noticed the way people looked at you when walking the halls, in meetings, on arrival day. People were drawn to you, most likely due to your wide smile and the pretty fluttering of your eyelashes. A less cynical person would describe you as beautiful and engaging.

She never would.

“Unfortunately Lady Lesso keeps me working all hours of the night,” you said, presumably trying to let him down nicely. She rolled her eyes. The more prudent course of action would have been to give him a dressing down until he felt so low about himself he would never bother you again.

“Is she awful to work with? I’ve always assumed she is,” he said.

Lesso held her breath, wanting to hear your answer, refusing to miss a single syllable.

“Lady Lesso is a genius. There is no one in this school who could do what she does. It’s a privilege to work so closely with her, and I’m grateful to be able to serve her. Isn’t that what all of us want? To put more villainy out into the world? To triumph over good? If anyone is going to bring about our success it will be her. I really believe that. So if I have to work long hours then it’s all worth it. I love this job. Any sacrifices are worth it.”

Your entire speech held far more passion and emotion than any other answer you’d given him, the witless man that asked you to join him in the moonlight. Too much so? She couldn’t rule it out as a performance, assuming she might be listening in on your conversation.

She wasn’t sure what happened then. A soft mumbling, footsteps, the chatter of students sweeping past. She sighed, returning to her desk to find the stack of paperwork no smaller and her coffee cooled. Her nose wrinkled as she took a sip of the lukewarm liquid. She could demand you make her a new one, but then you would not be there to keep an eye on. You’d be loose in her school and who would be able to say what you were doing then. It was bad enough when she had to teach class, her mind constantly wandering back to what you were doing, what secrets you were uncovering, what devious plots you were concocting.

A soft knock sounded on her door. Your head poked through the door, a soft smile on your face, her heart thudding in her chest just at the sight of you.

“What?” she snapped, hoping to see some flicker of displeasure in you at her rudeness.

“Billious is here to see you,” you said, your voice almost a caress over his name.

“Tell him I’m busy,” she replied, nose wrinkling.

“Of course, Lady Lesso.”

Your head retracted for a moment for it returned, looking at her with an expectation that made her want to wrong your neck.

“Oh, and the books you asked for have finally arrived. Should I bring them through or would you prefer they’re brought to your chambers?”

“You figure it out,” she snapped.

That damned smile appeared again, knowing and intuitive. She felt a flicker of fear, wondering what you had discovered. The anxiety you inspired had to be stopped.

The door was silent as it closed, the creaks she’d spent so many years curating gone under your touch. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she cursed you over and over until you might be struck down by lightning outside that very door.

A loud knock on the door had her jumping in her seat. Manley shouting through the wood. A hushed conversation on the other side. What sounded like a boot kicking the door. An admonishment. Then silence.

In less than thirty seconds you had taken command of a situation that could have so easily spun out of control. She ground her teeth, frustration sparking through her veins. You were the perfect assistant, making yourself indispensable to her, ensuring you were so enshrined in her life she couldn’t fire you. You’d wormed your way in and made it impossible to get rid of you. All by being wonderful at your job.

No one else could see your genius, but it was plain to her. You’d figured out how to function so far under the radar that no one would ever suspect you were more than the vapid woman you made yourself out to be. No one but her. She knew. And it rankled her more than she cared to admit.

You lived under her skin, every day a taunt to expose you, as if you thought she wasn’t smart enough to. It was a dare, your continued presence. You were waiting for her to break and she refused to.

It was all some sick twisted game and the only kinds of those Lesso liked were when she was the game master, not the player.

She watched you at dinner that night, your table manners impeccable, as if you’d been schooled next door. Your smile was friendly, inviting, and all she could focus on was how she wanted to ruin you. To turn you into a mess. To make you…

Well, she thought begging for mercy would sound sweet on your tongue.

If she found herself following you from the shadows as you returned to your post, flitting through moonlight drenched halls, almost dancing from window to window, then it was to watch you in your unguarded moments. You turned your face towards every window, smile soft as you looked up at the night sky. She wondered what you saw up there, if you found pictures in the stars, if the moon made you dream, if you searched for a different life.

