hii sweetie :)!! just finished reading your ff on sam puckett and itâs fireeee. I was wondering if you could do one more with her and fem!reader, maybe where they are roommates with some smut and dom!sam, kinda the same vibe, tysmmm ily <33
I GOT YOU, TWIN!
Claimed After the Concert
Sam Puckett x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: You are Sam's roommate who she likes but didn't say anything about it. One night at a concert, a guy is got to handsy so Sam fucked him up, leading to her taking you home and claiming you as hers.
The bass was still thrumming in you're veins even after they stumbled back into the apartment, the neon glow of Hollywood fading behind us. Sam kicked the door shut with her boot, her jaw tight, knuckles slightly swollen. That asshole at the concert had gotten handsy, too handsy, grinding against you in the crowd until you've frozen up. Sam had seen it from the bar, and within seconds, sheâd dragged him outside by his collar. You didnât see what happened in the alley, but you heard the impact. He wouldnât be touching anyone tonight. "You okay?" Samâs voice was low, rougher than usual. She dropped her leather jacket onto the couch, those piercing eyes raking over you're body like she was checking for damage.
"Iâm fine," you breathed, but you're hands were shaking. "Sam, you didnât have toâ"
"Yeah, I did." She stepped closer, invading you're space. The smell of fried chicken and vanilla lip gloss hit you, pure Sam. "Nobody touches whatâs mine. Not without consequences."
You're breath caught. Mine.
You'd been roommates for three months. Three months of her walking around in tank tops and boxers, three months of her smirking when you blushed, three months of tension so thick you could choke on it. But tonight, tonight felt different. Sam crowded me against the wall, her palm slamming beside you're head. "You know Iâve been waiting for you, right? Waiting for you to figure out that you belong to me?"
"Iâ" you're voice trembled. "Yes."
"Good girl."
She grabbed you're jaw, fingers digging in just hard enough to bruise, and spat right into you're open mouth. Fuck. The shock of it, warm, wet, degrading, sent a jolt straight to you're cunt. You moaned around her saliva, swallowing it down like a good little slut while she watched you with dark, possessive eyes.
"Thatâs it," she growled, wiping her thumb across you're lips, smearing her spit. "Take it. Take everything I give you." She dragged you to her bedroom, not the couch, not the kitchen, her domain, and threw you down onto the mattress. You bounced, gasping, as she towered over ypu, ripping her own shirt off to expose tight abs and a black sports bra.
"Clothes off. Now."
You scrambled to obey, stripping naked while she watched, stroking herself through her jeans. When you were bare, spread out and vulnerable, she crawled between you're legs like a predator. "You got me so fucking worked up tonight," she muttered, gripping you're throat with one hand. "Had to beat that piece of shit senseless just to keep him off my pussy. My pretty little roommate. My girl." She squeezed.
The world narrowed to her fingers around you're neck and her mouth hovering over you're cunt. You bucked up, desperate, but she pinned you down with her weight. "Stay fucking still," she commanded. "Let me taste what I nearly killed for." Then her tongue was on you, hot, wet, relentless. She wasnât gentle. Sam ate pussy like she did everything else: with aggressive, single-minded focus. She licked up you're slit, curled her tongue around you're clit, and sucked hard enough to make you scream. "Samâfuckâ" She didnât let up. She feasted. Her free hand came up, two fingers sliding into you're wet hole without warning, curling to hit that spot deep inside while her tongue flicked rapid-fire against you're sensitive bud.
"Such a good fucking girl," she mumbled against my flesh, the vibration making you sob. "So wet for me. Only me. This pussy is mine, isnât it? Say it."
"Y-yours!" You choked out, her grip on you'rd throat tightening rhythmically with her thrusts.
"Only yours, Sam!"
"Damn right." She lifted her head, her chin dripping with you're arousal, and crawled up my body. Her fingers never stopped pumping in, out, curl, press, working you open while she loomed over you. "Youâre gonna cum on my hand," she ordered, her voice dropping to that dangerous register. "And then Iâm gonna fuck you until you canât remember your own name. Youâre gonna sleep in my bed tonight, and every night after. No more separate rooms. Iâm claiming this," she thrust harder, deeper, "claiming you."
The pressure built, coiling tight in you're belly. She was everywhere, spit on you're face, her hand on you're throat, her fingers knuckle-deep in you're cunt, her eyes burning into you're soul. "Please," you whined, toes curling.
"Cum for me, baby," she cooed, suddenly soft, praising, loving even as she choked you. "Thatâs it. Be my good girl and give it to me. Give me whatâs mine." You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you like a freight train, you're back arching off the bed, you're vision whiting out as she kept her hand pressed tight against you're neck, feeling you pulse hammer against her palm. She rode you through it, fingers working you're oversensitive flesh, milking every drop of pleasure until you were whimpering, overstimulated, tears streaming down you're cheeks.
"Perfect," she whispered, releasing you're throat to stroke you're hair, her other hand still buried inside you. "So perfect for me. Look at youâtaking me so well. Such a pretty little thing." She brought her finger, coated in you're cum to her mouth and licked them clean, groaning at the taste. Then she leaned down and kissed you, sharing the flavor, her tongue forcing mine to submit.
"Ready for round two?" she asked against you're lips, her hand already sliding back down to you're throbbing clit.
You could only nod, dizzy, owned, and exactly where you belonged.
Tags: Post season 4, age gap, shy-awkward dom Joyce, cock warming (oral), kisses on (cock, thighs, balls), kisses till orgasm, blowjob, comfort and aftercare
The Byers house is finally quiet. After everything, the Upside Down, Vecna, the move to California and back again, you finally have Joyce alone. Just the two of you in her bedroom, the door locked, the world outside fading into nothing.
"Are you sure you're comfortable?" Joyce asks, her voice that familiar mix of warmth and worry. She's hovering by the bed, fingers twisting in the hem of her blouse. At her age, she carries this confidence in her daily life, the fierce protector, the mom who fought monsters, but here, with you, naked desire makes her shy. "I've never... not with someone your age. And the way you look at me, Y/N, it makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong even when it feels so right."
You reach for her, taking those nervous hands and pulling her onto the mattress. "You're perfect," you whisper, lying back against the pillows. "Take what you want, Joyce. I'm yours." Her breath hitches. That permission seems to unlock something in her the need to care for you, to possess you, to love you so thoroughly you forget your own name.
She straddles your waist, her thighs bracketing your hips. She's still fully clothed while you're naked beneath her, vulnerable and aching. The power dynamic thrums between you: her age, her experience, her desperate shyness mixed with the authority sheâs trying to wield. "I want to make you feel good," she murmurs, almost to herself, like she's memorizing a script. "So good you never think about leaving. So good you know you're mine."
She slides down your body, her movements hesitant but determined. When she settles between your legs, her face flushes crimson. "You're already so hard for me, baby. All this youth... all this need... just for me?"
"Only you," you gasp as her fingers ghost over your thighs. Joyce presses her lips to your inner thigh, high up where the skin is sensitive and trembling. It's a reverent kiss, then another, working her way inward with agonizing slowness. Sheâs farming your pleasure, drawing it out, making every touch deliberate and devastating. "You're shaking," she observes, looking up at you through those lashes, her expression soft but her eyes hungry. "Does it feel that good? My mouth on you?"
"Yes, Joyce, please..." She finds your balls first, cradling them with such care it makes your chest tighten. She presses gentle kisses to the sensitive skin, her tongue flicking out to taste, to tease. "So soft here," she whispers, her voice muffled. "So vulnerable. Trusting me with this..."
The intimacy of it wrecks you. She's exploring you like you're precious, like you're something to be studied and savored. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you open as she moves upward, her lips trailing heat along your shaft. When she finally takes your cock into her mouth, it's with a shy enthusiasm that makes your toes curl. She doesn't rush. She bobs her head slowly, her tongue swirling around the head, then she sinks down, taking you're entire cock in you're mouth making you moan. She didn't move she stayed like that, her hands rubbing you're thighs as she warmed up you're cock with her nouth, collecting every drop of pre-cum with a soft, approving hum. She pulls back just to press kisses along the length, worshipping you, farming your orgasm with methodical, tender attention. "Joyce, I'm... I'm getting close," you warn, your hands fisting the sheets. She looks up, her lips swollen and wet, and there's that awkward dominance in her gaze, the uncertainty mixed with command. "Not yet," she says softly, almost apologetically. "Let me... let me do this a little longer. You taste so good, Y/N. You taste like mine."
She returns to her task, her movements growing bolder but no less loving. She takes deep again, her hand wrapping around the base where her mouth doesn't reach, working you in tandem with her tongue. She kisses your balls again, then back to your cock, then your thighs, a cycle of pleasure that has you writhing, begging, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. "Please, Joyce, please let me cum..."
"Okay, baby," she breathes, her voice trembling with her own arousal. "Cum for me. Give it to me. Let me take care of you." She focuses on the head, sucking firmly, her hand pumping the shaft, her other hand cupping your balls with perfect pressure. The combinationâthe visual of her between your legs, the shy but determined look in her eyes, the wet heat of her mouth, it crashes over you.
You cry out her name as you orgasm, your hips bucking involuntarily as she milks you through it, swallowing around you with surprised, delighted sounds. She doesn't pull away; she takes everything you give her, her fingers stroking your thighs, your hips, anywhere she can touch to maintain that connection. When you're spent, trembling and sensitive, she crawls up your body with that same nervous energy, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Was that... was that okay? Did you like it?" You pull her down, wrapping your arms around her solid, warm frame.
"Joyce, that was perfect. You were perfect."
The dominance melts away into pure comfort. She settles against you, her head finding your shoulder, her hand resting over your heart. "Sometimes I'm scared I'm too old for you," she admits into the darkness. "That you'll wake up and realize you want someone like Nancy or Robin... someone who gets your references." You stroke her hair, pressing kisses to her forehead. "You're everything, Joyce. The way you love... it's not awkward or shy to me. It's real. You're real."
She makes a soft sound, burrowing closer. Her leg drapes over yours, possessive even in her vulnerability. "Stay with me tonight. Don't go home. Just let me hold you."