You paused at one window, facing towards the forest, staring out. Hands flat on the window sill, you lent towards the glass until your breath misted before you. Your eyes were turned upwards and inexplicably she felt the need to sneak up behind you and trace her fingers over your exposed neck. She wanted to find your pulse, feel it thrum under her thumb, feel it race the way she never could when she tried to menace you.

“You’re not chained to your desk.”

That witless man again.

A soft sigh passed over your parted lips and your mask slipped for a moment before you fixed your smile back on your face. The truth of it had her breath catching, both frustration and pity mingling together into something almost sickly. You turned towards his approaching footsteps, stepping out of the shadows just as Lesso could do. In contrast, she shrunk back, watching and waiting.

“I thought Lesso would have you kept like a pet outside her door,” he said. Something passed over his face, too quick to see, but ugly enough to make her curious.

“She’s not a monster, you know,” you said, your voice quiet, almost soft in your assessment of her, “I think you’ve mischaracterised her into the monster under the bed.”

“Isn’t she?” he asked.

“She’s far more subtle than that. Elegant. Wickedly intelligent. You won’t even know she’s five steps ahead of you until you’re already caught in her trap. It’s beautiful, the way her villainy unfolds,” you replied.

Bare shoulders shrugged and she found herself considering the line of your body. Relaxed and at ease. It must be some kind of facade. It had to be. No one was so relaxed in her school. Not even the teachers.

“You sound smitten with her,” he said, taking another step towards you.

“I’m not some pathetic Ever,” you laughed, “I know it’s what plenty of people here think but I’m not looking for True Love’s Kiss.”

“You can tell me if she’s forcing you to say these things about her. I won’t tell,” he said, giving what he must have thought was a conspiratorial wink.

Lesso felt her nose wrinkle, watching this scene play out in front of her. The insipid man trying to win your trust and you standing with a straightened spine and the smile dying on your lips. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen it so much as falter before.

“No on forces me to do anything I don’t want. Not even her,” you said, “especially not her.”

“What then? More pirvelleges? A place in her bed? Extra food at meal times?” he demanded.

Your smile was gone.

“Your loyalty may be so easily bought, Derrick, but I can assure you mine is not,” you said, the lightness in your voice vanishing the longer you talked. Steel was taking over. If you were anyone else she might be impressed.

“Loyalty?” he scoffed, “I think you just think you’re better than me because you’re Lesso’s little pet. You think I won’t risk my own ass by harming you. But you’re not better than me. You’re just a stuck up Ever.”

“You want to hurt me?” you asked, “go ahead. She won’t save me. And it certainly won’t make me go on that moonlit walk with you. I’m holding out for someone more impressive to ask.”

There was a glint off metal, a dagger in his hand that hadn’t previously been there, moonlight reflecting off the blade. Lesso found herself leaning forward, waiting to see what would happen. She’s never heard you speak so cruelly to another person and while she could sympathise, she didn’t realise you were capable of sneering at the unworthy. You usually met them with a smile and respect, two ideologies she refused to subscribe to.

The dagger flashed and a soft lavender glow lit the hallway. Dangling from one ankle, upside down and glowering, the witless man hung in front of you. He slashed the dagger towards you, a howl of anger coming from him. You simple stepped back, considering him for a moment, head tilted and lips curling up at the corners in an almost devilish smile. This was a side to you she’d yet to see, just another lie and secret to keep your true motives from her. The heart in her chest thundered with anger, the new knowledge burning through her.

“This is your one warning, Derrick. Try something like this again and I won’t be nearly so kind. See how easily I overpowered you? Just consider what I’ll do when I’m not holding back,” you said, voice turning silky smooth.

“You bitch,” he snarled.

“I’m sure one day you’ll be more imaginative too,” you said.

A wave of your lavender finger glow and the dagger was torn from his grip, floating into yours. You looked down at it, nose wrinkling in an uncomfortably fetching way. Tucking it away into your bodice, you looked down into his face, hovering somewhere around your navel.