"Iâm not going anywhere." The aftercare stretches into hours. She brings you water, kisses your forehead, checks if you're cold, if you're sore. When you curl together under the blankets, her body spooned around yours from behind, her hand resting gently on your hip, you feel truly safe. The monsters outside don't stand a chance against this, the quiet, fierce love of Joyce Byers, shy in her dominance but absolute in her devotion. "I love you," she whispers against your neck, the words tentative but true.You squeeze her hand.
The dossier folder hits the metal table with a slap that echoes through the safehouse. Outside, rain sheets against cracked windows. Inside, the air is thick with stale coffee, gun oil, and her.
"You've got to be kidding me," you mutter, not looking up from the surveillance photos spread across the tactical table." Orders from the top, sweetheart." Ada Wong's voice slides over your skin like silk wrapped around a blade. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed beneath her chest, that infuriating smile playing at her red lips. "Seems our employers think we're... complementary skill sets." You finally look up. She's traded the red cocktail dress for tactical blackâa form-fitting suit that does nothing to hide the curves you spent three months trying to forget after Spain. Her thigh holster is strapped tight, knife sheathed opposite, and her eyes glint with amusement at your obvious irritation.
"I'm an information broker, Ada. You're a backstabbing spy who's tried to kill me twice." "Three times, actually." She pushes off the frame, hips swaying as she crosses the room. "But who's counting?" She stops inches from your shoulder, close enough that you catch her scent. Jasmine and gunpowder. Dangerous. Intoxicating. She reaches past you, deliberately brushing her chest against your arm as she taps the parasite sample photo.
"The Plaga variant is moving tonight. We can keep playing 'who's the better assassin,' or we can find it before it burrows into another village." Her finger traces the photo slowly, then drags across the table toward your hand. "Your call, Y/N."
Strategic Compromise The intel says the parasite is held in a warehouse six blocks away. You should be prepping gear. Instead, you're watching Ada clean her pistol at your kitchen table, legs crossed, boot bouncing with restless energy. "You keep staring," she says, not looking up from the slide assembly. "It's rude."
"You're in my safehouse." "I'm your partner." She emphasizes the word with mocking sweetness. "For better or worse. Till death do us part." You slam your hand on the table. "You shot me in Milan."
"You were wearing Kevlar." She finally looks up, dark eyes sparkling. "Besides, you looked cute limping." The sexual tension has been a living thing since she walked in, thick and electric, charged by the knowledge that either of you could end the other with a flick of the wrist. It's been six hours of proximity. Six hours of her leaning over your shoulder to read screens, her breath warm against your neck. Six hours of accidental touches and deliberate glances. "You enjoy this," you accuse, stepping closer. "Being the fox in the henhouse." Ada stands, meeting you chest-to-chest. She's shorter, but the confidence makes her seem towering. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll finally do something about all that tension, or if you're going to keep pouting like a boy who had his toys stolen." "You're the enemy."
"Am?" Her hand finds your chest, fingers spreading over your heart. "Or was?" Her mouth crashes against yours without warning. It's not gentleâitâs a clash of teeth and tongue, a battle for dominance disguised as a kiss. Your hands grab her hips, pulling her flush against you, and she laughs into your mouth, victorious.
"That's more like it," she breathes, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting. You spin her, pinning her against the table's edge. Papers scatter. Guns clatter to the floor. She doesn't resist; she arches, grinding against your hardness with deliberate, teasing rolls of her hips."So serious," she taunts, fingers working at your belt with practiced efficiency. "Always so serious, Y/N. When was the last time you let go?" You growl, shoving her back until she's sitting on the table, legs spreading to accommodate you between them. "You're going to get us killed." "Then let's make it worth dying for."Her fingers free your cock, wrapping around the shaft with a grip that's firm, knowing. You hiss, head falling back as she strokes once, twice, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip to spread the bead of precum already leaking there. "Impatient," she observes, but her voice is breathier now, less controlled. "Let me help with that."
Ada slides off the table with fluid grace, dropping to her knees before you can process the shift in power. She looks up at you through dark lashes, that playful smirk firmly in place, and your cock twitches in her grip. "Still think I'm the enemy?" she purrs, breath hot against your shaft. "Fuck, Ada..."
"That's the idea." She takes you into her mouth without preamble, no teasing licks or hesitant exploration. She swallows you down until her lips meet your base, her throat working around your girth, and the wet heat of her mouth makes your knees buckle. You grab the table edge, knuckles white, watching her bob with expert precision. She pulls back slowly, dragging her tongue along the underside, then hollows her cheeks and sucks hard at the head. The sound is obscene, wet and filthy, mixing with the rain against the windows. "Jesus, your mouth," you groan, hand finding the back of her head, fingers tangling in her dark hair. She hums in response, the vibration shooting straight to your spine. One hand works what she Can't fit, twisting in time with the suction of her lips, while her other hand disappears between her own legs, pressing against the tactical fabric there."Greedy," you accuse, pulling her off with a pop. "Touching yourself while you suck me?" She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes glazed. "You're not the only one who's been frustrated these past months, sweetheart." You haul her up, needing more, needing to see what she's hiding under that suit. "Strip. Now."
Ada steps back, executing a slow, mocking spin. "Help me, then. Consider it... disarming the opposition." You rip the zipper of her tactical suit down, peeling the fabric from her shoulders until it pools at her waist. Her breasts fall free, perfect and heavy, nipples already peaked and hard. You palm them roughly, thumbing the sensitive tips until she gasps, head falling back. "Eager," she moans.
"Shut up." You shove the suit down over her hips, taking her panties with it. When she steps out of the fabric, fully bare before you, your breath catches. Between her legs, she sports a thick, dark bush not trimmed or sculpted, but natural and wild, covering her mound completely. Itâs a stark contrast to the polished spy persona, something raw and unapologetically feminine. "You didn't expect that?" she asks, noticing your stare, spreading her legs slightly to give you a better view of the glistening slit beneath the hair. "Not everything about me is... controlled." You drop to your knees, face level with her pussy. The scent of her arousal is strong, musky and sweet, and when you part her lips with your thumbs, she's soaked, clit swollen and begging for attention.
"Fuck, Ada..."
"Don't just look," she demands, gripping your hair. "Work." You bury your face in her heat, tongue parting her folds and dragging upward through her wetness. She tastes like sin, like danger, like everything you shouldn't want. You focus on her clit, circling it with the flat of your tongue while your fingers probe her entrance. "Yes," she hisses, rolling her hips against your face. "Right there. Don't you dare stop." You push two fingers inside her, feeling the tight heat clamp down around them. She's dripping, coating your hand as you pump in and out, curling your digits to find that rough patch of nerves inside. When you hit it, her knees shake, her grip on your hair tightening painfully. "God, you bastard," she whines, losing her composure. "Faster. Harder." You finger-fuck her relentlessly, mouth sucking at her clit, and she comes apart with a cry that echoes off the safehouse walls. Her orgasm crashes over her, pussy pulsing around your fingers, juices running down your wrist as she shudders and curses in Mandarin.
Before she can recover, you stand, lifting her bodily onto the table. Papers and laptops crash to the floor, forgotten. You spread her legs wide, looking down at her flushed face, her heaving breasts, and that beautiful, untamed bush framing her dripping cunt. "Condom," she manages, reaching for her discarded suit.
"Clean," you grit out, lining yourself up. "You?"
"Always. But Y/N..." You thrust into her in one hard stroke, cutting off her words. She's tight, impossibly tight, and the heat of her bare pussy gripping your cock makes you see stars. She cries out, nails raking down your back through your shirt. "Shit," you groan, stilling for a moment to feel her fluttering around you. "You feel..."
"Incredible?" she finishes, wrapping her legs around your waist, heels digging into your ass to pull you deeper. "Move, Y/N. Fuck me." You pull back and slam home, setting a brutal pace. The table rocks beneath you, wood creaking, her breasts bouncing with each impact. You grab her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, watching where you disappear into her again and again, her dark hair glistening with arousal around your shaft. "Look at you," you pant, leaning down to bite her neck. "My enemy. My fucking... partner."
"Enemies," she corrects, though her voice breaks as you hit a particularly deep angle. "To... oh god... to lovers?"
"Something like that." You adjust your grip, lifting her slightly to change the angle. Your pelvis grinds against her clit with every thrust, and she wails, already climbing toward another peak. The wet sounds of your bodies joining fill the room, filthy and relentless. "Close," she warns, scratching at your shoulders. "So close. Don't you dare stop." You pound into her harder, the table legs scraping against concrete, and when she comes this time, she screams your name, her pussy clamping down like a vice, milking your cock. The sensation is too muchâthe months of tension, the danger, the wet heat of her bare cunt gripping you. You bury yourself to the hilt and release, coming hard inside her, filling her with thick ropes of cum that mix with her own release. You collapse over her, both of you gasping, sweat-slicked skin pressed together, the smell of sex and gun oil heavy in the air.
Long minutes pass. The rain slows. Ada traces patterns on your back, her legs still loosely wrapped around you, keeping you inside her. "So," she murmurs against your neck, voice sated but still carrying that edge of playfulness. "Partners?" You lift your head, looking down at her smudged lipstick, her wild hair, her satisfied smile. "Partners," you agree. "For now."
"Good." She squeezes around your softening cock, making you groan. "Because the parasite is moving in two hours, and I'm going to need you... focused." You pull out slowly, watching your cum leak from her swollen pussy, tangling in her dark bush. "You're going to be the death of me, Wong.""Probably." She sits up, reaching for her suit with languid grace. "But what a way to go."As she dresses, you catch her wrist. She looks back, eyebrow raised. "Next time," you say, meaning it, "no bullets. Just this." Ada smiles, genuine and dangerous and yours. "Deal, sweetheart. But only if you admit I'm the better shot."
"Never."
"Then we'll just have to keep... negotiating." She picks up her pistol, checks the chamber, and blows you a kiss. The mission waits. But as you watch her hips sway toward the door, you know one thing for certain: enemies never felt this good.