“Trust me, Derrick. I am not someone you want to cross. Run along now,” you said.

With a lazy flick of the wrist, he fell to the stone floor in a crumpled heap. You watched him scrabble to his feet, trying to look composed in his rumpled clothes and mussed hair. Resentment. That was the expression that had flashed over his face when he’d begun the conversation. He resented you for everything he was not.

“You’ll regret this,” he said.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

You watched him flee down the hall with cool indifference before turning back to the window, your thoughts already slipping past him. Looking out on the night pressing in, you sighed, relaxing again as if the altercation had never happened. A small smile ticked your lips up, bright and joyful, head tipping back in the moonlight.

“You can stop lurking in the shadows,” you said.

She stepped out, cane clicking on the floor, a sign for those in the immediate area to begin panicking. You didn’t even turn in her direction, the only indication you were aware of her presence the flutter of your eyes opening. She stopped at your shoulder, looking out on the forest, wondering what creatures might be lurking out there.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice harsh when compared to you.

“Your assistant. Nothing more, nothing less,” you replied.

“No one is that loyal to me,” she said, voice barely more than a rasp when it came from her lips.

You had to be a rival. You had to be. She couldn’t handle it if all her instincts were so wrong about you.

She raised her hand, not sure what she was going to do. You turned, finally, looking up into her eyes. That damned smile was still in place, softening when you looked at her. Fingers curled around your neck, her thumb rested against your pulse, just as she’d dreamed of doing. It thrummed under her touch despite your calm exterior.

She pushed you back until your back hit the glass of the window. You shivered, making her smirk grow. Your discomfort was her pleasure.

“No more lies.” She felt out of control, her perfect veneer slipping.

“I’ve never lied to you once, Lady Lesso,” you said, sounding so calm despite her hand wrapped around your neck.

“You want to destroy me,” she snarled, her face drawing closer.

“I want to serve you,” you replied on a sigh.

She pressed you more insistently against the glass, her fingers tightening. She could imagine the bruises blooming over your skin, the pretty canvas holding her art. And what a masterpiece you would make.

“You’re nothing,” she spat, “a pathetic spy who can’t even notice when you’re the one being watched.”

“I always know when you’re watching me,” you replied.

“You can’t,” she snarled.

“I can,” you said, not shying away from the rage on her face or the pressure of her fingers on your windpipe, “when it’s you, I always know.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, voice tight.

You were staring up at her with those wide eyes, sparkling. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, keeping you from giving her one of your patent smiles and she was so aware of the knife hidden in your bodice. One of your hands reached up, gently curling around her wrist, skin to skin. Lightning flowed from the point of contact and she flinched.

“You must be my enemy,” she said, but her voice was losing its harsh edge, “you must be.”

“Why must I be?” you asked.

Your fingertips brushed the vulnerable skin of her inner wrist and she snatched it back, leaving your throat bare and her skin tingling, cane clattering to the ground from the other. You kept your back pressed to the window, watching her with an openness that made her skin itch.

“You pay close attention to me. What other reason if not to find my weaknesses?” she said, sounding less sure of herself with every passing word.

“Can you really think of no other reason I might be paying such close attention to you?” you asked and she could hear how amused you were.

“That’s the only reason you’d do that,” she said, her hand slamming into the window beside your head, rattling the glass in its frame. You didn’t flinch.

“It’s not why you’ve been paying such close attention to me,” you said, “it’s not why I scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” she replied, almost on autopilot.

“No?”

Your hand reached up, finger wrapping itself in one of her fiery curls. Her heart thudded and she waited for the pull.

Eye fluttering shut, she felt your other hand came up, fingers ghosting over her lips. She was going to die. You were going to kill her and she wouldn’t be meeting Death with her eyes open. Her breath was dragged from her lungs and she thought she might collapse.

“I think you’re terrified,” you murmured, fingertip tracing the shape of her lips.

She couldn’t argue. Her pulse was racing, heart thumping, and all she could focus on was the path your finger was taking. She knew you’d be her downfall but she’d never expected it to feel so soft, as if she had permission to sink into your devastating touch.