đđđđđđđđ : 18+ Only | Explicit m/m | Nsfw | Minors Dni | Reunion after 28 years | Old Man Leon | M/M Smut | Dirty Talk | Anal Sex | Fingering | Creampie | Making Up For Lost Time
You hadnât heard his voice in almost three decades. you glanced at the caller ID, and your heart stuttered. Leon S. Kennedy. The name alone sent a jolt of memories flooding back. âLeon?â There was a pause on the other end. Then his voiceâdeeper now. Gravel and tired. âYeah, it's me. Been a long time.â Surprise didn't cover it, shock ripped through you like a fresh wound. âTwenty-eight years. Where the hell are you?â You had imagined this moment before. In grocery stores. In traffic. In the middle of random Tuesday afternoon. But you never imagined heâd say the next words. âWrenwood. I'm here.â Your mind reeled. Silence stretched between you. Twenty-eight years of silence. âWhat are you doing here?â you finally asked. âCleaning up something.â he said quietly. âCan I see you? Your place, if that's okay.â You didnât answer right away. âYeah. Get over here.â You rattled off the address, hanging up before your voice could crack.
You expected nerves. You didnât expect your hands to shake while unlocking your own apartment door. When the knock came an hour later, you opened the door to a man who wasn't the rookie cop from your memories. Leon stood there, taller somehow, broader in the shoulders, Hair darker with gray streaks threading through. His blue eyes still held that piercing intensity, but time had carved depth into themâexperience, loss, survival. The boyish softness was gone. His jaw was sharper now. Lines carved at the corners of his eyes. He wore a fitted leather jacket over a black shirt, jeans hugging his thighs, and if you were honest he looked even better with age. His eyes moved over your face like he was cataloging changes.âLeon,â you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he entered, the door clicking shut behind him. The apartment felt smaller with him in it, the air thickening with unspoken history. For a second, neither of you spoke. You studied him openly now. The scar near his collarboneâvisible just above his shirt line. The healed slash at his wrist. The way his hands flexed unconsciously, like he was used to holding a gun. He caught you staring. âWhat?â You tilted your head slightly, letting a slow smile pull at your mouth. âYouâre aging like fine wine, Leon.â
âYeah?â He huffed, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat as he tilted his head, those eyes locking onto yours with a spark of amusement. âYeah.â You stepped closer. Close enough to see the lines on his face more clearly. You move closerâslow enough to give him time to move if he wants to. He doesnât. Your hands come up, resting against his chest. Heâs solid. Warmer than you expected. His heart is beating fast. Faster than yours. Leon moved first closing the distance his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and then he kissed youâslow at first. But the years melted away as your tongues got tangled with a hunger that had simmered too long. You groaned into the kiss, hands fisting in his jacket as he backed you up, his arms sliding around your waist. With effortless strength, he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively.
Leon adjusted you before carrying you toward the bedroom like you weighed nothing. He kicked the door open and lowered you onto the bed, not breaking the kiss as he followed you down, his body pinning yours in the best way. His hands were everywhereâtugging at your shirt, shoving it up to expose your chest, fingers tracing the lines. You arched into his touch, nipping at his bottom lip. âShit, old man you still got it.â Leon pulled back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your skin as he yanked your shirt off completely. âYou're not that far behind me,â he shot back, voice teasing with passion. He leaned in, capturing your mouth again in a deeper kiss, his tongue sweeping in possessively while his hand dipped lower, palming the growing bulge in your pants. You bucked against his touch, a laugh bubbling up between gasps. He stripped you efficientlyâpants unzipped, shoved down your thighs, until you were bare beneath him. He took you in, then he shed his own clothes, jacket tossed aside, shirt peeled off to reveal the toned planes, scars faint but telling stories. His jeans hit the floor, and there he was, cock hard and thick, curving up against his abdomen, pre-cum already beading at the tip. He climbed back over you, knees bracketing your hips, and leaned down to kiss your neck, teeth grazing the pulse point. âBeen thinking about this for years,â he confessed, voice rough as his hand wrapped around your cock, stroking slow. You moaned, hips jerking into his grip, the pace driving you wild. âLeonâfuck, don't tease.â Your hands roamed his back, nails digging in as he nipped at your collarbone, then lower, sucking a mark into your chest.
He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you. âWho's teasing?â You reached for the nightstandâyou'd kept lube there, always half-hoping for a miracle like thisâyou slicked his fingers, pressing one against your hole. You spread your legs wider, inviting him in, and he pushed inside slowly, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. âShit, yes,â you hissed, rocking back onto his hand as he added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you open. Leon's eyes never left yours, intense and affectionate. He pumped his fingers deeper, thumb circling your rim, building the pressure until you were panting, cock leaking onto your stomach. âNeed you inside me, Now.â You grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away, withdrawing to slick his cock with more lube. Leon lined up, the blunt head nudging your hole. He pushed in inch by inch, both of you moaning at the stretch. âFuck, you're huge,â you gasped, legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. He bottomed out, hips against yours, and paused, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he caught his breath. Then he started movingâslow thrusts at first, grinding deep, his cock dragging against your walls in a rhythm that had you seeing white. You met every roll of his hips, hands in his hair, tugging him up for messy kisses. The pace quickened, the bed creaking under the force as he fucked into you with precisionâpulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, hitting your prostate dead-on.âLike that? Bet you missed this cock filling you up.â
âGod, yesâdon't stop.â Pleasure coiled tight in your gut, his dirty talk pushing you closer to the edge. He wrapped a hand around your cock again, jerking you in time with his thrusts. Sweat slicked your bodies, the room filled with the slap of skin and your shared gasps. Leon's control frayed, thrusts turning erratic, deeper, as he buried his face in your neck. âGonna make you come for me.â That tipped you overâyour orgasm crashed through you, cum spilling hot over his fist and your chest as you clenched around him, crying out his name. Leon followed seconds later, groaning low and guttural as he thrust deep one last time, filling you with his release, pulsing inside you. He collapsed on top of you, both breathing ragged, his lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss. âNot bad for an old man,â you murmured, smirking as you traced lazy patterns on his back. He laughed softly, lifting his head to kiss you properlyâtender now, intimate. You stayed tangled like that, the weight of twenty-eight years lifting just a little.
Tags: Nerdy! Male reader, dom Sam, spit kink, degration, hair pulling, handjob, blowjob, riding, creampie, filmed sex
The studio lights are dimmer than usual, just the way you like it when Sam gets that look in her eyeâthe one that means trouble, the one that means youâre about to be in trouble. Youâre adjusting the camera tripod, your fingers fumbling with the settings because you can feel her staring at the back of your neck, hot and heavy.
âHurry up, nerd,â Sam says, her voice cutting through the silence of the empty iCarly studio. Sheâs kicked back on the beanbag chair, blonde hair messily pulled back, wearing those ripped jeans and the purple hoodie thatâs somehow both baggy and clinging to her curves. âCarlyâs at some ballet thing and Freddieâs... well, who cares where Freddie is. Weâve got the place to ourselves for two hours."
You swallow hard, looking at the red recording light already blinking. âAre we really filming this, Sam? Like... for the show?â She snorts, that classic Sam Puckett laugh thatâs half-mocking, half-fucking feral. âDo you think iCarlyâs web audience is ready for this kind of content, Y/N?â She stands up, stretching, and you watch the strip of pale stomach peek out from under her hoodie.
âNah. This episode is just for us. Private collection. Now get your ass over here before mama has to come get you.â Your legs move before your brain catches up, that submissive instinct kicking in hard whenever she uses that toneâthat âdonât fuck with meâ dominance that made half of Ridgeway fear her and made you fall stupidly, helplessly in love. Youâre standing in front of her now, nervous, adjusting your glasses. âWhat... whatâs the premise of this episode, then?â Sam grins, stepping into your personal space, crowding you against the prop couch.
Her hand shoots out, gripping your jawânot gentle, never gentle with Samâand squeezes. âItâs called âHow to Handle Your Man.â And youâre the guest star, geek boy.â She spits. Right there, in her hand, that wet, vulgar sound that makes your cock jerk in your jeans. Then sheâs grabbing your face, her saliva-slick palm smearing over your mouth, forcing her fingers between your lips. âSuck,â she commands. You moan around her fingers, the taste of her, the degradation of it flooding your system. You suck obediently, swirling your tongue around her digits like sheâs training you for whatâs coming next. Her other hand fists in your hair, pulling hard, snapping your head back.â Look at you,â she sneers, but thereâs that dark affection in her eyes, the kind that only comes out when itâs just you two. âSuch a good little nerd. Youâd do anything for me, wouldnât you?
âYes, Sam,â you gasp when she pulls her fingers out, strings of spit connecting your lips to her hand. âAnything." She shoves you down onto the couch, the same one Carly sits on during broadcasts, and straddles your lap. Her weight settles heavy and demanding, grinding down against your trapped erection. âPathetic,â she whispers, but sheâs already unbuckling your belt with practiced, greedy fingers. âYouâre already leaking for me, arenât you?â
You whimper as she frees your cock, her hand wrapping around you with that perfect, rough grip. No teasing, no softnessâthatâs not Samâs style. She spits again, right onto your tip, the warm wetness obscene and perfect as she begins to stroke. The squelch of her hand working your spit-covered shaft echoes in the empty studio, punctuated by your pathetic moans. "Beg,â she orders, tugging your hair again, forcing your eyes up to hers. âBeg me to put my mouth on this sad little dick.â
âPlease, Sam,â you choke out, hips bucking into her fist. âPlease suck me, please, pleaseââ
âLouder. Like the cameraâs rolling. Like millions of people are watching you debase yourself for me.â
âPlease, Sam! I need your mouth, I need you to suck me dry, please, Iâll do anything, buy you bacon, fix your computer, justâfuckââ She laughs, that victorious sound, and then sheâs sliding down, her hoodie bunching up, and she takes you into her mouth in one aggressive, wet plunge. No buildup, no teasing licksâshe attacks your cock with her throat, gagging deliberately around you, letting that thick saliva drip down your shaft, coating your balls. The visual is obscene: Sam Puckett, the terror of Seattle, on her knees for you, but still completely in control, still owning you as she bobs her head, hollowing her cheeks, her eyes locked on yours with that challenging stare.
She pulls off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to your throbbing cock. âYou taste like a loser,â she mocks, pumping your slick shaft with her hand. âBut youâre my loser. My property. Say it.â
âIâm yours, Sam,â you whine, hands trembling at your sides because you know better than to touch without permission. âOnly yours.â
âDamn right.â She stands up, stripping her jeans down, kicking them off. No underwearâshe never wears any when she knows youâre coming over. Sheâs already wet, glistening, and she climbs back onto the couch, shoving you down flat. âNow be a good camera man and let mama use this dick for what itâs good for.â She mounts you in one smooth, brutal motion, sinking down until youâre balls-deep inside her tight heat.
Both of you groanâhers is guttural, satisfied, animal; yours is high-pitched, desperate. She sets a punishing pace immediately, riding you hard, using your cock like a toy, her hands planted on your chest for leverage.
âLook at you,â she pants, grinding down, her inner walls squeezing you rhythmically. âCanât even last, can you? Gonna creampie mama like a pathetic virgin?â
âIâmâSamâIâm sorryâIâm gonnaâââNot yet,â she snarls, yanking your hair again, pulling your head up so she can spit directly into your open, gasping mouth. âYou donât come until I say. You take this pussy until Iâm done with you. Until Iâve used you up, nerd boy.â The combination of her riding you savagely, the taste of her spit in your mouth, the pain of her fingers twisted in your hairâitâs overwhelming. Youâre babbling, incoherent pleas, promises, declarations of worship. She leans down, biting your jaw, leaving marks.
âYouâre gonna film this,â she whispers, her breath hot against your ear as she continues to ride you with brutal, selfish strokes. âYouâre gonna watch it later while you jerk off thinking about how I own you. How I could break you in half if I wanted. How youâre nothing but my little fucktoy when the cameras are off.â
âYes, yes, yes,â you chant, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer intensity, the submission, the love you have for this violent, perfect girl.She sits up, grinding her clit against your pelvis, her hand wrapping around your throatânot choking, just holding, claiming. âNow,â she commands, her voice cracking as she nears her own peak. âCome inside me. Now.â
You explode with a wail, hips jerking helplessly as you empty yourself deep inside her, pulse after pulse, while she continues to ride you through it, milking you dry, using your overstimulated, sensitive cock until she finds her own edge. She cums with a shout, nails digging into your neck, her body shuddering and clamping down so tight it almost hurts.She collapses on top of you, breathing hard, her hair tickling your face. For a moment, sheâs softâjust for a moment. She kisses your forehead, then bites your lip hard enough to draw a yelp. "Good episode,â she smirks, reaching over and stopping the camera recording. âWeâll call it... iFucked My Boyfriend Raw.â Youâre still trembling beneath her, spent, marked, utterly owned. âFive stars,â you whisper.â Damn right,â she says, stealing the last word, just like she stole everything elseâincluding your heart.
reader's pronouns are they/them; race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. (male reader version available here)
summary: Your sisterâs husband is weird.
Then again, heâs your sisterâs husband, not yoursâyou suppose it doesnât really matter if you donât like the guy.
âŚRight?
word count: 8.1k | ao3 version | joe goldberg playlist
author's notes: The reader is written to be androgynous and they wear masculine-leaning clothing. (Here's a version with a masculine reader. It should be open to both guests and AO3 users!)
Also, they have a sister, so⌠congrats, you now have a sister named Eve. Lol. Sheâs marrying Joe.
This is canon divergent/non-compliant. I havenât watched the show aside from the first few episodes.
Warnings:Â canon-typical blood/violence/injury/murder. stalking, possessive behavior, abduction. also non-consensual kissing (more of a 'spur of the moment' gesture than forced, but still flagging it.)
When your sister Eve announces that sheâs getting married to her boyfriend of two months, youâre suspicious. No one should get married that quickly. But she seems really happy about it, and you know itâs not quite your business to pry too much. Youâve already tried to tell her that she should wait a little bit instead of jumping into a long-term commitment, but she doesnât listenâshe never does. Sheâs always been the reckless one of the two of youâleaving you forced to play the role of responsible older sibling.Â
Somehow, itâs as if youâre the only one in the family concerned about the brevity of their relationshipâand the speed with which Eve gets married to this guy. His name is Joe, she tells you. Joe Goldberg, age 32. He works as a manager at the local bookstore, and he loves literature. You try to find him on social media, but you canât. Thatâs not a red flag or anything: itâs perfectly acceptable to avoid social media in this day and age. But the utter lack of information about him doesnât exactly make you feel any better.Â
Youâre not sure why youâre so concerned about this guy. Your sister can fend for herself, and is more than old enough to make her own decisions. You suppose youâre just waryâyou donât want to see her get hurt, like she has been in the past. But, as youâre quickly learning, itâs past the point of contention now. Eve and Joe have their wedding date set, so your focus shifts to supporting your sister. The two of you are supposed to meet for coffee soon, and youâre eager to hear how sheâs doing with everything. Itâll be an interesting conversation for sure.Â
Truthfully, this is the most fun Joeâs had in years. And to think, it all started with a plan to kill your sister.Â
Well, not exactly. But sort of. Your sister Eve was a good friend of his recent girlfriend, Sophie. Sophie was perfect. Everything went well for a few months, until your sister appeared and began to plant doubts in Sophieâs head. She was getting too close to learning the truth. Eve was too skeptical of him, too suspicious. And this suspicion spread to Sophie too, until she was breaking up with him.
So, naturally, Joe adjusts his plans and proposes to your sister Eve. Two months later, heâs meeting the familyâand seamlessly fitting in, as if he was always meant to be a part of it. Heâs met Eveâs parents and made a great impression; the same goes for her aunt and uncle, her grandmother and grandfather. Thereâs only one person he hasnât met yet: you, her older sibling.Â
Eve talks about you frequently, but Joe has never met or even seen you. Supposedly, youâre a bit more closed-off than the other family members heâs met so far. You donât go to most of the family gatherings, and you tend to keep to yourself. Youâre very important to Eve, thoughâwhich is why Joe finds himself sitting at this small table in the corner of a modest coffee shop, waiting for you. Eve is getting a bit nervous, evidently, as her fingers jitter on her leg. Joe reaches out and squeezes her hand reassuringly; she calms a little bit and glances down at her phone.
âThey just parked,â she informs him. Sheâs practically fidgeting in anticipation. One thing is clear: Eve thinks you hang the moon. Which means Joe will have to begrudgingly get through this conversation with an overprotective siblingâŚÂ
Ugh. Heâs going to need something stronger than coffee.Â
The bell above the door sounds and Joe looks up from the table, watching another person enter the shop. Heâs been watching for you for a few minutes now, despite having virtually no idea what to look for. Eve talks about you all the time, but sheâs never shown him any pictures or described your appearance. Joe isnât sure who he expects. Perhaps someone closer to Eveâs appearance: unassuming, modest, attractive in a friendly, ânext door neighborâ kind of way.Â
Safe to say, when he sees a somewhat alternative person practically dripping in androgyny enter the room, he assumes them to be a stranger. Imagine his surprise, then, when Eve waves to this person and their lips quirk at the edges, their expression ever so slightly brightening and the tension slowly fading from their shouldersâŚ
âFinally,â Eve says jokingly, placing a hand on his thigh briefly before getting up to greet her sibling. Joe watches her approach you, observing the interaction with interest. Despite your slightly intimidating appearance and blank expression, he can sense that you care about your sister. You embrace her and he watches you, scrutinizing your outfit. A muted green sweatshirt, jeans cuffed at the ankles, sneakers. Thereâs some sort of lanyardâprobably attached to your keysâsneaking out of your pocket, a keychain of some character just barely noticeable.Â
Eve points back to their table and Joe watches with barely-restrained delight as you stiffen, annoyance and frustration warring across your face. Youâre barely trying to hide it. You drag your gaze over to him and Joeâs heart honestly jumps as your eyes meet.Â
Well, well, well. You donât like him. You donât trust him.Â
Interesting.Â
He watches as Eve leads you back to their table. âSorry,â she says to you as she returns to her seat, looking up at you. Eve didnât tell you that Joe would be here, after all. Your reaction to him just now was entirely genuine and unfiltered. âThis was the only way to get you to meet Joe.â
âProbably,â you relent shamelessly, considering them for a moment before taking a seat across from them. Joe watches you fidget restlessly for a moment, before you shove your hands in your pockets. Your gaze keeps flitting about the room. Your knee is bouncing, jittering in an unconscious twitch.Â
It seems like heâll have to make the first move. âHello,â he says with a polite smile, extending a hand. âJoe Goldberg; nice to meet you.âÂ
âHey,â you respond briefly, shaking his proffered hand quickly. You donât even introduce yourselfâalthough, Joe supposes that isnât necessary, since he already knows who you are. Eve sends you a pointed look at your brief greeting; you just seem to ignore it. Thereâs an awkward silence for a few moments before your sister clears her throat.Â
âHow are things with you?â she asks you nicely. âItâs been a while.â Joe looks over at you expectantly, curious to learn more about this person who has seemed to subvert all of his expectations. Despite how often Eve talks about you, he had an entirely different idea of you in his head. Heâs curious to see just how far off he may have been.Â
âEverythingâs good,â you say with a slight nod. Youâre clearly not comfortable being honest in front of Joe. That makes him want to smile, for some reason. He decides to get up to fetch the drinksâleaving you and your sister alone at the table. Heâs making it seem as if heâs giving you two some space. Of course, Joe can still eavesdrop on your conversation from hereâitâs a small coffee shop, after all.Â
âSo,â Eve says, cutting right to the chase, âwhat do you think?âÂ
âOf Joe?â you ask. She nods. âHeâs nice,â you say. Joe resists a laugh at how flat and apathetic the remark is.Â
âYeah?â Eve huffs, clearly both amused and a bit irritated.Â
âCome on, Eve,â you sigh in exasperation. âIâm trying, I swear. You didnât even warn me he was going to be here. And we just met two seconds ago.â All fair points.
Joe lets his eyes wander the menu as he continues to listen. âI know,â Eve responds, âbut this is happening. Heâs going to be a part of my life, which means heâll probably be a part of yours, too.âÂ
âI know,â you acknowledge, clearly sensing this is important to her. âIt just seems sudden, okay? The last time we spoke, you really werenât doing well. And now youâre getting married?â Youâre good at wording it delicately, expressing your concern without being too skeptical or unsupportive.Â
âYouâll still be at the wedding, right?â Eve asks slowly. Joe thinks back to Eveâs admission late last night, her fear that you werenât going to be there for her because you didnât support their relationship. Joe had murmured and nodded at all the right times, his hand playing with her hair as he thought of other things.Â
âIâ Yeah, of course,â you respond, staring at her in bewilderment and disbelief. Joe is quickly brought back to the present moment. âDid you really think I wouldnât go?â you ask with a slight frown. Ah. Youâre a good sibling above all, it seems. That may prove to be a problem later on.Â
Eve nods. âOkay,â your sister says, something like relief in her voice. âGood.âÂ
Joe has stalled for long enough; he returns with the drinks, placing them on the table before taking his seat again. Eve had ordered the three of you, since she knows what each of you like.Â
âThanks,â you say after a moment, sliding your drink closer to you. Joe nods, watches you take a sip and look at your sister expectantly.Â
âJoe works at that bookstore, Mooneyâs,â Eve starts. âHeâs a literature enthusiast. Not unlike someone else at this tableâŚâÂ
Joe raises a brow, watches as you huff in amusement at your sisterâs unsubtle remark. âYou read?â he asks. You nod. âWhat genre?âÂ
âDepends,â you answer. âRight now, Iâm kind of oscillating between horror and gothic stuff⌠and classics. Poetry too, when Iâm in the mood.âÂ
âNice,â he replies with a nod. Very nice. No sappy romances, troubling self-help guides, or autobiographical ego trips by famous people. Heâs curious to know exactly what youâre reading. He adds Goodreads to the list of applications heâll look for you on.Â
The ensuing conversation is a bit stilted, but Eve is clearly trying her best. You only really talk to Eve, scarcely acknowledging Joe unless absolutely necessary. Itâs a bit irritating, but soon enough, Eve needs to step away to go to the bathroomâleaving Joe alone with you at the table. The two of you just sit there in tense silence for a bit, before youâre the one to break through it.
âThis isnât some protective, pseudo-incest bullshit,â you mutter, your finger tracing the spirals in the wooden surface of the table. You look back over at him. His next breath gets stuck in his chest. Your eyes wander past him as you take in the shop around you, unaware of the fervency of Joeâs quickly growing interest. âI just donât really like you.âÂ
Joe blinks in surprise. A laugh wrenches its way from his lips before he can stop it. He canât remember the last time he felt such genuine amusement.
âFair enough,â he acquiesces.Â
Joe catches himself quite literally leaning forward, as if trying to break the distance between you. When Eve returns, he has to remind himself to put an arm around her waist for the performance. But he canât take his eyes off of you. Heâs digesting every word you utter, drinking in the sight of you. Youâre everything. Sarcastic and blunt, clever and utterly fascinating.Â
Itâs a shame the outing has to come to an end. Truly. Youâre the first one to get up, unsurprisingly. You seem seconds away from bolting out the door and disappearing forever. Unfortunately for you, it wouldnât accomplish anything. Youâre already in Joeâs sights now.Â
âIt was nice to meet you,â Joe says to you, surprised by how authentic the remark is. He genuinely enjoyed your company, which is more than can be said for nearly everyone he meets. Eve gets to her feet and he begrudgingly does the same.
âYou too,â you say with a stiff nod, turning to your sister. âBye, Eve,â you respond, reaching out and giving her a hug.Â
âWhereâs my hug?â Joe blurts out jokingly before he can help it.Â
You just scoff, shoving your hands in your pockets. Before Joe can laugh, Eve wraps an arm around his shoulders and another around yours, before tugging you together. âMy two favorite people,â she grins. Joe watches as you get pulled closer to herâand him, by proxy. He catches the flicker of irritation that passes over your face, the tension written in the harsh line of your shoulders and the way you resolutely avoid looking at him or even acknowledging his existence.Â
You still hold the door open for him and Eve as they leave after you. Joe thanks you, watching you look away as if he hadnât even spoken. He should be offended, but for some reason, heâs amused.Â
âDrive safe,â Joe adds. Heâs having fun now.Â
âYou too,â you say flatly. A slight smile. Itâs not for himâhe takes it anyway. âEveâs a nightmare behind the wheel.â
âNo, Iâm not!â Eve huffs from his side, looking at you indignantly. Joe knows better than to get involved, even though youâre absolutely right. He just presses a kiss to Eveâs temple in a swift distraction. Soon enough theyâre parting with you and heading to their car.Â
The question comes sooner than he expectsâpractically the moment their seatbelts are fastened. âSo, whatâd you think?â Eve asks him as she starts the car. Itâs obvious whatâsâor, more accurately, whoâsheâs inquiring about.Â
âTheyâreâŚâ Joe breaks off. Witty, with a dry and occasionally dark sense of humor. Smart. And attractive. Very attractive. â...cool,â he finishes slowly, not trusting himself to say more.
âYeah, they are,â Eve agrees, something like pride in her voice as she reverses and heads out onto the road. âPretty career-driven. They were a really good student in schoolâmade it hard for me to follow in their footsteps.â
Normally, Joe would be tuning her out. But he finds himself listening with rapt attention, desperate for any more information about you. âCareer-driven?â he echoes, pretending to be confused about the meaning of the phrase. In reality, Joe just needs to know exactly how far that goes. Are you so focused on your career that you neglect other things? Like⌠romantic relationships, perhaps?
âYeah,â Eve nods, unaware of the ugly anticipation twisting in Joeâs chest. âTheyâve been working full-time since the moment they left college. Theyâre not really the social type, donât hang out with friends too often. Thatâs why I was surprised when they agreed to meet.âÂ
Damn it, so close.Â
âTheyâre worried about their little sister,â Joe says jokingly, placing a hand on Eveâs forearm. Eve looks amused.Â
âYeah, I guess so,â she huffs. âIâm the reckless one, compared to them. Jumping into relationships, as they say.â
So youâre more careful. Joe files that to the back of his mind. Even as Eve drives them home and the day carries on, he canât take his mind off of you.Â
As time passes, Joe is pleased to recognize that everything is going just as he planned. Thereâs only one problem. Itâs a minor hiccup, really: he doesnât feel anything for your sister.Â
Well, Joe doesnât necessarily view that as the problem. This is a sham marriage, anyways. Heâs just going through with it so that he can tear her apartâshatter Eveâs heart on the ground before watching the life leave her eyes.Â
The problem is that heâs finding himself actually developing feelings for someone else: you. The sibling of the woman heâs supposed to take down the aisle. The sibling of the woman he plans to kill.
This is unprecedented for Joe on several accounts. His schemes are never this messy; not to mention, heâs only had feelings for women in the past. But he canât deny that strange jump in his chest whenever he sees youâthe constant desire to be close to you, to have your unwavering attention.Â
Joe has looked in a mirror before: he knows heâs attractive. Many people consider him charming. But you? Youâre not affected: youâre wary of him, you donât like him. You almost seem to hate his guts. Somehow, in his twisted and nonexistent logic, this only makes you more attractive.Â
He finds himself replaying that conversation in the coffee shop in his head, turning over each and every response. Joe fixates on the slight smile on your face when you saw your sister⌠and the way it promptly dripped off your lips when you saw him. Thereâs something so fascinating about you. He canât put a finger on it.Â
When Eve brings up the idea of a family dinner at your parentsâ house, Joe almost starts to believe in miracles. The timing is just too perfect. This will be a great opportunity to learn more about you, assuming you attend. He can only hope you do.Â
When he arrives with Eve, heâs pleasantly surprised to find you in the corner of the room, engrossed in conversation with someone. Eventually, you must feel him staringâbecause you look over before looking away. The tension in your shoulders betrays you.Â
Joe doesnât really get a chance to talk to you until he nearly crashes into you in the hall an hour later. When you run into him, you blink, startle. Joe reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, under the pretense of stopping himself from crashing into you.Â
âEasy there,â he says jokingly, something of a smile on his face. You just scowl, which only makes Joe more intrigued and entertained. âIâm surprised youâre here,â he admits.Â
âAt my parentsâ house?â you ask skeptically.Â
âEve said you donât typically go to these things,â he responds smoothly.Â
You just stare at him, not giving him a response. Joe scrambles to find something else to talk about, something to keep you in this tight hallway with him.Â
âHowâs that new project going for you at work?â he asks.
If you were wary before, youâre outright suspicious now. âHow do you know about that?â you frown.Â
âEve was telling me,â Joe says, plastering a confused smile on his face. His heart is starting to race in his chest, especially as he realizes your suspicions are still thriving.Â
âI never told Eve,â you argue with complete certainty.Â
âYou mustâve,â Joe suggests.Â
âI didnât,â you maintain, still entirely sure of yourself despite his pressure.Â
Oh, youâre a tough customer.Â
Joe eventually gives up on arguing and just shrugs. Your eyes narrow; he decides to take advantage of your momentary silence. âWhereâs your date?â he hums. The question jumps from his lips before he can contemplate the consequences.Â
Your eyebrows furrow. âWhat date?âÂ
âFamily dinner?â he continues. âGood time to bring the partner.â Joeâs waiting for you to explain yourself, deny the assumption, do anything. Instead, you just remain quiet, as if sensing exactly what heâs looking for and refusing to give it to him.Â
And then you brush past him.
Joe stands frozen in the hall for a while longer, completely reeling.
âRemind me why Iâm here again?â you pipe up, your hands shoved in your pockets and that characteristic grumpy expression on your face. Itâs cute. Joe wants to tell you that. Instead, he just looks over at Eve and raises an eyebrow, imploring her for an explanation as to why the three of them are now standing in the bridal shop. Isnât it taboo for the groom to see the brideâs dress before the wedding?Â
Then again, since when did he care about taboosâor even the success of this wedding? Joe reminds himself of the thought. Planning this wedding has been stressful, even though he doesnât even care about it. Itâs kind of ironic.Â
âBecause I need a second opinion,â Eve explains, breaking Joe out of his thoughts. She turns to him with a sympathetic smile, before looking at you with a playful smirk, âand Joe doesnât have much fashion sense.âÂ
Ouch.Â
You laugh slightly at your sisterâs remark, before turning to look him up and down. âYeah, I guess so,â you concede after a moment. Thatâs practically an insult, so why does it make Joeâs heart nearly stop? âMom would be better for this, though,â you continue.Â
âYou know sheâd take hours,â Eve says, âand sheâd be crying the whole time.âÂ
âTrue,â you relent.Â
âAlthough, she wouldâve dressed nicer,â Eve says, looking at your clothes critically.Â
âYou get what you get,â you say with a shrug, entirely unbothered by the jab. Joe is a little surprised by the casual outfit youâre wearing: a long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. He wonders why you pull it off so well, why he keeps catching himself looking at you when he should be looking at his elegantly-dressed bride. âBesides, Iâm not trying anything on.âÂ
Eve shakes her head at you in disbelief, a smile on her lips. Then she walks away, leaving Joe and you waiting for her. You move to sit on one of the armchairs near the fitting area and Joe follows you.Â
âI thought the groom wasnât supposed to be here for these things,â you realize aloud, looking over at him and blinking. Joe shrugs, unwilling to admit he was thinking the exact same thing. You seem to accept this nonexistent explanation.Â
Your sister emerges soon enough. Seeing her in any white dress, let alone a wedding one, should be enough to take his breath away. But Joeâs too distracted with you next to him, your lackadaisical sprawl burning into his peripheral vision.Â
âWhat do you think?â Eve asks you both self-consciously, staring at the dress in the mirror before looking back.Â
âLooks great,â Joe says, clearing his throat. Remembering the part heâs supposed to play.Â
You just flash a thumbs-up. Your sister looks at you imploringly.Â
âCome on, I brought you here to be honest,â she says. Joe follows her gaze to you, curious.Â
âFine, fine,â you sigh. You study the dress for a moment, a slight frown on your face. âIt looks like a tablecloth.âÂ
The dress does look like a tablecloth, now that Joe thinks about it. Itâs too frilly and lacy.Â
âAnd the sleeves are too short,â you continue. Correct again. âAlso, it doesnât even have any shape to itââ
âOkay, okay, got it,â Eve interjects. âThanks; thatâs what I needed.â She returns to the fitting room. You stare after her for all of two seconds, before pulling out your phone and scrolling. Joe watches as you pretend to have something to do, just to avoid conversation with him. Youâre refreshing your email, checking your weather app. Joe hides a laugh, eventually deciding to take pity on you.Â
âSo, howâs work?â Joe says smoothly, glancing over at you. Work is a safe topic.Â
You just raise an eyebrow, sensing how flimsy his attempt at conversation is. âIs that the best you can do?â you ask, seeming amused.
âCome on, Iâm really trying here,â he sighs, putting a somewhat helpless inflection in his voice.Â
âReally?â you blink. âBecause you donât have to.â Â
Joe bites. âOh?â
âYeah,â you nod. You pay him a fleeting glance. Maybe one or two seconds, maximum. Honestly, you look at him like heâs a piece of furniture. Itâs kind of annoying. He doesnât ever have to put effort into getting someoneâs attention and keeping it. Joe prides himself on being charming. Are you just immune or something? âWe can just⌠coexist.âÂ
No. Joe isnât satisfied with thatâheâll never be satisfied with that. âWeâre going to be family soon.â It sounds like a weak justification, even to him. And heâs the one who made it.Â
âSo?â you ask.Â
âSo,â he says pointedly, âwe should at least get along.â
âWe are getting along,â you point out.Â
âHey, stop antagonizing Joe,â Eve interjects, appearing from the dressing room in a new dress. Joe is equally thankful for and annoyed by the interruption.Â
âIâm not antagonizing him,â you huff.Â
âYes, you are,â Eve says, stepping up to the mirror to look at herself in the dress. She smooths it out, then frowns slightly. âYou only get like this when Joeâs around.â
Joe glances over at you curiously. Your reaction to that statement is telling. Your face tenses. Your fingers jitter against your leg. You frown at your sister, who is too busy looking in the mirror at her dress to notice.Â
âYeah, give a guy a break,â Joe says playfully, if only to see your jaw clench in annoyance. This is kind of fun. Heâs not used to playing the game like thisâheâs used to being perceived as handsome or charismatic, not irritating. But thatâs what makes this interesting.
You mutter something under your breath, a dark expression passing across your face before youâre pulling out your phone and finding a convenient excuse to avoid Joeâs eyes. Youâre playing a PokĂŠmon card game now. He stifles a laugh.Â
âItâs okay,â Eve says, shooting him a reassuring look. He raises an eyebrow at the mischievous smile on her face. âThis one right here plays tough, but they cried when we watched Luca.â
ââHey!â you exclaim, eyes snapping up from your phone to glare at your sister. âRude and uncalled for.âÂ
âYouâre not denying it,â Joe realizes aloud. A grin twists his lips, closer to genuine than heâd like. âThat animated Disney movie about the boys who were fish?âÂ
âShut up,â you huff. âAnd they were sea monsters, not fish.âÂ
Joe actually laughs at that. You proceed to talk about the queer themes in the movie while Joe watches on in interest. Eve just rolls her eyes, accustomed to hearing your media analysis rants.Â
The rest of the try-on process is slightly more relaxed, but still a bit tense. Youâre resolutely pretending that he doesnât exist, while Joe is just openly staring at you. Eve keeps emerging in dress after dress after dress, and Joe doesnât even care to provide fake compliments anymore.Â
It eventually gets to the point when Eve returns in her normal clothing. Finally, freedom from this torture. Joe suppresses a flinch as she moves to sit on the edge of the armchair next to him, practically in his lap.Â
âReady for the wedding planner?â Eve asks, raising her eyebrows with an excited smile.Â
âI was born ready,â Joe responds smoothly. He swears he can see your face contort in revulsion out of the corner of his eye. He resists the urge to laugh.Â
âYou coming?â Eve asks you.Â
âUh⌠no,â you say with a frown, clearly confused as to why youâre even being asked at all. At your sisterâs pout, you just double down. âWhy would I?â
âCome on,â Eve says pleadingly.Â
âThis is your wedding, not mine,â you frown. âI really donât care what flavor the cake is, or what color the flowers are, or what shitty straight people music is played.â You huff, making a nonchalant hand motion before getting to your feet and shrugging your jacket on.Â
Joeâs eyebrows climb up his forehead. Itâs not exactly easy to forget how straightforward you are, but times like this only serve to remind him of just how blunt you can be. Itâs a weirdly attractive quality. Joe is so accustomed to pulling teeth, to people saying the opposite of what they mean. Heâs grown complacent in his techniques, relying on the same lines to get a personâs attention and keep it on him. But you⌠youâre an antithesis to his tried and true methods. It unnerves him a bit, if heâs being honest.Â
âThatâs exactly why I need you there,â your sister says, breaking Joe out of his thoughts. âI want it to be unique.âÂ
âNo weddingâs ever unique,â you scoff, shoving your hands in your pockets. âItâs an antiquated concept, why even bother? Extremely misogynistic too.â You roll your eyes. Joe feels an amused smile tugging at his lips, which he has to disguise with a pointed cough.Â
âWeâre not getting into your anti-matrimony speech right now,â Eve remarks, evidently familiar with the turn this conversation has taken. âBesides, itâs too late for that.âÂ
âDoesnât matter; I have to go now, sorry,â you say.Â
âNo, you donât,â Joe utters the words before he can stop himself. Damn it. Fuck. Shit. He didnât mean to say that aloud.
âYes, I do,â you argue with a perplexed frown.Â
âNo, you donât,â Joe maintains. Heâs seen your schedule. You have nothing to do for the rest of the day. Â
Your sister is glancing between the two of you, clearly sensing somethingâs off. âYou can just say you donât want to go,â Eve hums, ever the mediator.Â
âI thought I just implied it,â you say with a frown, confusion seeping into your voice. You blink, sending your sister a sympathetic look. âYeah, I want to go home. Sorry.âÂ
âFine, fine,â Eve says, waving you off. âBut I donât want to hear your complaints if the decorations are an eyesore.âÂ
You just raise your hands in mock surrender. Eve gives you a hug and you promptly head out the door, not even acknowledging Joeâs existence long enough to say goodbye. Eve watches you leave with a slight frown, before turning to him and grimacing.Â
âSorry about them,â she sighs.
âItâs fine,â Joe says. And he really does mean it. Your behavior is only making things more interesting. âI can handle a little frostiness.â Â
âLucky for you,â Eve starts, leaning into him more, âyouâre marrying me.âÂ
âLucky me,â Joe repeats, struggling to imbue genuine emotion in his voice. The truth of the matter? Heâd choose you over Eve in a heartbeat. Any day, every day. But thatâs not something he can really speak on, so he stays quiet and lets Eve drape herself over him before they head off to the wedding planner.Â
When their wedding day finally arrives, Joe is preoccupied. Not with thoughts of his new fiancĂŠe, but with thoughts of you. As heâs putting on his suit, heâs not thinking about the beautiful white dress Eve will be wearingâheâs thinking of what youâll wear, where youâll sit, how youâll act. He half expects you to sneak out of the ceremony itself, wandering the halls of the venue instead of sitting with everyone else.
Joe finds you within moments of entering the venue. Youâre sitting in a seat at the edge of the front row, one leg crossed over the other as you scroll on your phone with a bored expression on your face. Youâre wearing a well-tailored dark grey suit and black dress shoes.Â
Joe stares for a while. He canât take his eyes off of you.
The bridesmaids walk down the aisle. Two of them are whispering about himâthe third valiantly pretending not to drool over him. Classic. The maid of honor proceeds after, barely sparing him a glance. He looks at you. You look so fucking bored. Itâs amusing, honestly. As if a wedding is the worst possible situation you could find yourself in.Â
Well, maybe to you, it is. But youâre showing up for your sister, supporting her even though you clearly donât like him. Just another of the many things Iâm starting to like about you. Youâre a good person, even though you donât want to be. You paint that scowl on your face and pretend to be prickly, but Iâve seen you. Iâve seen you help people pick things up when they drop them; Iâve seen you stop to help wayward tourists with directions. Iâve seen you thank the barista at your favorite coffee shop every single time, without fail. Iâve seen you swallow your objections when you donât get the food you ordered; constantly apologize for things that are never your fault.Â
You are a good person. And, somehow, that annoys you.Â
Itâs almost cute, really. That you think you can push everyone away. Because, letâs be real, you canât even commit to that, can you? You hate me, but you still greet me with that stiff nod when I enter the room. You still keep your true thoughts hidden behind lock and key, all for your sister.Â
In this contemplation, Joe nearly misses Eve walking down the aisle. Fuck. Heâs supposed to be looking, he thinks. He turns to the side, manifests an expression of awe and adoration. It seems to fool the massesâalthough, the scowl on your face only looks deeper when he takes another look. Funny.
The wedding itself is a blur. And not because itâs particularly enjoyable or eventful. No. Joe just⌠tunes most of it out. Vows, rings, kiss, adoring smile, another kiss, walk back down the aisle, bright smile, sparkling eyes.Â
God. This game is exhausting.Â
He doesnât really come back to himself until heâs at the venue of the reception. The second you walk through the doors, itâs like the world around him just⌠clarifies. Joeâs eyes rake across your form almost greedily, taking in the sharp lines of your suit and the reluctant smile on your face when someone approaches you. When they leave, Joe watches your eyes lock with your sisterâwatches as a genuine smile rises on your lips, and he thinks he actually forgets to breathe.Â
Youâve never given me anything remotely close to that kind of emotion.Â
He struggles not to show his irritation at the thoughtâit helps that youâre soon approaching your sister (and him, by proxy). Joeâs grip on your sisterâs hand tightens; if she notices, she doesnât comment, just squeezing his hand in a gesture that is supposed to be reassuring. It just makes his skin crawl.Â
âCongrats,â you say with an easy smile, eyes on your sister. Eveâs hand leaves Joeâs as she slips away to embrace you, giving you a tight hug.Â
âSo,â Joe says casually, after the two of you have broken apart, âguess weâre siblings now.â He extends a hand. A truce.Â
Youâre staring at his hand like itâs going to bite you. God, youâre not even trying to be funny, but you are. Whether you realize it or not.Â
You reluctantly return the handshake.Â
The reception is just as blurry (read: insignificant and mind-numbing) as the wedding itself. And of course, the groomâs role is one of the most important. He can barely step away from Eve for more than a moment, before theyâre being accosted by a family member or friend. Itâs frustrating. Joe is honestly grateful that this wedding is fakeâa real one sounds like a complete nightmare. Heâs exhausted enough already, and heâs only pretending to care.
Joe finally gets his chance for a breather when Eve gets up to go to the bathroom. He wastes no time in scanning the space, looking for a familiar scowling figure. Youâre not on the dance floorâalthough, honestly, Joe wouldâve been more surprised if you were. He eyes the balconies overlooking the space⌠and there you are. Almost hiding behind one of the pillars, scrolling on your phone.Â
Perfect.Â
Joe heads up the stairs, shoving his hands in his pockets and upping the whole âbreathless groomâ act a little bit. As he approaches, heâs both amused and annoyed to see that you arenât even looking up from your phone. He has to actually clear his throat for you to even notice his presence. But then those tired eyes are on him, and everything falls into place.Â
âHey,â Joe says with a nod.
â...Hey,â you respond after a moment.Â
âTaking a breather?â Joe hums.Â
âYeah,â you say. A frown. âWhy are you up here?âÂ
âSame thing,â Joe responds.Â
âYouâre supposed to be down there,â you say, nodding to the reception downstairs. Joe hums.Â
âI guess so,â he says. âItâs just all so⌠overwhelming.â He plasters an apprehensive, anxious expression on his face.Â
You just blink at him, almost seeming annoyed by his comment. âRight,â you stare at him skeptically. âItâs not like this is completely voluntary.â The sardonic remark should probably offend him, but it only makes Joe smile. He has to hide the gesture by taking a sip of his drink.Â
âI like your suit,â he blurts out.Â
You stare at him in bewilderment, before laughing slightly. Joe is suddenly entranced. Youâre laughing at him. He knows it. And yetâŚÂ
âThanks,â you say skeptically.Â
âIt was a genuine compliment,â Joe feels the need to clarify. You have no idea just how genuine it wasâthe breath he choked on when he saw you walk in with that characteristic annoyed look on your face, your hands shoved in your pockets⌠how he had to put genuine effort into looking at his wife, not youâŚÂ
âSure,â you just say, not seeming very convinced.
Joe gives up on trying to persuade you. âWant to dance?â he offers instead, nodding down at the dance floor.Â
âYou should be dancing with my sister,â you say, your arms crossed over your chest as if shielding yourself from him, âand no.âÂ
âShame,â Joe says with a hum. âI suppose youâre just going to lurk in this corner, looking miserable?âÂ
âI suppose,â you respond noncommittally. Damn, youâre being particularly stubborn today. Usually, he can get a few words out of you. But youâre just repeating his own words like some kind of parrot. He finds himself uncharacteristically frustrated. It takes him a moment to reign in the negative emotions.Â
âWell, have fun with that,â Joe settles for saying, turning his back on you before returning downstairs to look for his fiancĂŠe. He finds Eve easily enough, and they dance. It isnât awful. Thatâs all he has to say on the matter, really.Â
Truthfully, he does find his attention wandering far too frequently. He glances up at that balcony more times than he can count. Youâre still alone. Always alone, arenât you? And not in the typical, ânice people finish lastâ kind of way. More the disinterested, âget away from meâ kind of way.
âŚAlthough, perhaps he spoke too soon. Because when Joe remembers to look back up at the balcony a few minutes later, youâre gone. He frowns and keeps spinning Eve across the dance floor, ignoring her irritating laughs and exploring the room. Itâs kind of hard to see, but he knows you well enough to know youâre probably against one of the walls or in one of the corners.Â
Indeed, that is where he finds you: in the far corner, in conversation with some random guy in an ill-fitting suit. The man must know your family, Joe suspects. Youâre listening to him intently, giving him your full attention.Â
Hell, youâre laughing.Â
Pure, unadulterated fury runs through him. Joe has never seen you smile at him, laugh with him. Thereâs no trace of that contempt in your eyes, that wariness that draws your shoulders tight and furrows your brows. And somehow, this guy, with his shitty suit and even shittier haircut, is getting your attention.Â
Within an hour, Joe is dragging the guyâs dead body into a nearby storage closet. Joeâs blood is thrumming beneath his skin, his hands almost shaking after the strength he exerted to strangle the man. It was satisfying, invigorating.Â
And itâs all too easy to lead you to the storage closet inadvertently. Youâll stumble upon the corpse, while Joe will be spinning your sister around the dance floor. Itâs the perfect alibi, really.Â
He doesnât intend to frame you, of course. That murder was a bit impulsive, even for Joe. All it took was one glimpse at the slight smile working its way onto your lips as you spoke with the man⌠and Joe snapped.Â
Ah well. He did everything smoothly. In twenty minutes or so, heâll check on you. From there⌠well. Heâll see where things go.Â
âAre you all right?â Joe asks you, manifesting an air of concern. Heâs not genuinely concerned, because he knows exactly what youâre distressed about. He planted the guyâs body perfectly, he has to admit. You stumbled upon it very quickly. Of course, Joeâs using your compassion for your sister to manipulate you hereâyou wonât report the body just yet, because you donât want to ruin the wedding. That allows for this little encounter in the rather large gender-neutral restroom, with stalls from floor to ceiling and elegant marble counters.Â
Youâre standing at one of the sinks, head bent and hands gripping the edge of the counter. At his remark, you glance up slightly. âYeah, why?â you respond.Â
âYou look distressed,â Joe remembers to say.Â
âItâs been a weird day,â you huff. Itâs almost funnyâif he didnât have a hand in things⌠if he had no knowledge of what just occurred, Joe would probably believe that excuse. But, of course, he did kill the guy and practically dump his body on you. So, he presses you a bit harder.Â
âHow so?â he hums innocently. Joe nearly smiles at the way your brows furrow in annoyance. Still, youâre persistentâand you just keep silent.Â
Joe feels weirdly restless. Itâs clear he isnât going to get any more details out of youâheâll have to be the one to set things into motion. Thatâs something of a change for him. Usually, his victimâobsession, fixation, whateverâis a bit more oblivious. But not you.Â
Heâs fine with taking the leadâif only to get things moving. âItâs a shame about that Brian fellow,â Joe drawls pointedly, staring at you in the mirror. Brian. Such a common name. Fit for a boring man. Joe watches as your eyes rise from the counter, squinting at him warily. âSuch a brutal way to go.â He clicks his tongue in faux sympathy.Â
âYeah,â you respond emptily. And Joe can see the exact moment it hits you, when comprehension dawns across your face while you try to hide it. (Because youâre supposed to be the only one who knows about the guyâs corpse. Yet here Joe is, casually commenting on it.) Your eyes widen ever so slightly, your shoulders tense. Your gaze explores the room quickly, frantically. Then, to Joeâs satisfaction, you look at him.Â
And you see.Â
Joe strikes.Â
You twist to the side, dodge and run.Â
Youâre reaching for the door to the bathroom. Joe fists a hand in the back of your collar and yanks you back. You kick out at him, punch him; he punches you in response. For a moment, he thinks he may have underestimated you. Of course, Joe has several contingency plans. And while he hadnât planned on threatening you too explicitly, it seems the situation requires it.Â
Besides, itâs exhilarating to watch your resistance bend and break as he presses a knife to your throat. You fall still. The air hums and buzzes.Â
âYou waited to pull that out,â you realize aloud, something like disbelief in your voice. Your clothing is rumpled from the fight; youâre both breathing hard. Thereâs finally a hint of emotion in your eyes: fear. Itâs entrancing. Joe wants to see it more. He wants to see other emotions play across your face tooâconfusion, irritation, helplessness. Perhaps even grief. Adoration.Â
âŚHeâs getting sidetracked.Â
âWhy are you doing this?â you murmur.Â
Why indeed. Because I want to. Because this feeling in my chest wonât go away. Because I want your eyes on me. BecauseâŚÂ
Joe watches the line of your throat as you swallow, then presses the blade to it tightly. You tilt your neck up slightly, trying to evade his grasp. Thereâs blood dripping from your nose, slipping down to your lips. Joe watches it in mute fascination, resisting the strangely compelling urge to touch it, let it stain his fingers.Â
The bathroom door swings open. You look to the doorway, clearly hoping for some intervention. But Joe is faster, subtly pressing his knife to the small of your back and grabbing a paper towel in his other hand.Â
âLook down a bit,â he says to you, pretending as if the two of you entered the bathroom to handle your unrelated bloody nose. Joe presses the towel to your nose and guides your head down slightly, pressing the blade to your spine as a reminder. Â
Youâre glaring at him furiously, even as you tilt your head. Â
Joe suddenly wants to kiss you. Very, very badly.Â
The stranger walks past, heads into a stall. Time seems to drag on for far too long, leaving Joe trapped in this damn bathroom. Finally, theyâre gone and the two of you are alone again.Â
Thereâs still some blood on your lips. Your shirt is stained slightly.Â
Even as the adrenaline finally begins to wear off, Joe feels privileged to see you this vulnerableâand proud of himself for causing it. Heâs moving before he can convince himself otherwise. Joe loops an arm around you, pressing the knife to the nape of your neck and tugging you into him.Â
In that luxurious bathroom, you expect Joe Goldberg to flay you, to bury that knife between your ribs and yank. You donât expect him to use it to drag you closer, into a kiss. And the irony of it all⌠is that once you break apart, breathless, heâs just regarding you calmly. As if youâre the crazy one.Â
âNow,â Joe says, his voice calm. âI have a present for you.âÂ
âI donât want it,â you say quickly, still struggling to comprehend whatâs going on. He just kissed you. And killed someone. Somehow, the former is more shocking.Â
âI know,â Joe responds with amusement, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit and extracting a Ziploc bag of pills. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Youâre really screwed now. âHere,â he says, leaving it on the sink counter. Joeâs looking at you expectantly. Does he really think youâre going to take these mysterious drugsâand from him of all people?
You shake your head. You have a bad feeling about those pills.Â
âTake them,â Joe urges you impatiently. He jabs at your ribs lightly with the knife, just hard enough for you to remember heâs armed. You take a slow breath before placing the pills in your mouth and swallowing them. Itâs difficult to keep them down without water, but you manage. âTheyâre not roofies, donât worry.âÂ
âRight,â you scoff. Youâre not sure if you can even take those words at face value. Besides, they donât have to be roofies to knock you unconscious. And you suspect thatâs exactly what Joe intends to do. As for what happens after that, you can only guess. âSo, weâre just going to stand here?â you huff, trying to find some bravado despite the powerless position youâre in. You have a bad feeling youâre going to die tonight.Â
âYes,â Joe responds calmly. âTheyâll kick in soon.âÂ
And that just makes your heart drop to your stomach. A shiver runs up your spine at the patient expression on his face. Youâre standing there at the counter, trying to manifest some sense of resistance despite the inevitability of it all. The world is starting to swirl and spin around you, and you donât think you can put that down to your imagination. The drugs are beginning to kick in already, just as Joe said. You want to be sick.Â
A hysterical, broken laugh crawls up your throat. âI knew I didnât like you for a reason,â you murmur. Your words slur together a bit as your vision blurs. Joe laughs, a piercing sound that reverberates in your ears. He places a hand on your shoulder. You want to shove him away, but your body isnât cooperating. Itâs taking all of your strength to keep yourself standing.Â
âFuckââ you choke out, tripping over your words as your balance tilts, ââyou.â The lights are flickering around you. Except⌠wait. No, thatâs just your vision. Your eyes are burning from fatigue and itâs growing difficult to fight off the exhaustion. Your knees give out and you fall to the ground, half-hoping to just crack your head open on the marble counter and escape the situation. But Joeâs there to catch you, lowering you to the ground gently. Heâs hovering over you, eyes glittering with an emotion you donât want to name. And youâre desperately trying to push him away, bringing a hand to his chest and summoning even a single ounce of strengthâ
But thereâs no force behind the gesture, as your eyes slip shut and your hand promptly falls to your side. From there, you get glimpses and traces of sensations as you slip into an inescapable void. Hands under your legs. Youâre a tangle of limbs being taken⌠somewhere. A thumb across your cheek, almost reverent. A stickiness on your lipsâprobably blood. A persistent ache in your bones. Nausea climbing up your dry throat.Â
You wake to find yourself on a makeshift futon with a blanket thrown over you, surrounded by glass walls on all sides. Your head aches, your dry eyes burn. The memories come back in an ungraceful assault, robbing you of your breath. The wedding, the corpse, that encounter in the bathroom. It dawns on you
You were right about Joe Goldberg.Â
And, for maybe the first time in your life, you wish your intuition was wrong instead.Â
endnotes: FINALLY got this out of my drafts, holy shit. i'm happy with it, tho.
Š2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciatedâjust don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.
thanks for reading! <3
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How the The Boys women would react to a reader with a big!D
Queen Maeve
⢠You've been secretly dating Maeve for monthsâstolen moments between her supe fights and your normal-guy life. She's the one who finally drags you to her penthouse, ripping off your clothes with that Amazonian strength, growling, "I've waited too fucking long to claim you."
⢠As she yanks down your boxers, her eyes widen behind that tough facade. "Holy shit, that's... massive." Your thick 9-inch cock springs free, veins bulging, head already leaking pre-cum. She grips it roughly, stroking the girth that barely fits her hand. "No wonder you're cockyâ this monster's gonna split me open."
⢠She pushes you onto the bed, mounting you reverse cowgirl. Her super-tight pussy lips stretch obscenely around your fat shaft as she sinks down, gasping, "Fuck! It's too bigâfeels like you're rearranging my guts!" She rides hard, ass cheeks clapping, her walls clenching like a vice. "Pound me deeper."
Kimiko
⢠Kimiko's been your shadowy protector-turned-lover after you patched her up from a brutal fight. Communication's all touches and intense stares; tonight, in your dimly lit apartment, she signs Fuck me now with feral hunger, stripping naked and tackling you playfully.
⢠When your pants drop, she freezes, eyes locked on your enormous dickâlong, girthy, balls heavy and full. She can't speak, but her wide-eyed gasp and frantic hand-signs say it all: Huge! Want it! She drops to her knees, licking from base to tip, struggling to fit the swollen head in her mouth, drool dripping as she gags sluttily.
⢠Pinning you down, she impales herself doggy-style, her mute moans turning to wild grunts. "Mmmph!" Her pussy gushes around your stretching cock, juices squirting as you bottom out. She claws the sheets, bucking back savagely, loving how your massive meat bullies her cervixâraw, animalistic bliss.
Victoria Neuman
⢠As a rising politician, Victoria's kept your affair hiddenâstressful days end with you bending her over her desk. First full sex night at her secure hideout: she smirks seductively, "Show me what you've got, sweetheart," peeling off her power suit.
⢠Your boxers hit the floor, and her composed facade cracks. "Jesus Christ, that's a weapon." She stares at your veiny 10-incher, throbbing menacingly. Her hand wraps around it experimentally, pumping slow. "This big dick could make anyone popâincluding me. Gonna head-explode from pleasure?"
⢠She spreads her legs on the desk, guiding your tip to her dripping slit. It pops in with a wet schlick, her eyes rolling back. You rail her missionary, her legs quaking, pussy creaming on your girth as she cums explosively, begging for your load.
Annie January
⢠Annie's found solace in you amid Vought chaosâsweet dates turn passionate. In her hidden safehouse, she whispers shyly, "I want our first time to be perfect," kissing you deeply before undressing nervously.
⢠Your huge cock flops out heavy and hard; she blushes crimson. "Oh my God, it's so big... will it even fit?" Her innocent fingers trace the ridges, mesmerized by the pulsing veins. She strokes reverently, then sucks the tip, moaning around it. "Tastes so goodâneed it inside me."
⢠Missionary under soft lights, her virgin-tight pussy yields to your invasion. Tears of ecstasy stream as you thrust deep, her perky tits bouncing. She wraps around you, cumming hard: "Yes, fill your Starlight with that monster cock!"
Ashley Barret
⢠Stressed Vought exec Ashley's been blowing off steam with youâyour calm vibe hooks her. Late-night at her office: she's manic, "Fuck me senseless to forget this day!" shoving you against the glass window.
⢠Pants down, your massive dick swings free; she hyperventilates. "What the actual fuck? That's pornstar huge!" Her neurotic grip pumps it frantically, eyes bugging. "Gonna destroy my pussy with this thing."
⢠Bent over her desk, you slam in balls-deep. "Holy shit, it's wrecking meâgape my sloppy hole!" She squeals hysterically, squirting messily, ass rippling from your pounding. "Harder, make me your cumdump executive slut!"
Cate Dunlap
⢠Cate's manipulative touch powers make your relationship intoxicatingâshe brainwashes rivals away for you. In her dorm, she purrs, "Touch me everywhere," stripping seductively for your first raw fuck.
⢠Your cock reveals itself: enormous, curved upward menacingly. She licks her lips wickedly. "Fuck yes, that's the biggest I've controlled." Her hand touches your base, sending pleasure shocks up your shaft. She deepthroats half, gagging greedily: "Mind-fuck my throat first."
⢠She rides you prone-bone, her powers amplifying every thrust. "It's too girthyâripping my walls apart deliciously!" Juices flood as you bully her G-spot, her eyes glazing with forced orgasms. "Cum in your, puppet master!"
Marie Moreau
⢠From Gen V chaos, Marie's bonded with you as her anchorâblood powers make foreplay bloody fun. In the woods post-mission, she grins, "Claim me fully tonight," blood-tentacles teasing your clothes off.⢠Your pants drop; she gasps, blood tendrils wrapping your thick shaft. "Holy fuck, it's monstrousâbigger than any supe cock!" She pumps it with crimson coils, then laps the pre-cum oozing from the slit.⢠Face-down ass-up, you plunge into her super-soaked pussy. Her walls milk you violently, blood lube making it slicker. She cums gushing red-tinged squirt, screaming: "Breed me deep with that horse dick!"
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