Your finger disappeared and she didn’t have time to readjust before something soft ghosted over her lips. Her eyes shot open, finding you so close, your lips pressing more insistently. She felt herself coming apart at the seams. Her eyes fluttered shut again as your tongue traced the seam of her lips. You tasted of sugar and spice and everything nice. It made her blood boil.

Her hands grasped your hip, and she pushed your body back. She took control of the kiss, teeth sinking into your lip until copper burst on her tongue. You made a small whimpering noise and she felt drunk, under a spell, enchanted. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to make her feel her sanity slip away.

She drew away, your lips painted red with your own blood. They tugged up into a smile and she groaned, kissing you again. You sunk into it, the soft sigh too sweet for her. She pushed her leg between yours, feeling your heat through the layers of cloth. You moaned, fingers tightening in her curls with a sharp tug.

Maybe her feelings towards you were less about taking you down and more about going down on you.

She tore her mouth from yours, panting hard as her eyes darted wildly over your face. You were looking up into her face, lips kiss swollen and eyes glassy. She could see your chest heaving and she took a step back. If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she could stop and if she didn’t stop she wasn’t sure she would be in control anymore. She could lose herself in you, and you were right, that terrified her.

“What have you done to me?” came out as a breathless whisper.

Your chuckle was too close to knowing and she wanted to stop it. Her fingers itched to curl around your throat again, wanting the sound to cut off. You took a step towards her, the chuckle dying, leaving behind a small smile and sparkling eyes.

“Don’t come near me,” she snapped.

You stilled, freezing in place like she was some kind of frightened animal prone to startling. Her teeth ground together and a frustrated sound came from her lips. You waited, giving her the space to calm down and it made her want to scream. You were too accommodating.

“Don’t do what I tell you,” she snapped but it was less controlled.

“So I should come near you?” you asked, your smile turning into a small smirk.

“No,” she shouted, “yes. Fuck. What have you done to me?”

“Nothing,” you replied, taking another step towards her and she wanted to raise her hands in defence and blast you through the window behind you, “I think you just like me.”

“I don’t like anyone,” she snapped as a reflex.

“Then why do you stare at me all day? Why did you kiss me like that?” you asked, advancing on her until her back hit the stone wall behind her in the shadows she’d emerged from, “why are you still thinking about kissing me?”

“Lust isn’t the same as like,” she replied but even then she knew you had the upper hand.

“Maybe not, but you definitely like me, Lady Lesso,” you said, placing one hand on her hip, keeping her pinned to the wall.

“Your delusions are not my concern,” she tried to snarl but it sounded like a wolf without teeth.

“Then leave,” you said, “if I’m wrong, it should be easy for you to leave me here heartbroken and rejected.”

She wanted to push past you, to shove you out of the way, but she found herself unable to do it. Her hands landed on your shoulders but that’s as far as she got. Your smile turned into something soft and understanding and she hated it.

“Stop that,” she said.

“Stop what?” you asked. You blinked and your eyelashes were so long they brushed your cheekbones like a stupid princess.

“Making me feel these things,” she said.

“No can do, Lady Lesso. That’s one request I can’t accomplish,” you said.

“What kind of assistant are you?” she demanded but there was no heat behind it.

“The kind that does this.”

You lent forward, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. She groaned into your mouth, fingers sliding into your hair, tangling and tugging until she heard you whimper and press your body against hers. You nipped at her lower lip and all she could think of was all the ways she wanted to defile you.

“Fine,” she mumbled against your lips, “but you’re not getting a pay raise.”

“I don’t need one,” you replied, before kissing her again.

Maybe you weren’t trying to destroy her, but you still made her feel weak in all the ways that mattered. But maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Not if you were going to continue kissing her like that.

wifey

dakota johnson dancing at parties… she is wife

i want to live above a bookstore café and have a little balcony garden you can see from the street that is all

dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave. 

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe. 

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension. 

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea. 

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate. 

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch. 

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you. 

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

---

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours: