who could this be? emily? posting fics while ignoring everything else in life? huh.
we've been waiting for this for a while, please be warned this is just very self-indulgent shit that I wanted and you all love Dr. Ren as much as I do so we should all be in for a treat.
This is POST-HIPAA Violation, which means the same tags apply. Same universe, if you've read my work before you know Dr. Ren's narrative. He has an ex-wife named Callie, a daughter named Belle, and in the future, we have a baby boy together named Odin. This will be early relationship with Ren, lots of silly situations, Dr. Ren style, and disgusting smut.
the following are the TW/CW for the entire series...
TW/CW: NSFW, AGE GAP (14 YEARS BC I MADE HIM ADAM DRIVERS AGE & READER MY AGE 23), Older man/Younger women, exhibitionism, pain play (all consensual), daddy kink, female reader, Dr. Ren is an asshole okay because he's still Kylo Ren, awkward situations, age gap, slight age kink, medical kink, blood, anal sex, dirty talk, degradation kink, like seriously it's Dr. Ren okay, discussion of medications (in a teasing tone), discussion of children/childbirth, no pregnancy, but there will be breeding kink bc he is nasty, creampie, Dr. Ren attempting to hide in public, look Dr. Ren's wearing a hat, Uncle Benny!?, Ben and Kylo are not the same age, Ben is the older brother who is garbage, Bazine is Dr. Rens nauce (girl nephew), please refer to this oneshot for context on that, there is no Matt in this universe (yet ;))))
He should be here already…
You looked down at your watch, chewing your lip nervously as the minutes kept ticking by, bouncing past the five-minute marker, then the ten, my god twenty? Was he really standing you up? After your passionate affair? One that people would write about for years to come in steamy romance novels??
“Fuck,” you hissed, you bit through your lip, drawing blood. You quickly grabbed a napkin from the table, dabbing at the cut you had agitated all day because of how nervous you were. Today would be the first day you would have a real date with Ren.
You weren’t a patient anymore, no tenuous strings and red tape keeping you hidden in his closet. Literally, you’ve hidden in his closet before. No more fear of being caught by his nurses, even though you knew they knew about you. What kind of person makes appointments post-surgery once a week? And he always ends up being disheveled when he leaves!
Well, that's a bit of a stretch.
Ren is always so put together, dressed in those fuckin’ too tight slacks. That cup his junk so deliciously when he stands before you, tucked in button-down in shades of dark blue, gray, and black. Never a whiff of green, or yellow, god-forbid if you caught him wearing a pink. He would rather die than wear something like that, he had a fit when you gave him some t-shirt to sleep over a few weeks ago.
It was ‘salmon’ from an old frat-guy who you spent the night with during your freshman year, he was appalled you even had it.
He never looks out of place when you visit his practice, glasses on the bridge of his strong nose, face shaved and silky smooth. Unless it’s near the end of the day and he has a five-o-clock shadow that scratches your skin. At the end of every rendezvous, he has not a hair of place, but he has a giveaway.
Ren’s cheeks are always a little flushed when he bids you goodbye, squeezing past whatever nurse has to come in and check you out before you leave. There was no way they didn’t notice the hitch in his breath as he leaves or the slight sheen of sweat on his brow.
And you aren’t subtle about it either, your hair is always haphazardly thrown up in a bun, sometimes he tries to help you with it but he makes it worse. It usually ends with the two of you making out once again with his hand wrapped through your hair and creating an even bigger knot than before.
It’s been a long four months of sneaking around.
Shopping at stores thirty minutes outside of the city, wearing one of his big black hoodies from medical school. Ren wearing some suspicious shades, just so you guys can get groceries while holding hands and kissing the tips of each other’s noses.
“Love,” a voice rang out above you. Pulling you from the sweet image of Ren kissing your cheeks in Target last weekend when you were trying to get new bath towels that he wasn’t allowed to ruin with his cum.
A sharp snap of fingers, “Love, look at me.”
Your eyes tracked the noise, zeroing in on Ren standing by your table. Holding a small black coffee in his hand, brow furrowed with concern, “Love, what’s wrong? Your face is all starry-eyed, did you find the weed I hid from you?”
“Hi,” you grinned, relaxing in your seat at the sight of him. Ren looked at you curiously, sitting down across from you before sipping from his coffee. He then set down his briefcase, letting it sling from his shoulder onto the floor in a loud thud.
“Hello.”
You placed your chin in your hand, staring at him like the love-struck puppy you very much were. Ren sipped his coffee, looking down at your empty hands, “You’ve just been sitting here waiting for me? You didn’t order coffee?”
“Hm,” you looked around, now realizing how ridiculous you looked. Sitting in a Starbucks without ordering a drink, you didn’t even have your laptop out. You couldn’t even pretend to be a screenwriter like every other lonely person in the lobby, “I guess I didn’t…”
Ren hummed, tapping the tips of his fingers a few times in a row before checking his watch. Frowning down at the face, “I have patients starting at one, is there a reason we had to meet here instead of your apartment?”
“Uh…”
You swallowed, yes, I wanted people to see us together even if it was the Starbucks employees who don’t know us. Shaking your head softly, you bit down once more, cringing when you split the skin. Ren tsked you from across the table, reaching to swat at your face.
“You know I hate that,” he chuffed, “Bruising your beautiful lips, don’t you know that’s my job?”
You blushed a little, thinking about all the other places he had bruised over the span of your romance. All while he drank his coffee, glaring around the shop at the bustling people, probably grumbling about how crowded it was. But all you could picture was his hot, sweaty, naked body above you only 12 hours ago.
Thrusting inside you, a deadly hand on your jaw. Squishing your cheeks together so hard you had marks from his fingernails, a string of spit falling from his plump lips. Ready for you to drink down like you were starved before he smacked you across the face with his backhand.
“Love.”
You sighed, ‘yes Daddy, I’m your love. I’m whatever you want me to be…’
“Jesus,” Ren groaned from across the table before swiftly kicking you under the table, “Do I need to take you to the hospital? Did you forget to take something today? You’re acting like you’re high as a fucking kite.”
A swallow, “No-I’m fine,” you rubbed your shin that he hit, a disgusting part of your brain wondering what it would be like for him to kick you in other places. Jesus, maybe you needed to chill out for a moment.
“Well, are we getting food? I don’t want to eat whatever dry pastries they have here,” Ren began to get up, slinging his bag over his shoulder once more before hooking a hand under your shoulder. “Let's go, I don’t understand why you had me meet you here anyway. There's perfectly good leftover spaghetti at home.”
-------
Ren trailed after you into your apartment, huffing when you fumbled with the keys. He made you nervous when he was in a hurry, and he was in a rush to fucking eat. Something you had deprived him of with the coffee shop visit, but now there was footage of the two of you walking hand in hand in your neighborhood.
So, you chalk that up as a win.
Hastily getting his food ready like he was a toddler while he pulled out his laptop on your island countertop. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to do this every day, together. In your own house, where you could anticipate him being home on the dot every night. Instead of playing a guessing game if he would swing in through your apartment door.
Glaring at the clutter you leave on your counters, or the drink you have in your hand at an inappropriate time of day. If it’s past five, it’s fine, but Ren is unpredictable. If you two lived together, you would see him in the evenings and mornings. And weekends!
Weekends were so spotty with you two, one weekend would be great and the next one he wouldn’t speak to you until Sunday evening. ‘I need space, love’ you rolled your eyes, stirring red sauce into a bowl. He never gives you space, not that you wanted any. It was painful enough to hide your relationship from everyone.
Especially with your friends complaining that you hadn’t invited them over anymore, you didn’t have time for them to burst in. Not with Ren laying around buck-naked whenever he pleased.
It pleased you too, but that wasn’t the point.
“Here’s your food,” you pushed the bowl towards him, earning a hum and a happy sigh ‘thank you’.
You grabbed food of your own, walking around the island to slouch on the couch. Shoveling down the delicious pasta while watching TV, soon Ren’s feet shuffled over to you. Grumbling something about not having a dining room for ‘proper eating’ before he snuggled next to you.
Tugging your legs underneath your bottom, you leaned a cheek on his shoulder. Feeling the muscle flex with each movement of the fork back and forth. Humming in gratuity from the deliciousness you made, Ren wasn’t a picky eater. Thank god, because you were still mid-college level dieting.
Which meant noodles, fake cheese, and lots of salads. With the occasional trip to taco bell, which he hated but managed to eat seven tacos before he had a stomach ache. And refused to drink mountain dew to wash it down, but keeps cans of Dr. Pepper stashed in the back of his Porsche.
Ren pretends he doesn’t know how they get there.
‘Someone from work keeps putting those there.’
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
You blinked a few times, looking up at Ren’s face with dreamy eyes. A little bit of red sauce was smeared on his lip, you swiped it away with your thumb. Earning a soft kiss from his lips to the digit before you pulled it away.
“You’re freaking me out,” Ren set down your food on the coffee table, turning on his side so he could examine you. Hands cupping your face before he yanked your head up and down and in every other direction. Humming while he poked and prodded, mumbling to himself all the while.
You had long given up stopping his process, allowing him to maneuver you however he wanted until he felt like you weren’t dying. Ren was very concerned with your health, aside from being your doctor, but he was meticulous with you.
Being sure to rub your back when he threw you around too rough during sex or washing your hair in the sparse showers you spent together. Pulling you to lay directly on top of him so he can squish your cheeks together while watching TV, anything he can do to make sure you were okay, he did diligently.
“Did you know that we’ve been together for over four months?”
Ren stopped his poking, brow scrunched, “Yes? Is that significant?”
You said nothing, waiting for him to come to the conclusion you had this morning with your relationship’s newfound freedom. But all he did was blink, “Was I supposed to do something for our anniversary? Do people have anniversaries when they aren’t married?”
“Kylo…”
“What? It’s been a while-I didn’t realize I was supposed to do things for month-aversaries?” He looked around the room, confusion painting his face, “That can’t be a word, where is the dictionary I bought you?”
“That's not-”
“I mean, the dictionary could be your anniversary present,” he stood from the couch. Stalking over to the bookcase, “I also bought and assembled this thing, from fucking Ikea too.”
“I’m pretty positive I threw the dictionary away.”
Ren shot you a dirty look, “Why? Who throws away books? You mean to tell me you threw out the loving gift I gave you?”
“Oh my god,” you threw your hands in the air, “It wasn’t a gift, you were just mad that I didn’t have one because I didn’t know what you meant when you called your receptionist ‘Loquacious’.”
“That’s a normal word for people to know!”
“Dude…” you sighed, hopping off the couch to walk in front of him. Slapping his cheeks before shaking his face vigorously, “It’s been four months since my surgery and the beginning of our relationship.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Which means that I’m…” you inflected the words, hoping that he would connect the dots before you had to spell it out for him. “Means that I’m not an activ-vee…”
“Active?”
“P-p-pat-ient.”
“Patient.”
You nodded, “Yes, that’s right, I’m not an active patient anymore, which means that?”
Ren stared blankly, eyes darting all over your face before scanning the room like it would help him decipher what you were trying to get across. Wasn’t he an alumnus from some prestigious university? And did rotations at Johns Hopkins? And knows the dean of Oxford personally?
They go golfing together sometimes!
“I’m not following.”
“We can be public now!” you screeched, letting go of his face with a rough shove before rounding back to the couch. You fell down face-first into the smushed cushions to let out a pained scream, wishing that the universe gave you a man who wasn’t as oblivious as yours.
Maybe someone nice, like a lawyer, or a cowboy, or a detective with an array of flannels.
“Oh.”
You smothered your face into the pillows, counting backward from one hundred in hopes of lowering your blood pressure spike. You squished your eyes shut, trying to ignore the sound of Ren shuffling around the small space of your living room. Ruffling through his bag or perhaps his coat, you heard the click of his phone unlocking.
“Stay still,” he grumbled, sinking a knee between your slightly parted thighs on the edge of the couch. You flinched at the feeling of his fingers skating from the outside up to the hem of your shorts and back down. Pinching a few times before you heard the sound of a camera. Shutter clicking a few times as he pulled at your garments, you squirmed. Only earning a heavy hand pressing to the center of your back to keep you still. “Just texting someone,” he mumbled, you threw a hand behind you to grab at his forearm.
“Who the hell are you texting? You don’t text people,” you accused, only getting a hum in response before the sound of a message being delivered rang out. Ren planted both hands beside your torso, caging you in.
“My brother,” he kissed the shell of your ear, mumbling as he pressed his chest to your back. Rubbing his hips into you in slow circles, “He’ll be very happy to see that you’re a real person and not a hallucination.”
“You told him,” you turned your head to the left, met with Ren's lips pressing against yours. Nodding slowly into your kiss, “I did, and he thought I was lying, and now that I can tell people about you…”
He pulled you off the couch, spinning you to be chest to chest. Ren trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw, back bowed as he went further. Smacking against the skin of your neck, followed by a lick of his tongue, “I won’t be able to stop until everyone knows your mine.”
“Kylo…” you whimpered, only to squeal when he hoisted you over his shoulder.
A sharp smack landing on the back of your thigh as he stormed into your bedroom. You fell on your back unceremoniously, looking up to see Ren tearing off his black dress shirt. Followed by his undershirt, revealing his mouth-watering torso. Sculpted to the gods, peppered with constellations of freckles, scars, and other marks.
You quickly sat up, throwing off your own shirt before fumbling with the buttons of your shorts. Struggling as your back fell again, hitching your hips in the air as you yanked. Ren’s hands followed, tearing them off your legs along with your panties. Being thrown in a pile of your collected clothing, Ren climbed over you.
Licking his lips at the sight, something you’d never tire of seeing. How much he loved your body, worshipped it even. Each time it was a gift, running his hands up and down your torso. Pinching at the skin and rolls of imperfections that littered your body, things no other person would see unless you trusted them.
No other man had treated you this way, as a treasure.
Your lips crashed together once more, humming at the taste of your own blood. Splitting open from the sheer force of his passion, you yelped into his mouth at the touch of his fingers between your legs. Swiping from your entrance to your clit, pads circling a few times with your wetness before moving back to the source.
Clenching as he sunk two digits inside you, “Fuck.”
“Gotta be quick,” he mumbled against your lips, plunging his fingers deeper. The sound of your arousal ringing out over your collected panting. The tips brushing past your front wall over and over, causing you to twitch in pleasure.
You felt a hand snaked under your back, digging into the hair at your nape. Tugging back violently to showcase your throat, which Ren latched onto immediately. Sucking a deep mark into the skin, blood vessels near the surface breaking into a blossomed bruise. Teeth sinking in time with his thrusting digits.
Yanking them out for a few moments before the hot heat of his cock came to your entrance. Prodding shallowly a few times before sinking to the hilt, a comfortable pain in your gut shivering through you. Like an ache that you hoped would never go away, “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”
You nodded, tilting your head back further so he could abuse more acres of your skin. A lazy thrust before he caught a rhythm. Hips slapping against your own in a tooth-shattering pounding, you bite at your bottom lip. Hissing through your teeth at the blood that flowed as you sunk down more. Tongue darting out to taste it as Rens lapped in long lines up your jugular.
“You feel so good, could stay inside you all day. Inside this tight pussy,” he whispered, “Would you like that? Daddy’s cock all the time, filling you up?”
“Yes,” you panted, “I want that-I want your cock.”
“Mm,” a sloppy kiss to your collarbone. Ren pulled away, hands hooking behind your knees before falling on top of you once more. Stretching your legs up and out painfully, “Stretching out this pussy, and you’re going to take it like the good girl you are.”
You whined, legs already going numb as you attempted to flex your feet. Bouncing on the mattress as it creaked, Ren’s hips picking up the pace. You were just a hole for him to use, stuck underneath his body, taking it for him just like he said.
“Daddy-I,” you swallowed, “I need to cum.”
He groaned, stilling inside you for a moment before pulling out painfully slow. Leaving the tip inside you before punching back, commingled breaths stuttering as he repeated it over and over.
Ren picked up the pace, grunting in your ear each time he was hilted inside. Cock nudging your deepest parts before twitching, “You can cum, baby. Cum all over me.”
Wedging a hand between your slippery bodies, briefly grazing down where he was buried inside your cunt. Lips open wide for his unforgiving girth, you slicked the tips of your fingers, Ren groaning in your ear when you tightened around him at the first swipe. Short, shallow thrusts into your heat were matched with the thrumming on your clit.
Clenching and unclenching in tandem with him, your head fell back to your pillows. Mouth open in bliss as you moaned, “Fuck-yes.” Muscles tightening and relaxing in pure ecstasy as you came over your peak, trying as best you could to rock your hips into his in soothing circles while your clit ached.
Stiff and sensitive against his public bone, you slapped your damp palm onto his side. Receiving a delighted purr in your ear, “Good girl, I’m going to fill you up now. Then I’m going to work and you’ll keep my cum inside you all day long. And when I come back, I’ll eat it out of you before I fuck you again. Okay, love?”
You nodded slowly, a soft whimper falling from your lips as he leaned off you. Your hand slipped off his sweat-slicked skin while he rearranged himself. Hissing a bit at the angle of his cock, pressing incessantly against your cervix. Almost to the point of pain, pulling out a few inches before falling back into you.
Over and over, until Ren groaned. Voice shredded as he stared into your headboard, cock pumping cum against your walls. Lazy thrusts sucking it further inside you, all the way out coated with your combined cum, before pushing back in.
You purse your lips in the air, earning a low chuckle before Ren gifted you a soft kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his body back to yours, voice muffled, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” lips sliding back and forth over your own before he pulled back to look you in the eyes.
“What?”
“I think I heard my pager go off earlier,” Ren untangled himself softly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrists while you laid boneless on the bed. You hummed when he bent over to snatch his pants, giving you a look at his toned back and ass. He held up the flashing piece of ancient technology, huffing a laugh.
“I’m already ten minutes late,” he looked back at you, a grin on his face, “I guess ten more wouldn’t hurt.”
Dr. is what we all need this holiday season, and this Dr. Oneshot is inspired by a dream I had. sooooooo... also this is like the longest oneshot I've ever written and I'm not sorry
HIPAA Violation Universe!
YOU READ IT RIGHT, I AM THROWING THIS INTO THE UNIVERSE OF SURGEON KYLO. SO SAME TW APPLY. THIS IS PRE COMING OUT IN PUBLIC WITH YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH REN!!!
SPOILER, THIS IS REALLY LONG I GOT CARRIED AWAY.
TW: NSFW, AGE GAP (14 YEARS BC I MADE HIM ADAM DRIVERS AGE), THROWING IN A FEW NEW ELEMENTS TRY TO KEEP UP, ANAL SEX, DOUBLE PENETRATION, DIRTY TALK, NASTI BOI DR. REN.
You sat on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap as you watched White Christmas on Netflix. It had been a really long day, you had to drive your friend to the doctor's office, the same doctor you had started fucking for the past two months, then have to sit at lunch with her and listen to her gush about how handsome he is. All while you had to pretend like you didn’t notice because he was a paranoid control freak who ‘wasn’t ready to put a label on us’.
Rose had texted you about wanting to meet up for the evening, saying something about ‘since I got my cast off we need to have wine night!’. You hastily ignored the messages, wanting to sulk in private after Ren ignored you at the appointment. The least he could do to the girl he had been sticking his dick into every evening, was say hello or shoot them a text that said how cute you looked. But no, you hadn’t heard from him all day, and you knew when his breaks were.
You shoveled a handful of popcorn in your mouth, ready to drown it with a gulp of the Margarita you made when your door flew open.
“Love, take your pants off-.”
Ren stood in your entryway, making direct eye contact with your mouthful of popcorn. His face was completely devoid of emotion, slowly shutting the door, still not breaking eye contact, and setting his briefcase on the kitchen island. He shucked off his lab coat and draped over one of the barstools before he began to unbuckle his belt. “You know junk food isn’t healthy for you.”
“Mphf.”
“Chew your food.”
You swallowed, blindly reaching for your drink and taking a long gulp while staring at his dark eyes. Ren’s left eyebrow raised as he watched you, yanking his belt out of his pant loops. He gripped it in his left hand as he stalked over to you, “It’s a little early to be drinking, isn’t it? You’re being very naughty tonight.”
You glared at him, standing from the couch with your arms folded across your chest. “I don’t think I said you could come over tonight.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Um,” you stopped when you were chest to chest with him, “Because it’s my apartment and I control who comes over.”
“Oh, you do?” he smirked at you, “Then why am I standing here?”
“Because you’re an asshole.”
He snorted, quickly grabbing your jaw with his free hand and digging his forefinger and thumb into either side. “You are just begging to be punished, and here I thought you wanted me to come over. Like you have every night since I fucked your whore brains out for the first time.”
“Stoppit,” you tried to spit back at him, your face beginning to ache from his strong grip. You brought your hands up, trying to claw his from your face but it was no use, he was too strong. So you settled for pouting, giving him your sad, puppy eyes.
Ren hummed, bringing your face close to his own. Enough to rub his strong nose against yours as he spoke, “You’re so lucky that I like you.”
Your eyebrows shot up, pulled together in confusion. Ren only laughed at you, placing a kiss to your own swollen lips before he pulled away, “Why are you surprised?”
You yanked away from him, stumbling into the back of your couch, “You’ve never said anything like that before...”
“God you're dumb,” Ren groaned, beginning to roll up his sleeves before he began to unbutton his pants like he originally did. “Would I have risked my career for you if I didn’t?”
“Well,” you looked away, scuffing the floor with your slipper as you mumbled, “Why didn’t you say anything when I came in today...”
His pants fell to the ground, stepping out of them while he laughed again, “What am I supposed to say, Hey sweetie, who's your friend?”
“No,” you wiped your nose with your sleeve, ignoring Ren as he moved towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He rocked his body into yours, humming in your ear as he kissed behind it, “I’m trying to not make it obvious that I fucked you at my office.” Ren slid his hands under your sweater, his cold hands causing you to hiss into his shoulder, “I know you want me to be publically affectionate with you, but it’s too soon after your surgery to do that. Not while I’m still treating you for your recovery.”
You nodded, realizing that you technically were still his patient. You had a follow-up exam in 4 months with him and after that, you wouldn’t be an ‘active patient’ anymore. It made sense now that you thought about it, but you still didn’t like it. You sighed into him, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and squeezing them, so he knew you heard him. Ren kissed the side of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Now, can you take your pants off, please.”
Five minutes later, Ren was fucking you from behind. You were on your hands and knees on top of your mattress, wailing as his cock tore into you. He thrust into you fast and hard, moaning above you as he scratched down your bareback. “You’re such a good girl, taking me so well.”
“Fuck-Kylo-don’t stop I’m gonna cum!”
Ren grabbed your right thigh, swiftly rolling you onto your back and popping his cock out of you. He placed a heavy palm on your lower belly and shoved two fingers inside your cunt. Twisting and fucking your slick out of you as you writhed, his fingers were just long enough to hit your g-spot, but not enough to make you cum. You wiggled around, begging for him to let you cum, but he just shook his head. Long hair covering up his face while he watched your cunt swallow his fingers. Ren spat on your clit, bringing his thumb down to press on it. Mouth popping open in awe as you screamed, “Yes! Yes! Fuck!”
Just as you were on the cusp once again, he yanked his hand out of you. Thumb leaving your clit, pulling your bottom up to perch on the tops of his thighs. Bringing your cunt high in the air, and your asshole level with his cock. He watched your face turn red with fury, waiting until you opened your mouth to yell at him before he shoved his slick fingers into your asshole.
“Oh my god,” you wailed, eyes rolling back into your head as he started a brutal pace of working your rim open.
“Such a slut,” he chastised you, fucking his fingers faster into your asshole, “Listen to you, you’re just letting me fuck this hole open. Do you want my cock in here?”
You nodded silently, mouth opening and closing as you cried.
“Where do you want it?”
“My-my ass,” you cried. Wiggling your hips working his fingers inside you more and more. He stalled, keeping his two digits fully inside you as he watched your breathing calm down. “Reach into your drawer, and grab that silly toy you have.”
“Wh-what toy?”
“Don’t be coy whore,” he hissed, “Grab that sorry excuse for a cock out of there and stick it in your mouth. Get it nice and wet for me.”
You reached over to the drawer, whining as you moved. His fingers wouldn’t budge inside you, he even started to lean over you as he watched you scramble for it. You practically cried when you produced it, looking at him and waiting for his praise. “Well?” he asked.
“I got it,” you rasped, your voice breaking from your screams. He tore it from your hand, his open dwarfing it from his size. Bringing the silicone to your lips as he commanded you to open wide. You quickly popped open, moaning as he shoved the length of it down your throat, clasping his palm over the base so you couldn’t cough it out. Ren started fucking you again with his fingers, watching in awe as you sucked the cock as he commanded.
You rolled your tongue around it the best you could, gagging on the length that tickled the back of your throat. You shut your eyes in bliss, loving the feeling of him stretching you out until he pulled his fingers from you. Swiftly replacing it with his cock head and ramming into you with little remorse.
“Uh-yes-Fuck, squeeze my cock,” he moaned, pushing in all the way inside you. Rens eyes briefly flashed to your own, watching your face contorted from pain to pleasure as he thrust in and out of you. Your ass slowly becoming numb to his movements, pleasure pouring out of your neglected cunt, dripping down to the base of his cock each time he pulled out. Ren fucked you for a few more minutes like this, keeping his hand over your mouth to force you to choke on the silicone. While he tore you apart on his fat cock.
Ren stopped fully inside you, panting over you, “Is that nice and wet, love?”
You nodded behind his hand, letting out a muffled yes. He popped it out of your mouth, leaning back to inspect the spit that was collected on it. A dark smile graced his perfect lips as he brought it down to your cunt, his only warning a soft command, “If it starts to hurt, say red.”
Ren shoved the length of the cock inside your cunt, smiling as you screamed out in pleasure. Heaving as he started to fuck you again in the ass, using one hand to keep the base of the other cock inside your cunt to the brim. You were drunk on the feeling of his cock pushing against the dildo, feeling your walls stretch and constrict each time he thrust inside you. Ren was moaning as much as you were, babbling about how good you were, ‘a good whore, taking two cocks for him, letting him fuck you however he wanted.’
You nodded in pleasure, cunt weeping around the dildo as he tore your ass open. Ren growled at you, “Fuck your cunt, show me how you like to be fucked.”
You wasted no time grabbing the base from him, letting his hands pry your legs open further so he could better fuck you. Ren growled at you when you took it completely out watching you shove it back inside yourself, attempting to match his pace. Both of you were moaning and crying out, your cunt was squelching out wetness each time you pushed back inside. You brought a hand down to your hole, scooping some out with your first and second finger. Bringing the wetness to your clit, instantly crying out when you touched it.
“Fuck, you just squeezed me so fucking hard, are you gonna cum?” Ren pleaded, his forehead slicked with sweat. His chest was red and splotchy, muscles overexerting their strength as he held back his release. You nodded at him, moaning out yes yes yes.
“Cum with me baby, cum while I fill your dirty ass up.”
Both of you cried out, loud enough for you to hear your neighbor pound on your shared wall. You mumbled out a drunken ‘sorry’ as you felt Ren cum inside you. Softly pulling the silicone out of your abused cunt, followed by Ren wincing as he pulled his cock out of you. Softly petting the backs of your thighs as he cooed at you, “God you’re so beautiful, so made for me.”
He leaned over your body, placing a kiss on your lips. Lingering for a few moments as you both sighed in relief. Ren rolled onto his back, letting you both have a moment to catch your breath, his right hand finding its way into your knotted hair. Trying to detangle the pieces he had ruined, you pulled your head away. Whining as you sat up, turning to look at his blissed-out face, “Want me to go heat up some leftovers?”
“Please,” he croaked.
-----
WAIT IM NOT DONE YET! I HAVE MORE TO SAY BUT THIS PART IS SFW.
-----
You slipped on your bathrobe, waddling to the kitchen while you tied your hair back into a decent bun. You cleared the island off, placing his briefcase and his keys next to the front door, he's notorious for forgetting them when he leaves in the mornings. You popped the leftovers in the microwave, taking a sip from your room temperature margarita while you waited.
KNOCK KNOCK
“Ugh, probably the neighbor,” you grumbled. Pulling your robe tight over your naked body, glancing through the doorway to your room to see if Ren was somewhat clothed, or hidden from public viewing. You whipped the door open ready to apologize profusely when you were pushed aside.
“Hey, girl!” Rose yipped, slightly limping on her freshly uncasted knee. She was followed by your friends Bazine and Finn who had very large wine bottles in their clutches. “You weren’t answering your phone, and you were so bummed out after my doctors' appointment today so I thought you could use some company!”
“Yeah, we even brought you your favorite bottle!” Finn squealed. Quickly grabbing the bottle opener from your kitchen and uncorking the Red Blend. Bazine gave you a smile, “And I got out of my family dinner, my dad’s pissed because my uncle bailed too but I wanted to see you!”
“Uh,” you choked, “It’s not really a good time, I was just-uh-hopping in the shower!”
“Its okay, we've all seen you naked before,” Rose rolled her eyes, propping her leg up on an empty seat as she took a drink.
“And it’s not like you’re doing anything-,”
“Love, have you seen my pants? My pager went off and I can't find my-” Ren came out of the bedroom, only dressed in his boxers and socks. Freezing as all eyes turned to him. He slowly covered his nether region with one arm, eyes flashing over to you for help. You opened your mouth to speak but were cut off.
“Doctor Ren?”
“Uncle Kylo?”
You quickly spun to look at Rose and Bazine, Rose was staring at him with a huge smile while Bazine was completely mortified. Ren quickly shuffled towards the couch, grabbing his pants and running into the bedroom. The door slamming shut, behind it you heard Ren swearing in a fit of rage. Both heads swiveled to you, the microwave beeping the only sound in the room. You gave them a weak smile, darting to the bedroom right behind him.
Inside Ren was furious, angrily throwing his pants on. He wrestled with his undershirt while you scrambled for his dress shirt, batting his hand away from the buttons since he was too mad to do them himself. “Why the fuck are they here!?” he hissed.
“I don't know! I haven’t checked my phone all night!”
“Jesus,” he groaned, “Why is my niece here? Drinking? She is not 21 yet, why is she even your friend?”
“Okay,” you scoffed, “I didn’t know Baz was your niece, second you do not get to blame me for my friends coming over when you do it unannounced all the time!” Ren wiggled out of your grasp, moving to the side of your bed that had his shoes while he continued to angrily dress. “Well, I got called back to work so you have fun with your little friends. Gossiping about how you’re fucking your friend's uncle AND your doctor. Fuck my brothers going to kill me.”
He burst out of the bedroom, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he moved towards the front door. Yanking the lab coat from behind Bazine, before he shot a glance at Rose, “I see you aren’t wearing the brace I gave you Miss Tico.”
Rose giggled, opening her mouth for a retort but Ren grabbed his briefcase and slammed the front door before she could utter a word. You walked to the kitchen, reaching for four wine glasses before facing the crowd. Silently grabbing the bottle from Finn’s hand and pouring yourself a healthy glass. Finn cleared his throat, “So, wanna talk about what just happened?”
You leaned on the counter, rubbing your face with your hands before peaking through your fingers, “It’s nothing.”
“You should’ve told us you were sleeping with him!” Rose squealed, her enthusiasm far too high for your liking. Bazine poured herself a glass before she spoke, “You know he has a kid right?”
“I did not know that,” you mumbled into your palm, “It doesn’t matter he won’t be coming back.”
Your front door flew open once more, proving you wrong on the spot, as Ren stormed back in. Snatching his keys from the counter before he spoke, “Baz I won’t tell Ben that you’re drinking if you keep your mouth shut about this, deal?”
She nodded her head quickly, muttering in reply, “Thank you, Uncle Ky.”
He turned to you, chewing the inside of his chew as he approached. Ren sighed when he stepped next to you, placing a soft kiss on your temple while he mumbled, “I’m sorry for being rude, Love. I’ll come get you in the morning for breakfast.” With that, he ran out again, the door shutting for the final time tonight. You grabbed your wine glass and began to drink again, downing about half before you spoke.
“So he has a kid?”
------
HAHAHAHAHA IM SORRY BUT I AM CACKLING AT MYSELF. ALSO BAZINE IS 20 IN THIS, WE AGAIN ARE 22 LIKE IN THE FIRST HIPAA VIOLATIONS. YOU'RE WELCOME.
YOU READ THAT RIGHT BITCH. I couldn’t help myself… Surgeon Kylo does things to me.
This is in the same universe as my previous HIPAA Violation post. Same Characters and stuff.
PSA: DON’T FUCK YOUR DOCTORS!!! THIS IS A FANTASY SITUATION so I can do whatever i want.
TW/CW: NSFW, dirty talk, Surgeon Kylo is a warning, exhibitionism, Nipple piercings, excessive groping (both consenting), unprotected sex, known age gap (14 years to be exact, I made us 22, my age, and him 36 which is AD actual age)
This is something that’s been in my head all fucking week and I needed to get it out. PSA don’t fuck your doctor?? Like don’t. It’s super illegal and you shouldn’t do it.
However, this is fantasy so I can do whatever I want with Surgeon Kylo Ren.
TW: NSFW, Blood, Gagging, Nipple piercings, excessive groping (both consenting), unprotected sex, rubber gloves, stitches, medical jargon, known age gap (14 years to be exact, I made us 22, my age, and him 36 which is AD actual age)
—–
“Hello, this is the First Order Medical center, who am I speaking with?” the nurse chirped once you picked up the phone.
“Uh,” you groggily replied with your name. Trying to will yourself awake from your pain-medication induced nap. It had been a couple weeks since your surgery, when you got your ribs put back together. That car accident didn’t really mess you up anywhere else except from your side that hit the side door, leaving you with three cracked ribs that had to be set again. Thankfully you found a surgeon in the area who could do it, completely stitching you up after a few consultations and now you were on the road to recovery. However this was the phone call you were dreading, a row of your stitches had to be taken out. You hated it, the feeling of the black knots being pulled from your already irritated skin. Each one worse and worse, threatening to rip open the incision.
You remember before your surgery begging the doctor to use dissolvable stitches, crying even when he said it might not be possible due to the damage. He probably laughed about how pathetic you were once you were unconscious, not even trying to give you the stitches you asked for.
“I was just calling to confirm your appointment with Dr. Ren tomorrow at 12 to get some stitches taken out.”
“Yes, thank you,” you sighed.
“Make sure you come without any restrictive clothing on, Dr. Ren wanted you to try and be as comfortable as possible. Noting in his chart that it might be a slow process.”
You hummed into the phone, how thoughtful of him.
“See you tomorrow!”
—–
The next morning came faster than you wanted it to. Fully dreading the trek down to his office, attempting to psych yourself up even though you knew you’d probably be a crying mess by the end of it. You decided to follow the ‘happy’ nurses guideline of wearing comfy clothes, just some old Nike slides, socks, some short black athletic shorts, and an oversized hoodie. Fortunately, you didn’t need to wear a bra, since the band would dig into the fresh stitches. Hopefully, the doctor would give you more pain meds after this.
The receptionist greeted you, knowing your face now that you had been in so many times. You had only just started to have a seat when outburst Ren’s nurse. She was all too happy, smiling, and excited to be here, even though her boss was a sarcastic prick. “Good morning, are you ready?”
“Hi Rey,” you gave her a weak smile, “Let’s get this over with.”
You trailed behind her as she led you to the exam room. Asking you the normal check-in questions and explaining what Ren would be doing today. “Usually I’m the one who takes out the stitches, but he insisted doing it himself since the incision is in an odd shape, he’s only taking out the vertical stitches.”
“Okay,” you shakily replied. Already feeling yourself sweating onto the paper liner on the table. A few nervous breaths later the door swung open, revealing Dr. Ren. He was an impressive looking man, he had clean black hair that covered his larger than average ears, sometimes he wore glasses, like he did today, that framed his gorgeous eyes. He had on a simple outfit, over the last few times you noticed that his favorite color must be black since everything he owned was that color. Today’s outfit was no expectation, black oxford shoes, dress pants that fit him perhaps a little too snug, but you weren’t complaining. Underneath his white lab coat, he had on a light gray button-up, usually he would roll the sleeves up, unintentionally showing off his huge biceps. He wasn’t a terrible doctor, he just wasn’t really a talker. Didn’t ask you many questions and you tried to give him the same courtesy. But that didn’t stop you from stalking him online, finding out that he was unmarried, had no children, and was a whopping 14 years older than you.
“How are you feeling today,” he stated, not even bothering to look you in the eyes. Instead, he was setting a small metal tray to your right, it contained a few pairs of pliers looking scissors and some tweezers. You felt the color drain from your face as he inspected each one, “Uh, I’m okay.”
“It’s alright to be nervous,” he mumbled, pushing his nurse out of his way so he could get to work on getting his gloves on. Rey just smiled and gave you a thumbs up, closing the door as she left. Ren rolled over on his chair, locking the door before scooting in front of you again. “Take off your sweater, are you wearing any bandages?”
He snapped one glove on, the blue latex already straining against his muscular hands. They almost looked too tight for him, but the box he got them from were XL so he was probably used to the tension now. You gulped and began to lift your sweater up, only enough to reveal the bandage.
Ren looked up at you, “No. Take the whole thing off. I don’t need that getting in the way.”
“But,” you hesitated, “I don’t have a bra on.”
“And I’m not 12,” he smirked, “Either take it off and get comfortable or hold it up while I do this.”
You weighed out your options, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen breasts before, and yours were no exception. He probably got a glimpse of them during the surgery. Sighing you carefully pulled it over your head, being conscious of not overextending your arm in the process since he specifically told you to not do that during post-op. “Thank you,” he mumbled, eyes focused again on the tools. His gaze flicked up only for a brief moment, before flicking over to your discarded top. Ren grabbed it, tossing it on the guest chairs on the opposite wall. He repositioned himself, pushing your knees apart with his elbow and scooting into the space. His face was now completely eye-level with your breasts, you watched him closely. Seeing if he would make a snide comment on them, or even laugh at how you had piercings. An old guy like him probably wasn’t used to seeing the bars in such supple nipples. But alas, his gaze quickly left them to search your bandage.
“Lift your arm please,” he commanded, his right gloved hand coming up to cup under your left breast. You knew it wasn’t sexual, but there was something about his hand on you that made you excited. The cold rubber of the glove felt so different to the warmth emanating from your skin. The stark contrast making your nipple slightly harden into his palm. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, instead lifting the supple flesh upwards to reveal the stitches. His left hand quickly ripped up the tape and gauze, showing the slightly irritated skin of the incision. “Does it hurt when I do this,” he asked, applying the slightest amount of pressure to the area.
“No,” you whispered.
“Tell me when it does, okay?”
You nodded, taking in a deep breath. Unintentionally pressing your chest into his face. Barely grazing the frames of his black glasses. He began to poke and prod at the area, moving closer and closer to the cross-stitch. Each touch was uncomfortable, but his other hand on your breast would slightly squeeze every time he felt you flinch in pain. Again, not on purpose, he was just reacting to your apprehension. “Alright,” he sighed, letting go of your flesh in the process. “So I know you’re scared. But I promise to go slow, we are only taking out a one row and it will be done quickly.”
You nodded already beginning to shake with anxiety.
“Just try not to wiggle around okay? I don’t want to rip open the cut if you make a wrong move while I’m pulling.”
“Okay,” you whispered again.
He nodded, grabbing two tools from the tray. Ren had you angle your torso to the left, bringing the incision right to his face, he braced his elbows on your kneecaps. The fabric of his sleeves giving you a dull ache, hopefully enough to distract you. You really wished he had listened to you when you asked about dissolvable stitches, not only were you scared of the tools but now he told you that you had to sit still? It was a recipe for disaster.
“First one,” he whispers. His brows furrowed upward with focus, hands steady as they moved in. You felt a slight pressure next to the line, and then a pulling sensation, “This okay?”
His eyes flicked up to yours, you nodded and he looked back down. “One, two, three,” in one swift motion he yanked out the bottom stitch. You tried to stay still, you really did, but fuck it hurt. Immediately tears sprang out of your eyes, flinching backward just as the knot was coming out of your skin, completely convinced that he had already ripped you open. Snapping your right arm down to hide the rest from him you back away, “Oh my god…-”
He hissed your name, “I told you not to move.” Dropping the stitch in the tray along with his instruments he stood from his stool, towering over you with a very irritated grimace on his face. “You need to relax or else it’s going to get worse.”
“I’m sorry,” you choked, “I’m just so scared, and,” you gulped back a sob, “That fucking hurt.”
“I know it did,” he stated. “All of them are going to hurt if you don’t listen to me.” Ren glared at you, his hands flexing into fists by his sides, clearly upset with you. But you couldn’t help it, you had told him, and he didn’t listen.
Tears began to well up in your eyes again, sniffling and moving your gaze to the floor. Ren softened only a little, not enjoying the sounds of pain coming from you, “Alright,” he sighed bringing his hands up to your shoulders, “Let’s try this differently, okay?”
Ren ducked his head lower, trying to get you to look at him, giving you a slight shake. “Okay?”
You nodded, wiping your nose, “Okay.”
“Okay, now let’s have you lay down on your side,” he pushed you to your left. Completely maneuvering your limp form, “And just put that arm here,” he had you cross your right arm over your chest, putting you in almost a self-inflicted chokehold, “And just to keep you from squirming,” his hands fell to your knees. Wrapping your legs around his hips and having you hook your ankles, “That way you can’t move around, that sound good?”
“Uh-huh,” you gulped, tightening your legs around him. Trying not so subtly to bring him closer, right now he was your only comfort in this process, and honestly, it was helping that he was trying to be understanding with you. He hummed and grabbed the tools again, ready to start again.
He swiftly gripped the next knot, giving you no warning this time. Instead pressing his hips into your own as he started yanking. You bit your lip, trying to not howl with pain as he pulled two in a row. “Stop holding your breath.”
“I’m sorry.”
He moved closer, pressing into you a little too hard. His hip bone pushing into your clit, causing you to moan. Your eyes flew open, almost about to die from embarrassment when he did another small thrust into you.
Your eyes fluttered shut, getting lost in the sensation of his muscular hips bumping into your sweet spot. His hands fell on you again, however this time you barely felt the tugging. Instead you were focused on a particularly hard thrust into you, you could’ve sworn you felt a bulge inside his pants.
“So that’s how I can get you to relax,” he mumbled. You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself, but you needed more friction if he was going to keep pulling. Closing your eyes again you slightly ground your hips into his, rocking them in small circles so that his own would rub onto you more and more.
Ren tsked at you, “You’re a naughty little thing aren’t you.”
Looking up you saw he was no longer holding any tools, instead he had his hands suspended in the air while his eyes were locked onto your hips. Slowly dragging over his own. “Did you even feel me pull that last one out?”
Your cheeks flushed red, stalling your hips completely. Unsure of what to say because no, you didn’t feel anything but him.
“No,” his eyes locked on yours, “you didn’t, did you? Instead you were grinding your little pussy on me. Your doctor.”
“I-I-I”
“Don’t lie,” he spat, “I know the way you look at me little one. I just didn’t realize you’d be this desperate.”
“I’m not desperate.”
Ren raised his eyebrows, “Is that so?”
You nodded.
Ren brought his hands to your hip, caressing the exposed flesh and dipping one hand up your outer right thigh. He smiled at you, and began to harshly roll his hips into yours. Anchoring himself to you as he dragged his now clothed full erection across your clit. Grinding into you over and over, never relenting.
“Oh please,” you moaned out. Completely succumbing to the pleasure. You never wanted it to stop, he was being so forceful, strong, and demanding. Taking whatever he wanted right here in this exam room.
“You better shut your pretty little mouth if you want me to continue.” He pulled back. Your eyes shot open, hands flinging out to clutch onto his shoulder, trying to keep him still. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just felt so good.”
“Hush,” he mumbled, moving his head closer to yours. “I don’t want to have my whole office know I have a filthy little whore in here.” Ren nuzzled his nose into your neck, breathing in deeply before dry jumping into you again. Your fingers skated up his strong shoulders, diving into his hair. It was so lush, better than your own. And the smell was intoxicating, like a fire mixed with rich cologne. It filled your nostrils. All of the sudden you felt a sharp pain in your side again, “What are you doing?”
“I have to take these out, that’s the whole reason I’m here little slut,” he smirked, “Don’t worry though. I’ll keep you distracted.” Ren leaned in for a soft kiss, his full pink lips barely pressing to your own before he pulled away again. “Take off your shorts.”
Pulling back you did as he commanded, dropping your shorts and undies to the floor before leaning back and spreading your legs open for him. His rich auburn eyes locked onto your core. Groaning when he saw how swollen your lips and clit were from his rubbing.
Ren took his glasses off, gloved hands rolling up his sleeves before dropping them to his belt. Slowly unbuckling and unzipping himself. “Is this what will make you relax?” he began palming himself through his boxers, “So i can finally do my job?”
Is this what you were imagining it would be? God probably not. It's what my brain went with though
CW: Blood sucking, mildly dubious consent, questionable power dynamics, menstruation, and most importantly: Vampire!Rhys going down on Feyre during her period (yes, you heard me right and we should get it out of the way now). If you don't like blood or if that premise sounds unappealing to you, then don't click the "read more".
Beta'd by @separatist-apologist who, when Feyre wasn't certain where to sit, wisely suggested Rhysand's face as an option. 😌
Read on AO3
Words Count: 6.3k
-
There were three rules that must be followed in the home of Viscount Rhysand.
One: All staff were forbidden from looking at his lordship directly. Any address needed to be spoken towards the floor, head bowed in his presence.
Little could be said for those who disobeyed this order, for they had never returned to speak on what they saw upon glimpsing the Viscount’s face. It was rumored that he was horribly deformed, but in Feyre’s short time at the castle she had only seen cuts of a strong jaw, of smooth lips, of raven hair. Her ever-wandering mind liked to believe that perhaps the Lord was simply too beautiful to be observed in full, and looking at him would be too much like an Icarus approaching the sun. Sometimes, she felt tempted to look up from his polished boots, just to see if she was right.
Two: All windows were to stay nailed shut, and all drapes pulled over them lest any light creep through the boards. As far as she knew, no one had ever been brave even to ask why the Viscount craved darkness the way he did. All Feyre knew was that inside the castle, days blended into nights. In those rare moments she had a chance to step outside the grounds, she was often surprised to find the stars when she had been so certain it was the middle of the day.
Feyre didn’t mind the endless candlelight. There was something thoughtful about the way the flames flickered, so equal in restlessness to her own heart that she found a kinship in them. After so many years of watching sun and moon pour through the holes in her family’s thatched roof, it was a relief to see neither of them. To have the comfort of candlelight and mortar—strong and sturdy, dependable in a way no home ever had been to her.
It was why she forgave the third and strangest rule of the castle: All female staff were forbidden from leaving their quarters during their monthly bleed.
She had only been working at the castle for a week the morning she woke to blood on her sheets. It was a relief to see, as it always was. Feyre had visited with a farmboy in the last month and she could hardly afford to have a child now. Certainly not before she’d collected her first round of wages from the Viscount, which were set to be distributed the following week.
From what she could discern, the Viscount was generous with his staff. They were fed well, housed in servants quarters that were not overly cramped, paid a generous wage. But despite his generosity, and despite the rule being set by the Viscount himself, Feyre did not believe that any man would compensate her to take a week from work while she bled.
Feyre needed the money—not for herself, but for her father. He was sickly, bedridden in the cottage where she had lived with her sisters. Only Elain remained to look after him, administering what she could of the herbs and flowers she grew in their garden. She was no expert by any means, and it was why Feyre and Nesta had taken whatever jobs they could secure in the hopes of earning enough money to buy their father’s medicine.
A week unpaid could mean a week off her father’s life. And Feyre simply couldn’t risk it.
Grateful she had been one of the first to rise, Feyre gathered the sullied sheets and snuck calmly to the scullery so she could bury it among the rest of the household linens set to be boiled that morning. She stole a rag on her way out, hoping it would be enough to absorb the worst of her bleeding as she went through her day. The day it arrived was always the worst, but she supposed so long as nothing seeped through her clothes the Viscount and her fellow servants would be none the wiser.
She carried on perfectly fine as the rest of the staff rose and began preparing for the master to take his breakfast. Laundry-maids hurried past the cooks already lighting the stoves, and a weight lifted off Feyre’s chest in the form of a rushed breath as she watched one of the maids bundle the sheets together and plunge them into boiling water—taking no notice of the sudden coppery tint to the water. Feyre supposed they were used to dirty fabrics and the water changing color was hardly a concern.
Feeling lighter, she joined the other housemaids in cleaning the dining room. Cleaning the grates and fireplaces was as unpleasant as any other job, she supposed, and she was mostly grateful that she was not one of the maids in charge of lugging hot water up to the Viscount. Feyre had never seen the lord lose his temper at the staff—in truth he was usually irreverent and mild mannered. But by the way the other servants scrambled to appease him, fretting over even extra droplets of sauce on his plates, she wondered how often that irreverence passed into cruelty.
It was a feast beyond what any single man could eat in a day let alone in a meal. Especially this man, whose appetite seemed none existent for all the food that was carried back into the kitchen once he was finished. Not that Feyre complained—anything that he didn’t touch was given to the servants, and the lord’s food was more divine than the nightly watered-down stew that had sustained her family growing up.
Once the dining room was prepared for his arrival and the fireplace cleaned and lit, Feyre ventured back into the kitchen to see if there were any errant chores to be done. Hoping, perhaps foolishly, that the strict Housekeeper would notice her picking up extra work and see fit to offer a promotion.
She hissed as a scalding plate was pressed immediately into her palm.
The Housekeeper’s face was pinched, forehead creased in what Feyre could only imagine was the natural wear from years of stress. Her panic-struck eyes left no room for objection as she urged, “Bring this to his Lordship—go on!”
Feyre practically stumbled forward from the force of the Housekeeper’s guiding palm on her back. The hot porcelain stung her skin, and Feyre could feel the blisters that were forming as she followed the rest of staff out the kitchen, swallowing her wince as she channeled all of her focus into keeping the plate from shaking. Difficult to do, given that her fingers were turning numb from the pain.
“Head down!” The maid beside her whispered, backed by enough terror that Feyre’s chin immediately snapped to the floor.
They were not to look at the Viscount. Which made serving food to him particularly difficult. She could see the legs of the wooden chairs, and stepped close enough until the edge of the table came into vision. He likely sat at the head, several seats away, and as long as she placed it at a spot within reach—
“You there.”
She froze. The room was full of staff and yet, somehow, she knew precisely who that deep, velvet voice was addressing.
“With the roast chicken,” he clarified, humor lightening some of the timbre in his voice.
Feyre didn’t dare glance up from her plate. If anything, she bowed her head lower.
“Come here.”
He said it as carelessly as a puppeteer pulling on a string, tugging her closer to that lulling voice until she was once again staring at polished boots. It was all she had ever seen of the Viscount—just once a week before, on the day she and the other new members of staff had been introduced to him.
Or rather, introduced to his feet.
She listened to him inhale deeply, with that same flair for the dramatic that he seemed to possess despite living on his own.
“Smells delicious,” he purred. The hair along her arms and neck stood on end. “Tell me more about it.”
Feyre didn’t know the first thing about the plate she carried. “It’s… roast chicken, milord.”
“And who is the woman carrying my meal?”
The question seemed laced with intrigue, and Feyre might have felt bashful about it if she wasn’t being made to stare at his feet in front of all the other servants. All she felt was hot, humiliated anger.
“Feyre Archeron, milord.” After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed awkwardly, still holding that scalding plate of chicken. She was willing to get on her knees before him if it meant she could put it down.
“Feyre,” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue like he was assessing its taste. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”
A broad, golden brown hand came into view as the Viscount reached for the plate, taking it from her with nary a flinch despite its temperature. Whorls of ink peeked through the Viscount’s silver-trimmed sleeve, which softened some of her irritation into curiosity. She had never seen a noble man with ink on his skin and the revelation begged her to look up in search of where that tattoo traveled. Was it on his face, and that’s why they were discouraged from looking at him? Did he wear it with shame?
The Viscount clicked his tongue as he set the plate on the table before him. Feyre immediately stiffened. Should she have placed it for him? Had she lingered too long?
“Let me see your hands, Feyre.”
They were shaking, fueling her reluctance as she turned her palms upwards and extended them in offering to Lord Rhysand. Her eyes were still fixed on the floor, her heart as untamed as a spooked stallion. The inability to gauge his expression was a terrifying thing. She could not assess his intention, so she braced herself for the worst. She had been struck by her masters before him, and Feyre could not envision him being any more twisted than the Beron of Spring.
Cool, silken hands slid beneath her own, easing the burden of holding them steady as Rhysand lifted them higher—closer to his face, she imagined.
“Shameful,” he breathed. The soft pad of his thumb traced delicately around the welted skin and Feyre, who had rarely felt a tender touch in her life, couldn’t resist shivering. “I would sooner take my food cold than have my staff burned. Allow me to make this up to you, Lady Archeron.”
Feyre nearly laughed. She was rarely called Miss let alone ever given a noblewoman’s title. But she dare not correct him. “It is not necessary, Lord.”
“Nonsense.”
That single word, so authoritative she went still. He still held her hands in his own, still moved his thumb slowly across her palm.
“Leave us,” he said to the rest of the staff. Feyre listened helplessly to the sounds of them scurrying away, wishing beyond any rational measure that one of them would stay. Just to ensure that the Viscount didn’t ask them away so he could do something awful to her.
The doors to the dining hall shut regardless of her wishes.
And Feyre was alone with the Viscount.
She jumped as she felt a pair of lips brush over the welts on her hands, as soft as if she’d pressed them to a rose petal. Part of her expected that mouth to keep traveling over her skin, and a strange part of her felt disappointed when the Viscount released her hands.
“Have a seat.”
He did not specify which seat. If she was feeling more contemptuous, she might have claimed the opposite head of the table. But in that moment Feyre valued her job more than her stubborn pride, so she slid obediently into the seat beside him, keeping her gaze fixed on the red tablecloth all the while.
“Tell me Feyre darling, are you hungry?”
“No, Lord,” she said before even taking the time to consider it.
“Liar,” he crooned, so sweetly that it could be mistaken for approval. “Have some chicken.”
Every word he spoke was so smooth, so final that Feyre was having difficulty navigating it. She would not—could not disobey an order from the master of the house, especially as she became aware of the wetness between her thighs. Blood. Hopefully contained to her underthings so that the evidence of her disobedience wouldn’t be left on the chair, but it was condemning nonetheless.
If she needed to eat a bit of chicken to flatter the Viscount, then far be it from Feyre to refuse a well cooked meal. But… there was no place setting before her. No silverware save for the set laid out before Lord Rhysand. Her mind searched for a way to remedy this, contemplating how best to appease the lord as he filled the quiet with the sounds of a knife gliding gently against porcelain.
If she stood up to fetch a place setting for herself, would he be pleased? Sit or eat, she could not fathom which order should hold more weight.
Rhysand answered the question for her when those lovely brown hands extended a fork towards her with a piece of chicken speared on its end. She stared at it, mouth parting open in surprise as she tried to assess its meaning.
He couldn’t truly intend to…
“Open your mouth wider,” he urged. “Let me take care of you while those pretty hands rest.”
Feyre was skeptical of any man who was suddenly moved to this level of kindness for his servants. And yet she parted her lips for him, allowing the Viscount to gently guide the fork into her mouth. For once she was grateful for the excuse not to look at him, feeling her cheeks burn beneath his gaze as she carefully chewed and swallowed.
She felt him lean closer until she could smell the sea salt and citrus on his clothes. He so rarely left the castle that it made her wonder when he had last even been to the sea. Perhaps a piece of it lived inside him—a lasting imprint like the way she could still smell the smoke of a fire on any cold winter’s night. She and her sisters used to sleep close enough to the hearth that they would wake to ash smudged on their cheeks in the morning. Feyre wasn’t certain she would ever fully wash that scent away.
“How is it?”
There was a sincerity to the question that caught her off guard. “Divine, my Lord”
That earned a soft laugh, so rich and dense that it sunk in the air, skirting down her spine in the process.
When he offered another piece to her, she summoned enough courage to ask, “Will you not be eating, Lord?”
“I find my appetite diverted,” was his answer. Feyre wondered what he would be staring at if she turned her head towards him. Her lips, she thought, feeling them tingle as he leaned closer. She shut her eyes, terrified that she might accidentally catch a glimpse of him at this proximity. His breath danced across her cheekbone. “Chicken won’t be enough to satisfy me.”
“Will anything?”
She did not know why she asked, why she suddenly wanted to know.
“Are you offering, Lady Archeron?”
Feyre thought that depended very much on what he was after. She was not naive enough to think he had isolated her in this room to feed her with his own hand because he was kind. He did not have a wife or keep a mistress, and perhaps it was because he enjoyed the convenience of his female staff. They were certainly easier to part with, should he get bored.
She chewed her lip, wondering if it was more dangerous to accept or reject his advances. Both ran her the risk of losing her job, though if she indulged him perhaps she could keep him interested long enough to see her father properly medicated.
And with his low voice and soft, large hands… she could envision him being better company than the farmboy.
“Open,” he whispered, and once more she obeyed. His freehand fell on her knee, gliding along her thigh as he squeezed in a way that begged the same. Open.
There was only one problem.
Thankfully, Feyre knew exactly what would distract a man’s attention. “If you’d like me to open my mouth for you, my Lord, you may find me better suited on my knees.”
The hand snaking up her thigh froze. She had never been so bold with anyone before, certainly never someone so high above her status. And for a horrifying moment, she worried she’d gone too far.
Except he laughed as though she had taken him pleasantly by surprise. “It sounds as though you’re still hungry, Feyre. Is the chicken not satisfying you, either?”
Feyre was certain that any other man would have jumped at the offer to put her on her knees, yet Lord Rhysand began tugging the fabric of her skirt upwards so that he could snake a hand beneath them. She immediately clenched her knees shut, terrified of how he would react should he discover she had broken one of his rules.
“None of that,” Rhys chided, bundling her skirts in her lap so that her knees were now exposed to him. Feyre sucked in a breath as he pushed them apart. “I’ve fed you, and now it’s only fair that you return the favor.”
“I…”
“Smell delicious?” He offered, taking a deep inhale of the air as though he were in front of a rosebush. “More appetizing than anything that’s been served to me in months?”
His hand was pushing further now, threatening to push her skirt over her hips and—oh gods. Lord Rhysand paused as his fingers brushed over the slick, sticky substance that coated her inner thighs.
Feyre stared, mortified, as he pulled his hands away to assess the blood on his fingers.
“Feyre darling.” His voice had gone rough. “Look at me.”
She refused, certain it was a trick so that she’d disobey another of his rules.
“Look at me.”
It was as though her body moved of its own volition, once again a puppet tugged by his strings. Her eyes traveled up from the blood that stained his golden brown skin, following the sleeve of a fine black jacket as it cut over large biceps, strong shoulders, and a broad chest. She dared to look higher, starting at where his collarbones peeked out of the loosely buttoned jacket, graced with those same tattoos that she’d spotted around his forearm.
His face was not tattooed, nor horribly deformed. Instead he had smooth, flawless skin and hair the color of a raven’s feathers. His eyes, though. His eyes were not a color that Feyre had ever seen before, a blue so deep that it was violet, even as it flickered in the candlelight.
There was a stillness about him that made her hesitate to speak—made her contemplate standing from her chair and darting towards the door.
And a smile was playing on his full, sensuous lips. Wide enough that she could see a row of perfectly white teeth, graced by two sharp fangs that made her heart stop.
“I have three very simple rules in this household,” he said, the threat of his words not matched by the lover’s purr that caressed every muscle and bone and nerve in her body. “The last one—why do you think it was created?”
Feyre watched him press his fingers together, seemingly fascinated by the way the blood stuck to his skin.
When Feyre did not answer, Lord Rhysand grinned in a way that made his sharp teeth glint in the firelight. “It was made to keep you safe, Feyre. Can you guess from what?”
Either to give her a hint, or simply to taunt her, Rhysand raised his fingers to his lips and swiped his tongue along the stained digits.
“From you,” she said weakly.
The veins beneath his eyes became darker, more pronounced, as he licked the blood off his hands. Feyre understood why they were forbidden from looking at him, when doing so made it so apparent that he was not human.
“And can I be blamed if something happens to my servants, should they so blatantly disregard those rules? Don’t you think they should be punished for disobeying me?”
“Are you going to kill me?” She whispered, pressing her hand protectively to her throat.
He laughed under his breath. “Kill you?” He shook his head.
Faster than her eyes could track, Rhysand cleared the table with a wide sweep of his arms. She winced against the sound of shattered glass as the contents went crashing to the floor. Within an instant, the Viscount had yanked her from the seat to place her on the table before him.
“Sweet, little human.” Those words glided over her skin as smoothly as the hands that returned to her thighs, spreading her legs open. “The only thing I want is a taste.”
“A taste,” she repeated, understanding what he was after as he thumbed appreciatively at the blood stains along her inner thigh… and not quite believing it. She had grown up with two older sisters. Feyre was used to the blood, but it was a subject matter that was hushed, especially around men. No man would even think to touch her during her cycle, certainly not the way that Lord Rhysand intended to.
And yet, he was staring at her parted thighs as though he had never seen anything more ravishing.
“My Lord—”
“Rhysand,” he corrected, just before he yanked the blood soaked lace so hard that it ripped in his hands. He tossed the torn fabric and the rag she had stolen from the kitchen to the side, ignoring the wet slap as they hit the white marble floor below. Those violet eyes were nothing short of predatory as he stared up at her through long lashes. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Rhys-ah—”
She couldn’t have finished speaking his name if she tried. Every word and rational thought fled her tongue’s grasp as Rhysand bowed his head between her legs. He latched his mouth against her lips in an imitation of a kiss that felt so sinful it would leave even the Dark Gods blushing.
The Viscount moaned at her taste, and Feyre felt envious he had the capacity to do so. Air lodged in her throat, preventing any sound from escaping despite how her mouth parted with forbidden pleasure. She fell back onto the table, no longer in control of her own body. All it wanted was to get closer to him, to arch into his touch.
That’s it, said a lulling voice in her mind. Give yourself to me.
Feyre could not understand it, but she could feel him in her mind, his presence just as tangible as the tongue that explored her cunt. Like hands stroking through her hair, his mental presence soothed at the primal part of her instincts that insisted she flee. There was no danger here. She felt… safe.
That’s right. You’re safe with me, darling.
His fingers pressed harder into her thighs, pulling her hips off the table until her lower body was elevated, hung by the legs slung over his shoulders. He held her like she weighed nothing, and feasted on her like he hadn’t had a proper meal in months. After seeing how often the food they cooked him was returned to the kitchen, he likely hadn’t.
He stroked the broad flat of his tongue upwards until he came to the sensitive bundle of nerves. Feyre whimpered as he sucked at it, her hips urging him as best as she could with the way her body was suspended.
Pretty, needy creature. His voice was ripe with satisfaction and he pressed a teasing kiss to her clit before descending back down—towards the source of the blood.
“Please,” she breathed, not wanting to lose the pleasant sensation. She needed more than this slow exploration of his tongue, focused away from where she truly needed it.
Please? Those violet eyes were glazed with vacant hunger as they flickered down to her face. She could only imagine what he saw. A woman half buried in her skirts, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. And it was a monster—not a man—who stared back, tongue buried inside her. You will have to be more specific. Please what?
“I need…” she searched for how to direct him, unused to verbalizing any part of this process.
But the Viscount already knew. And he smirked in a way that showed his fangs, still tongue-deep in her cunt as he readjusted his hold so he could press his thumb to her clit. You need me to touch this, sweet one?
“Yes,” she breathed, only to immediately cry out as his thumb flicked the sensitive nub. Hard.
His laughter was a dark rumble through her mind. You didn’t specify how. Do I need to remind you this is a punishment for disobeying me? Another flick, as if to emphasize his point. Feyre whined, the dull pain from his ministrations making her ache all the more.
It was at that point his tongue gilded against a cluster of nerves that had her seeing stars. She gasped, bucking closer, only for the Viscount to retreat from that spot and administer another cruel tap to her clit.
“Please,” she said again, tears pricking at her eyes.
What will you give me in exchange?
It was a baffling question. What could someone like her even offer him, besides the very blood he was gorging himself on. She was a poor human, utterly useless—
Lord Rhysand growled, so furious in nature that her heart stilled.
I’ll ask you again, Lady Archeron. His tongue returned to that sensitive spot, laving her with an attention that had her keening. What will you give me in exchange?
“Anything you want!” She gasped, near hysterical as he pulled away again. Her pride crumbled, reduced only to the need that ravaged her to the point of madness. “Please, milord. Please, please, please.”
So pretty when you plead for me, he cooed. Anything I want?
“Yes.”
Something shifted as she said it. Not just in Rhysand, though his efforts became more earnest, but in the air itself. The world became sharper, better defined, the pleasure at her thighs more demanding.
Then come for me, Feyre. His thumb returned to rub circles into her clit—more gentle, more coaxing. Let my good wife come on my tongue.
She was screaming before the words could even register. Her hands scrambled backward for purchase, digging into the red tablecloth as the world came undone. It had never felt like this. Pain and pleasure intermingled, her body feeling numb and too hot and too… too everything.
The Viscount lowered her slowly back onto the table. Chin covered and dripping with her blood, he looked as though he should have come straight from a nightmare. But after she chased every fractured piece of her soul back into her body, and sat up to look into his weary eyes, she thought he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
He tentatively reached forward to grip her chin, flashing those sharp teeth with his grin. “My markings look beautiful on you, darling.”
With a frown, Feyre followed his gaze to the whorls of ink that now graced her arms from fingertip to elbow, identical to the one she had glimpsed beneath his sleeve. “You… marked me?”
Wife, he had said only moments ago. Anything, she had promised.
The hands on her chin tilted her face back up, until she was met with proud violet eyes. “You’re mine.”
She winced as something sharp sliced through her cheek. Her own teeth, she found after a short investigation with her tongue. Her canines were sharper now, more elongated like Rhsyand’s.
Feyre raised a hand to her mouth, prodding at the sharp teeth in disbelief. “What did you do to me?”
“I made you my wife,” he said happily. “Once we complete the ceremony, that is.”
Already dreading the answer, she dared to ask, “What ceremony?”
Lord Rhysand looked delighted by the question. Broad hands found her thighs, pulling her once more to the edge of the table so he could lean over her. “It would be much easier to demonstrate.”
His lips found her neck, smearing blood over her skin as he kissed down her throat before he licked up the trail to clear it away. He hummed at the taste, sucking at her throat with the same fervor he had used between her legs.
There was something about the way he touched her, like he was so utterly enthralled, that made his attention addictive. It was wrong—so horribly wrong—to be covered in her own blood like this, or to be arching into his touch like she was encouraging it. But his lips on her neck were like the sweetest wine that had ever dropped on her tongue. And when his sharp teeth scraped over her neck it was excitement, not terror, that thrummed her veins.
His lips curled into a smile from where they imprinted their shape into her neck. Sweet thing. Did you like that?
He scraped his fangs against her again, and Feyre’s pulse quickened, making her breath hitch.
You want me to bite your pretty neck?
Gods, she should have said no. It should have been an obvious, instinctual response.
Instead she craned her neck, allowing him to tease her with his sharp teeth until her head began spinning. “Will it hurt?”
Only for a second. His hands, meanwhile, began tugging at the front of her dress, ripping the fabric apart until she was laid exposed in strips of her clothing. Then you’ll be in complete bliss.
Bliss. If it was even a fraction of what she had felt at the mercy of his tongue, then she was willing to endure a bit of pain. A thumb and finger plucked at one of her erect nipples, rubbing it tauntingly so that Feyre squirmed in his grip, pushing her neck harder against his poised teeth.
They both groaned.
Feyre wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer so she could find some measure of relief in grinding her slick cunt against his clothed erection. She thought it was terribly unfair that she was naked while he remained in full dress.
Poor thing, he said, sliding his teeth over her throat in a way that sent shivers cascading down her spine. Do you need me to fuck you with something other than my tongue?
He pressed down hard on her nipple, eliciting a low, debauched whine from Feyre as she struggled to keep her head above the overwhelming sensations of his cruel fingers, his teasing mouth, and the stiff cock he ground into her.
Ask me nicely, wife, and I’ll give you whatever you desire.
Even the smooth voice in her mind was beginning to sound breathless. She felt a strange thrill to think the Viscount was just as desperate as she was .
“What will it cost me?”
Rhysand’s laugh was little more than a rasp as he began unlacing his trousers. You’re learning. The fabric fell open, allowing his thick, heavy cock to spring loose. Feyre’s eyes widened as she stared at it, suddenly terrified it wouldn’t fit despite how wet she was.
Likely hearing her thoughts, the Viscount smirked and took his cock into a large fist. Her throat went dry as she watched him run two slow pumps over its length. Then he guided himself to her cunt, coating his shaft in the mix of blood and arousal as he let his swollen head rub teasingly against her clit.
I want another taste, he murmured, snaking his tongue along her pulse. I want to bite your neck while I have my cock inside you.
“Yes,” she whispered, bucking her hips. “Please, my lord. Fuck me.”
His head notched against her entrance. “As my lady wishes,” he rasped, before pushing inside of her with a single, hard thrust.
The noise he pulled from her was that of an animal, not a human woman. The sound tore from her throat, entirely unbidden, as he stretched her open.
Bigger than the farmboy? He asked, punctuating the question with another cruel thrust. It robbed the air from her lungs as he forged deeper, demanding every inch of room her body could provide. Feyre could only whine her response. He was bigger—so much bigger—than anything that had ever been inside of her.
That’s right, he cooed with another merciless snap of his hips. Only I can satisfy you, Feyre. Keep your needy cunt full.
Feyre could only steal her breath in those moments he pulled away, before it was once again banished by the push of his thick cock, splitting her apart, each heavy stroke reforging her into a different woman than the one who had woken up that morning.
You’ll be a different creature entirely, he agreed, the rasp of his voice just as sinful as his thrusting hips. My bride. My equal.
She nodded, having trouble thinking past the decadent drag of his cock as it hit that same spot his tongue had found earlier. Feyre gasped, her fingers finding his hair to yank him closer, to try to find something to keep her tethered.
The Viscount groaned as his mouth was pushed harder against her neck, and she sensed him lose his restraint moments before she cried out in pain.
Shh, be still for me, wife. His hands held her down, keeping her from flailing away as she whimpered against the sharp pain flooding her neck.
The world seemed to slip underwater. She could still feel Rhysand’s tongue lapping against the blood that spilled from her wound, could hear him moaning at the taste as his thrusts became heavier. But those senses became duller, drowned by the intense wave of pleasure that throbbed from her neck, flooding through her body until it collided with the pressure building in her core.
It was an excruciating ecstasy—too much, but not enough. She needed him to take everything, even if he gave her nothing in return.
I’ll give you everything, he promised, voice a velvet seduction that dragged her over the edge. That’s it darling, come for me.
Her walls fluttered, tightening around his cock in a grip that had both of them crying out. Her vision blurred, and she hardly registered the way he’d stopped sucking at her throat until she found her face buried in the crook of his neck. Long fingers cradled the back of her head, urging her lips against his cool skin.
Bite me, he gasped. Please.
Feyre brushed her canines along his neck, delighting in the way he moaned. She wanted to speak, but her lips betrayed her, capable of expelling only sharp, quick gasps. But she could still feel that dark presence in her mind, wrapped around her like a soothing blanket. It was to that darkness she hummed, What will you give me?
His response was choked. Anything—please, my lady.
Anything?
Rhysand was panting, his thrusts becoming erratic. Yes.
So Feyre sunk her teeth into his neck, finding she could pierce this skin with alarming ease. The blood that burst into her mouth was not coppery like she had expected, the once metallic taste now as indulgent as a fine wine that she wanted to roll her tongue over.
The Viscount’s hips stuttered and he came with a long, indecent groan while she sucked clumsily at his neck.
Do you like the way I taste?
He sounded drunk on pleasure, and perhaps so was Feyre by the way she giggled, pulling away to look him in the eyes. Rhysand captured her mouth in a messy kiss, tongue tangling with her own so he could taste himself on her lips.
She sighed into the kiss, feeling her body come down from the joint high. As their kiss became slower, more passionate, she felt a bone heavy weariness begin to set in. Like her arms and legs were suddenly made of lead, weighing her to the table. The Viscount broke away from her lips with reluctance.
Tired? He pulled out of her with a kiss on her forehead. Without his grip to keep her upright, Feyre slumped back onto the table, her body strength failing her entirely. His laugh was soft, near reverent. That’s to be expected.
The world was swimming in and out of focus, becoming a distant hum of sensation. There was Lord Rhysand relacing his trousers in the corner of her eye, the sound of glass crunching beneath his boots, the feeling of being covered in something warm that smelled of sea salt and citrus. Then an arm slid beneath her legs and another beneath her shoulders, and she was being lifted.
Had someone blown out all the candles in the corridor, or had she lost her vision? In either case, Feyre couldn’t find the energy to worry. It was much easier to dose against the large chest she was bundled against. If she listened closely enough, she could pretend his footsteps were a heartbeat and that he was just an ordinary man—but then she thought that sounded terribly boring.
Before long she was nestled into a bed of silken sheets, with the Viscount hovering over her to delicately place pillows beneath her neck. He pulled the blankets to her chin, tucking her with a care that was almost laughable considering the roughness with which he had been thrusting into her only minutes prior.
She wanted to snap that she was not a child with a fever, but found the energy for speaking, even with her mind, escaped her. Instead she sighed into the comfort of the luxurious bed, submitting to the heavy weight of her body.
Sleep, wife, he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. And when you rise, I will bring the world to your feet.
cw tits play, zayne is boobs obsessed poor man :(, fingering, cuming on tits, they both have pubic hair (that's so hot idc) request and the full pic ;)
˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ma girlieees <333
What a really hot day. Probably the hotter since the beginning of the week. This summer was merciless—the kind of heat you sweat when you take two steps.
And you, like the genius that you are, thought a picnic with friends could be ‘refreshing’. Maybe get a breeze going, distract yourself with lemonade and laughers.
Wrong.
You were sweating buckets—no, oceans. Sweat pooling under your boobs, your bra clinging horribly against your breasts. The moment you passed the door of your shared home with Zayne, you lost no time to sprint to your room. Dreaming about grabbing a shirt—his shirt actually—and remove all your clothes including your bra and panties.
You barely register Zayne half-sprawled upside down on your shared king-sized bed with a book resting on his toned stomach—a towel slung low low his stomach letting his happy trail showing as one arm under his head, glasses slipping slightly down his nose.
“Hey—” he starts, but the words die on his tongue as he saw your urgency to remove your bra—letting your nipples breath, your boobs falling, called by gravity and finally, finally you feel like breathing again.
You moan, genuinely. A full-throated, deeply relieved, half-orgasmic moan.
“Gooood, I thought I were dying with that crap on,” you breathe, flopping the bra somewhere across the room. And Zayne would probably have argued with you for throwing your dirty clothes if he weren’t staring at you like his brain forgot all known languages. Glasses sliding further, mouth slightly open, gaze locked to your now-free, so-pretty, so perfect tities.
Once you pass on his shirt—it hangs loose over your upper thighs, smelling faintly like him and that citrusy woodsy cologne he swears doesn’t use (liaaaar!!)—he blinks and gulps loudly. You glance at him right in time to catch his Adam’s apple going up and down as his face turn crimson.
“Zayne, babe, I’m going to shower. ‘Kay?” you tilt your head, waiting for an answer but Zayne is still trying to calm down his feelings cock.
“For fuck’s sake,” He mutters, dragging a hand over his face as you make your way out of the bedroom—your boobs bouncing freely beneath it, his self-control hanging by a thread. He’s not some horny teenagers getting hard at the sight of some boobs…
He groans, pained, his dick stirs under the barely-holding-on towel, and shame hits him as a slap. He got to see them every day, God! He should be immune by now… :((
And right before the soft hiss of your connected bathroom shower swallows all outside sound, you hear the dull thunk of his book hitting to the floor.
And right when you step into the douche à l’italienne, the cool rock kissing your foot—Zayne enters the bathroom, closing the door with the soft click.
“Water conversation,” he says, casual, glasses gone, hair a deliciously tousled. “I figured I’d help.” He says with a raspy voice, eyes dark—a lot focused on your naked body.
“Gonna hold the loofah for me, honey?” you chuckle, eyes smiling at him as you look over your shoulder.
“No,” his voice drops lower, thicker. “I was thinking more...hands-on.” He steps closer, towel loosening around his hips.
“Is that so?” you tease, stepping back to give him space as his towel is discharged to the floor.
He hums, leaning down to press a shy kiss behind your ear as the steam wraps around both of you. However, his way bigger hands are everything but shy.
Firstly, one warm hand glides over the soft plush of your stomach as he peppers the back of your neck with kisses—just some pecks. And as his long fingers move up, up, up—finding the heavy swell of your breasts, cupping and massaging them, his kisses turn wetter, needier, each one lingering longer than the last.
“My love..” he starts, voice so quiet your barely hear it. “You’re such a tease… coming home like a storm and flashing me your beautiful boobs, all sweaty and pretty.” His mouth moves upward.
His lips trail up to your earlobe, tongue flicking over it just before he takes it gently between his teeth as his fat fingertips squeeze and roll your hardened nipples.
You moan audibly, head dropping to his wide shoulders. “I truly d-didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t lie,” he growls softly, and it scrapes right down your spine and blooms between your legs. “‘s not good.” His hips roll forward—pressing against your ass. You feel the full weight of him, hot and so thick your mouth salivates as it nestled sinfully between your cheeks. “I’m all worked up now...” His voice is really quiet as if he’s ashamed of how desperate he is.
His happy trail brushes up your lower back, sending shoots of electricity through your body. His dominant hand slides down lower to find the soft patch of pubic hair above your mound, letting his fingers twirling into it—playing there for a moment before trailing down lower, fingers slipping down through your already slick folds.
When his thumb hits your clit, he’s not pressed. He presses slowly on your sensitive part, circle it until your knees threaten to give. The pad of his finger rubs tight, slow circles until your hips grinds down on his leaking dick.
You’re panting, legs starting to shake.
And behind you, you feel his cock throbs between your fat ass’ cheeks.
“I’m gonna lose it,” he whispers. “You keep making those sounds—fuck—I’m gonna lose it before I even get inside.”
His other hand stays cupped around your breast, palm soft (he just wears a lot of hand cream duuuh) against your soft skin, thumb toying with your nipple.
As he licks with his long and hot tongue all the way to your omoplates to the base of your hair, his finger does the same—gliding through the slick mess he’s coaxed from you, pressing against your entrance.
He groans, a sound low in his throat. “You feel hot, something like… velvet.” His finger slowly ease in past the resistance. The stretch feels perfect, a little burn that makes your eyes roll back. He pushes all the way to the knuckle, then pulls out, then sinks back in again—deeper than the first push.
You clench helplessly around his thick finger.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathes against your shoulder. “You’re so tight… and you’re already gripping me...”
Then he adds a second finger.
You gasp—your hand bracing against the tile wall in front of you, the other reaching behind to grab at his thigh, anything to anchor you. He pumps them slowly, steadily, letting your body adjust before curling them just right—so right, they hit that spongy, sensitive spot that makes your legs buckle.
“Oh my—Zayne—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, nipping your shoulder as his non occupied arm wrapping around your waist. “I got you. Just let me…” His fingers move faster. His palm presses snug against your clit with every thrust, working you open.
“Gonna make you cum just like this,” he says, breath hot in your ear, voice shaky with need. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my fingers so bad I might, ngh, cum from that…”
And, suddenly, he spins you in his arms.
Your back meets the cool tile wall, and before you can even find your footing, his mouth his on you—greedy, suckling your nipple, hard. Your body arches off the wall, convulsing and overwhelming with the sensation ofhis experienced fingers hitting that spot that makes the world blurs and his lips sealing around your nipple. Zayne keeps you steady with his arm locked around you, when tears start to prick your eyes, clinging to him.
And it seems like Zayne is close too, your pleasure undoing him. He’s grinding onto you, breath ragged, his cock leaking an insane amount of pre-cum on your plush ass. And the moment your body spams with release. He bites on his lower lip, fighting to hold himself back, waiting for you to float back down from your high.
And once your breathing evens out, the moment your body stills in his arms—he pulls away and breathlessly whisper: “Get on your knees. Wanna cum on your tits.”
Your knees hit the wet tile before you even register the words, the world still fuzzy from your release. You look up just in time to see him stroking himself, fast and messy, his jaw clenched tight as his golden eyes lock onto your heaving chest.
Hot, thick ropes spill onto your breasts, painting your skin white with desperate twitching spurts. His release coats your chest, dripping down the soft curves, sliding between them in sticky trails. He keeps stroking, working out every last drop, eyes wide, mouth parted in disbelief at how much he’s leaking out.
Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.
Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!
Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’
Word count: 2.9k
Forty-five minutes.
Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.
Well, maybe that was just his cock.
Joel looked down, scanning his pants.
Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.
At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.
You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all
At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:
“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”
You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.
Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.
It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.
Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?
David was a dick.
He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.
Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.
It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.
If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.
Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—
“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.
Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.
You blinked dreamily up at him.
“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.
I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.
“Again?”
Your word was exhaled in a laugh.
You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.
Stabbing your ass.
You started to turn then, puzzled.
“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.
You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.
But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?
Or had his dick gotten soft at all?
You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.
“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.
Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.
Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.
His dick was still hard.
Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.
The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.
Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:
“I think you gave me twins.”
Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.
Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.
“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.
Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.
“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.
What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.
He would be fine.
His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.
“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.
When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.
There was a shy smile on your face.
“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.
Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.
“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.
You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.
Hard as a rock.
Throbbing.
Needy.
Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.
He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.
No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.
“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.
Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.
“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.
Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.
You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.
Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.
More desperate.
“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.
You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”
Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.
Thanks to that one stupid pill.
Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.
“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”
Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.
You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”
Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.
His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.
“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”
And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.
“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”
Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.
He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”
You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.
Without saying another word, he slid back in.
Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.
How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.
“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”
He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.
You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.
When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.
“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.
“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”
The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.
“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”
“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”
That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.
Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.
You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.
Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.
It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.
Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.
The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.
“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”
He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.
“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”
And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.
Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.
He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.
All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.
Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.
“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”
Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.
“A pill?” you whispered back.
Joel’s gaze locked with yours.
He felt stupid for it all at once.
“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”
“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.
When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.
“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”
Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.
Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.
“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”
“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.
And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.
Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.
“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”
Joel’s face fell.
“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.
He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.
“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”
Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.
“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.
Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.
He nearly choked hearing what followed:
“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”
rating: E (MINORS DNI, established age gap relationship (joel is in his late 40s, readers age is undisclosed), impotency, feelings of insecurity, use of sex toys, fem oral, face fucking, 69 action, rough sex, unprotected piv, dirty talk!joel, a fluffy ending bc obvi) based on this request :)
word count: 3.4k
joel masterlist
“Sweetheart,” Joel pecked your temple after he entered the house through the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. You were currently stood making dinner—just some mashed potatoes and some chicken in the oven. You hummed at his familiar scent and warmth as he leaned against you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you mashed the potatoes in a large pot. “Smells good.”
“You smell good.” You turned around, setting the masher down and wrapping your arms around his neck.
Joel looked exhausted, his patrol shift having gone on longer than either of you had expected. All day long you fantasized about easing some of his stress, knowing just how hard he’d been working around Jackson between city planning, teaching classes, helping fix up some of the abandoned homes, and finally with his actual job—patrol.
Stroking your knuckles over his bearded cheek you frowned, sensing how tired he was. Pulling him down gently, you pressed your lips against his and worked them slowly. Joel rubbed his palms over your hips and back, easing into your affections. Feeling bold, your lips began to wander to his neck, pressing against his pulse before you sank to your knees.
“Darlin’, what are you doin’?” He husked groggily as he watched your hands undo his belt. You bit your lip and grinned at him, eyes peering up earning a soft huff of approval.
When you reached in to grab his cock, you were shocked to find him still completely soft. The joy in your eyes faltered and he sighed, cupping your cheek and helping you back onto your feet. “I’m just tired, honey. It ain’t your fault—“
“Let me try,” you pleaded with a frown, Joel sighing before nodding, watching as you sank back down. You spit onto the palm of your hand before reaching to stroke him, even taking your tank top off to motivate him visually as well. Joel leaned one hand to grip the counter behind you, his eyes squeezing to focus on building his erection up.
When you realized your hand wasn’t getting him there, you leaned over to use your mouth. It wasn’t exactly ideal—the softness of his length pale in comparison to its erect state—but you persisted, determined to give this hard working man the release he deserved.
“Darlin’…” Joel was pink in the cheeks and not from pleasure, his hand gently pulling you away. “I’m sorry…it just ain’t…ain’t gonna happen tonight.”
“Are you sure?” You asked, remaining on your knees in case he wanted you to keep trying. Joel looked mortified as he hung his head and shook it, his eyes unable to meet your own. You stood and attempted to help him tuck himself back inside but he moved your hands away, walking out of the room without another word. You thought he may have just migrated to the living room, but his heavy footsteps heading up the stairs and the closing of your shared bedroom door told you that he had different plans.
You’d never been with a man his age before, the last relationship you’d had like this was with a man in his late twenties. You’d never experienced impotency, but you could only imagine how embarrassed he must be feeling at his manhood letting him down. If he would’ve stayed around, you would’ve sat with him and kissed away all of his insecurities, reminding him that it was no big deal and that it changed nothing about how you viewed him. But, he didn’t. He walked off and shut you out, the pang in your heart now spreading to your stomach and leaving you without an appetite.
You quickly finished up the potatoes and transferred them to some tupperware, the chicken having already been finished and keeping warm in the oven. With a quick wash of your hands, you tugged on your top and walked upstairs with new purpose. You were going to comfort him, one way or another.
“Joel?” You walked into the room and saw no one, the running water of the bath telling you where your boyfriend had gone to. Shedding off all of your layers, you walked in, Joel freezing at the sight of you nude and sauntering over to him. “Hi.”
“Honey, I’m sorry to be such a disappointment but I really can’t—“
You shut him up by crawling into the tub with him, sitting behind him and massaging his shoulders. Joel eventually relaxed, leaning further into you and resting his head back against your shoulder. You smiled and hummed, pressing your lips to his temple like he always liked to do to you.
“M’sorry,” he finally breathed out as your hands wandered to his pecks, massaging the muscle as your lips trailed over his bearded jaw. His hands rubbed at the sides of your legs, your head nodding against him as you nuzzled your cheek against his.
“You know I don’t care about that, right? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it happens.” You kissed up to his temple again, Joel sighing contently at the delicate nature of your kisses.
“Still…wouldn’t you rather have a man who can…get it up for ya? You deserve that, not some beat up old—“
“Stop, you’re being too hard on yourself.” You lightly scolded, Joel chuckling and nodding against you.
“I apologize, darlin’. Still workin’ on that.” You smiled against him and pressed one more kiss to his brow before pulling away to grab his body wash, squirting some of it into your palm before scrubbing his body. “Mm, gonna fall asleep if we don’t get out soon.”
“Mm-mm,” you shook your head and rinsed the soap off him before standing up. You found your towel before holding his open, Joel grunting as he stood up and climbed out of the tub. You hugged his towel onto him, patting his upper body dry before wrapping it around his waist. When you turned to walk him into the bedroom, Joel pulled you back by the hand, hugging you close and pressing one chaste kiss to your lips.
“You’re such an angel, sweetheart. Don’t deserve you.” You shook your head against him and pecked his lips again.
“You’re doing it again.” You scolded with a soft smile, Joel nodding against you.
“Always keepin’ me in check, ain’t ya?” You nodded and grinned into his lips before pulling away and tugging him into the bedroom.
After changing into your PJ’s, the two of you made your way downstairs, heating up the forgotten dinner and enjoying it on the couch while a Willie Nelson CD played faintly on the boom box Joel had found a couple weeks back.
Your fantasy of pulling release after release out of him would have to wait. Tonight was soft, all about rest and relaxation. Though you knew he still held onto that insecurity from earlier, you desperately hoped he wouldn’t let it get to him. You craved him—you always did. You didn’t want a one-time bit of impotency to shake his confidence, it was one of your favorite things about him in the bedroom.
With a kiss to his lips, the two of you curled up together in bed, drifting off to sleep with your head on his chest, the sound of his breathing lulling you into a deep slumber.
•••
It had been exactly one week since the whole impotency ordeal. One week of Joel suddenly becoming completely uninterested in sex. One week of complete and total sexual frustration for you.
He’d sworn to you that he wouldn’t let it get to him, and yet anytime you attempted to do so much as kiss him with tongue he was finding a reason to go off and do something else. It was more than frustrating, especially knowing that it was all out of insecurity. So, after a little bit of thinking and planning, you organized what you hoped would be enough to get him out of his head and into bed.
Joel had switched to the mid-shift at patrol, his boots finally creeping up the porch steps around eight at night. You bit your lip when you heard him taking off his boots by the door, standing in the kitchen with his favorite meal nice and hot, and your body scantily clad in lace.
“Smells good in here, honey. What’s the occas—“ Joel went speechless when he walked into the kitchen, his eyes taking over your nearly nude state. You grinned at him as you walked over with a plate of food, setting it down on the dinner table before guiding him to sit. Joel’s hand gripped your wrist as you turned to walk away to grab a bottle of wine, his dark eyes turning even darker as he ran his fingertips across the lace on your hip. “What did I do to deserve all this?”
“You exist,” you replied softly, leaning down to peck the tip of his nose. He reluctantly let you go, watching your hips sway as you walked. Soon you were back in front of him, setting two wine glasses down and filling them both with the dark red liquid. “Just wanted to treat you tonight.”
“Well, darlin’, you’re doin’ a good job.” He smiled at you before taking a sip of his wine, patting his thigh for you to sit. You obliged and wrapped one arm around his shoulder, the other reaching for his fork and bringing some of the steak to his mouth. “Mm, it’s perfect, sweetheart.”
“Yeah? I’m glad.” He took the fork from you and lowered it to stab a bit of the meat before lifting it to you, his jaw dropping as he watched your lips wrap around the fork. You hummed at the taste, smiling as you wiped the corner of your mouth. “Tastes good.”
“How am I supposed to think about eatin’ when I can’t take my eyes off you?” He asked as you lifted your wine glass to your lips, chugging the entire thing for more courage as you climbed off his lap. Joel frowned as you left the room, calling your name a couple times until you returned with a wooden chest. “Now what’s that?”
“This…is something I’ve been working on for a few years now. A collection if you will.” You grinned as you set the box on the table, Joel’s hand reaching for the lid to open it but you swatted him away. “Uh-uh, finish eating and then you’ll get to see.”
Joel nodded and finished his plate faster than you’d ever seen anyone do it before, drawing a laugh from you as you sat across from him and worked on your own. When he was finished, he set his fork down and looked at you with eager eyes, your heart swelling at the sight of him so excited to have you again after the sexless week.
“Done. Can I open it now?” You rolled your eyes and set your fork down, standing up and walking back to him. You sat down on his thigh again and nodded, Joel’s fingers instantly reaching for the lid and opening it. His eyes widened at the sight of a vibrator and a couple other toys he could only make out as various types of dildos. “Jesus, darlin’. You been usin’ these when I ain’t around?”
“Mm-hm,” you nodded and reached for the vibrator, turning it on with a raise of your eyebrow, the hum causing both of your arousals to spike.
“Show me.” Joel demanded, scooting his chair back a couple inches. With a bitten lip, you stood up and perched yourself in front of him on the table, your legs spreading wide, unveiling your lace-covered heat. Joel sat back in his chair, unbuckling his belt and pulling his hard cock out as he watched you. “C’mon, darlin’. I wanna see how you make yourself cum when I ain’t around to do it for ya.”
With heavy breaths, you slid your panties over and watched as Joel’s jaw went slack, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip at the sight of you dripping in front of him. His fist gripped his cock, working it up as you pressed the vibrator to your clit, your eyes fluttering shut at the buzzing sensation.
“You look so damn good like this, honey. Such a fool for makin’ you go so long without a good fuckin’.” He reached into the box and pulled out a curved toy, bringing it up to your lips to suck on. You hummed around the silicone, wetting it as best as you could before he was pulling it out with a pop. Standing on his feet, he lowered it to your entrance, prodding at it a couple times before burying it deep inside of you.
“Oh, fuck, Joel!” You moaned out as he stroked it in and out of you, the pace combined with the buzz of the vibrator against your clit making your thighs shake.
“Mm, you like this, darlin’? Is it better than me?” You shook your head, his possessive tone making you clench around the toy. “Listen carefully, sweetheart. I want you to get on all fours for me. Don’t you dare take that off your clit now, you hear me?”
“Yes,” you nodded and shuffled on the table until you were positioned like he asked. You held the vibrator against your clit as you awaited his next moves, the feeling of the toy leaving your walls making you whine.
“I know, baby. Don’t worry, gonna fuck you with my tongue instead.” He grinned as he watched you clenched around nothing, licking his lips before placing his mouth on you. You moaned at the feeling of his wet tongue slurping from one hole to the other, his rough hands spreading your cheeks apart so that he could bury himself deeper.
“Fuck, Joel. Feels so good. Gonna c-cum,” you warned and he moaned against you, fucking into you with his tongue until he felt you gushing, choosing to lap up your juices instead. “Jesus fucking christ! S-so good!”
“Just gettin’ started with you, sweetheart. Now, come on. Get down on your knees for me.” He tugged you off the table and watched as you dizzily dropped to the ground in front of him, laying the vibrator on the table before wrapping both hands on his aching length. He grinned down at you, nodding as you stroked him with both hands, your lips wrapping around his girthy head and sucking him in. “This what you’ve been wantin’? My cock hard just for you, fuckin’ into your pretty throat?”
You hummed in response but it wasn’t enough for him, his hand gripping your hair and tugging you off. “Answer me.”
“Yes. Been wanting you to fuck my face. Want to make you feel good. Only ever want to make you feel good.” You whispered to him as you looked up at him, your hands pumping away as he kept your hair gripped in his fist. With a smile and nod, he let go, allowing you to wrap your lips around him once more. You took one hand off so that you could take him in deeper, a vulgar slurping and gagging sound filling the house as you bobbed up and down on him. His hands came to rest on the sides of your head, eyes narrowing in pleasure as he fucked into your throat.
“God,” he choked out through a gritty whimper, pulling himself all the way out of your mouth and slapping the head of his cock against your puckered lips. “You trust me, darlin?”
“More than anyone,” Joel felt his heart flutter at the sincerity in your voice, making note to tell you just how much that little sentence meant to him after you both were finished fucking like wild animals.
“Alright, then. Lay on the table with your head hangin’ over the edge, sweet-pea.” You wiped your mouth and did as he asked, shoving your plates aside so that your back could rest on the wooden tabletop. Joel hummed at the sight, your body still dressed in your lacy two-piece, mascara down your cheeks and your red lipstick smudged across your chin. Joel grabbed his wine glass, swirling the little bit that remained in it before sipping on it. He leaned down, gripping your chin before sharing some of the wine with you via his lips on yours. “I’m gonna pick you up now. Want you to keep suckin’ on my cock while I do, alright?”
“Y-yes,” you responded hesitantly, unsure of exactly what he meant but soon he was leaning over your body and lifting you into the air upside down. He held on tight, his big arms hugging your waist while you cling to the shirt he was still wearing. When his tongue flattened against your slick, you cried out, your calves crossing behind his shoulders. “Fucking—hell—shit.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t leave me waitin’.” He ordered you with a husky voice, your lips wrapping around him to take him in deep. Joel fucked into your mouth as he held you tight, his tongue lapping and flicking and sucking against every single centimeter of your sensitive skin. “God, darlin’…taste so fuckin’ good.”
“C-cumming,” you whined into his cock as you placed kisses to the soaked length, Joel growling against you until you were shaking and seeing stars, your mind going blank from the pleasure.
“Gonna fuck you, darlin’. How’s that sound? Fuck you until you give me one more?” He carried you over to the couch, laying you down on the cushions. Your head was dizzy from the blood rush and your post-orgasmic haze, hardly feeling him kneel on the sofa and situate himself between your thighs. Your eyes rolled back in your skull as the feeling of his cock stretching you open after so long, your nails digging into his forearms as he pounding into you without mercy. Your legs were in the air, knees bending over his shoulders as he leaned forward to kiss you through the gap. “So. Fuckin’. Good. Never. Gonna. Neglect. This. Pussy. Again. Hear me?”
“Yes, fuck!” You cried out, thankful that no one was around to hear you moan like a porn star. “You fuck me s-so g-good, Joel! Gonna make me cum again! Gonna make me cum on y-your—“
“Fuck!” The word was drawn out, growled, and a warning to you that he was at the end of his rope. “Darlin, gonna fill you up. That what you want?”
“Jesus fucking christ, yes!” You pleaded, already slipping into your orgasm and losing all ability to speak. Your body shook from the unraveling, Joel’s hips pressing all the way in before he spilled inside of you, your legs dropping to wrap around his waist while he fell on top of you. Your heartbeats thumped so violently together that for a moment you were concerned for your health, but one tender kiss placed to your chest shooed any worry away. “Joel,”
“Yes, love?” He rasped in that accent of his, so warm and rich and cozy. You hummed and smiled at nothing, your fingers lightly scratching at his scalp.
“I love you.” You mumbled, his lips pecking a trail up your chest and neck until he was kissing your lips.
“Mm, even when I can’t perform every night?” He smiled against your cheek as he kissed it, your head nodding adamantly.
“Love you all the time.” You moaned as he slipped out of you, pulling you up with him as he relaxed back against the sofa, you in his lap. “I know it’s nothing to do with me, just comes with age. And I’m serious—I don’t give a shit. I’m just lucky to have you. Wanna do whatever I can to help ease the stress.”
“Sweetheart, you ease my stress simply by breathin’. You ain’t gotta worry. As long as you’re satisfied, I’m happy.” He pet your cheek and cradled your face in his palm. “How was I tonight? Did I make it up to you, darlin?”
“You know you did. Can’t even remember how many times I came for you.” You pressed your lips to his and breathed him in, already hungry for more. “God, I love you, Joel Miller.”
“Oh, darlin’. I love you.”
•••
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cw: 18+, established relationship, unprotected piv, f!reader
you enter the bedroom, your eyes landing on joel reading his book in bed, his broad chest bare as his head rests back against the headboard. you walk towards him, freshened up and in your pj's, ready to relax after a long day. he looks so concentrated, so old. his thin pair of glasses settled on the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowed together as his eyes roam over each word on the page. god, he looks handsome.
you walk to your side of the bed, making him glance up above his glasses. "hey peach" he greets softly, before looking back at his book. you let out a tired sigh, a smile crossing your face, "hi baby"
you get under the covers next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder, peeking at the pages. "still reading that book from two weeks ago?" you tease, kissing his skin. "your old man can't read as well as he used to" he mutters with a small grin, "like to take my time sweetheart"
it's cute how intrigued he is in his book, really, but you would be lying if you said you didn't wish his attention was on you right now.
you straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. he raises his brow, looking past his book towards you, "whatcha up to now?" he asks roughly, a smirk crossing his face. you give him a cheeky grin, feigning innocence. "nothinnn" your mutter against his cheek, planting some kisses on his skin. "mhm" he mumbles, his eyes back on the page.
you feel his bulge against your core, your body instantly feeling hot from the sensation. you roll your hips slightly, craving more friction through your clothes. joel hums from the feeling, completely distracted from reading now as he feels your heat rubbing against him. you grin in amusement, grinding harder to get a reaction out of him. he lets out a low groan, putting his book face down on the nightstand, "sweetheart—"
"need you joel" you whine, gazing at him sweetly as you continue to shift your body against his, his cock hardening more and more underneath you. he lets out a hum in approval, giving into you as his big hands rest on your thighs, looking up at you with desire. you lean in, kissing his lips, his scruffy beard tickling your skin.
he reaches his hand up to his face, taking off his glasses before you stop him, grabbing them and nudging them back onto his nose.
you take your shirt off, letting him see you in all your glory. he stares in awe, his hands roaming over your body, up to your breasts. he passionately deepens the kiss, delving his tongue down your throat. "want you to fuck me" you murmur seductively against his lips, "and these stay on" your fingers pinch the rim of his glasses. he swallows, his cock twitching from your command. “yes ma’am”
he doesn’t get why you find them so attractive— why you insist on him wearing them and wanting them in the way. it's inconvenient, really. but he doesn’t question it, leaving them on just for you.
you tuck down his pajama pants, his throbbing cock eagerly springing out, pulsing with a deep shade of pink. you spit on it, guiding your soft hand up and down his shaft, lubricating him. his chest rises and falls from your touch, “shit baby— jus’ like that” he murmurs under his breath.
it's not long before you take off your panties, tossing them on the floor before hovering over his cock. you grab his length, nudging him against your puffy clit before sinking down onto him, biting your lip in pleasure. “fuck” you moan under your breath, placing your hands on his hairy chest for stability as you begin rocking back and forth on his cock.
“ohhh darlin’” he lets out a groan, the heat of your cunt wrapped nicely around him. his eyes shut in satisfaction, his brows slightly furrowing. you grab his chin, forcing him to make eye contact with you as you give him a small grin, “watch me ride you baby”
he looks up at you with heart eyes, his hands guiding you up and down his meaty cock. the sight of you on top of him has him throbbing relentlessly, unable to take his eyes off of his cock disappearing in your pussy. “feel so good” he groans, his hands trailing up to tease your hardened nipples.
he leans into your chest, latching onto your breast as his tongue swirls around your aching bud, fondling both with his thick fingers. “you’re so beautiful” he murmurs against you, his mouth switching over to give the other one some attention. he lets out a stream of grunts, his breath hot against your skin as you continue to bounce on his cock.
you moan against his ear, your fingers tangled in his silver hair as you make love to him, his soft belly nudging against your bare front. he gazes up at you, his glasses slightly fogged up as his lips meets yours desperately again, “fuck baby—not gonna last”
“want you to come inside, please” you whimper, your nails clawing his broad back, his cock hammering deep in you, hitting your sweet spot. “harder, fuck, come in me—”
“gonna give it to you sweet girl—christ baby—fuckk” he grips your hips, using the last energy he has left as he fucks up into you, a deep guttural groan escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you, milking every last drop of him inside your sweet pussy. you let out a loud moan in ecstasy, collapsing onto his chest as you come on his cock. he twitches inside of you before he slowly slips out, the combination of your arousal seeping out from your pussy.
he pants, his eyes shutting as your head nestles in the crook of his neck. you pull back, kissing his temple, admiring his weary expression. they open slightly, gazing at you in awe with half lidded eyes. you give him a smile, “aw, didn’t knock you out did i?” you tease, stroking his cheek. “real funny” he grumbles with a small grin, “tryna kill me here little lady”
you let out a soft giggle, making him smile as he plants a kiss on your cheek. he lays there peacefully, his eyes fighting to stay open as your finger tenderly traces his cheek. his eyes flutter shut as the exhaustion takes over him, a hint of smile tugging at your lips. "sleepy?" you whisper softly, stroking his shoulder. "mhm" he hums, seconds away from falling asleep.
he forgot his glasses are still on, an endearing smile crossing your face as you take them off for him, letting him blissfully drift off to sleep. you reach over and place them on the nightstand before turning off the lamp, a sliver of light through the curtains illuminating the pitch black room. you snuggle against his skin, taking in his natural musk as he embraces you tightly in his big arms.
Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.
Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk
Word count: 4.7k
Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2
He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.
Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:
Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.
But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:
And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.
Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.
If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.
But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.
With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.
Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.
No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.
Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.
Where the FUCK was his cum?
In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.
He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.
“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”
But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.
You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.
“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.
Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.
“Hold still,” he grunted.
“How come?”
“‘Cause I said.”
How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.
“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.
But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.
Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.
He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.
He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:
“Jo-el—”
“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.
“Push?”
“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”
You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.
Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.
And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.
At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.
You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.
He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.
You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.
Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.
“Joel, what’s—”
“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”
Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.
“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”
Well, fuck.
Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.
“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.
An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.
“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”
You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.
“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.
You’re old.
Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.
“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”
You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?
For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.
“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.
Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.
“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”
What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.
He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.
“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”
You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.
Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.
Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—
“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.
“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.
Joel carried on without a hitch.
“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”
You nodded along, not hearing a word.
“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”
Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.
“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”
That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:
“My own age?”
Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.
You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.
“What?”
“What?”
Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.
“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”
Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’
And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.
This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.
“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.
No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.
Smiling a little, too.
“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.
“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”
Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.
“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”
You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.
“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”
“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”
Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.
“Baby…”
To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.
Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.
You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.
It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.
Feels nice.
Tastes alright, too.
You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.
“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”
Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.
And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.
“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.
Joel cursed under his breath.
“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”
“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”
As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again
“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”
In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.
He communicated as much by moving to pull out.
You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.
“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”
Of course, it had been Joel.
Always, always him—the only one, in fact.
Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:
‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’
He couldn’t.
Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.
But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.
“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.
“I do.”
In fact, he loved it.
“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?
Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.
Idiocy.
“Just once?” Joel croaked.
Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.
“Just one?” you murmured back.
He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.
“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.
“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.
Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.
“One?” Joel panted. Confused.
He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.
“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.
Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.
“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”
The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.
In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”
Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.
“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”
Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.
To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.
“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”
Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.
That’s all he’s ever wanted.
Let the neighbors talk.
Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:
“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.
The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.
Something to stick.
“Please say it, baby.”
Someone to call yours.
“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.
A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.
“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.
“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”
As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.
“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”
“Ri— right there. Right there.”
Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.
It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.
Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it
“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”
He kissed the tip of yours.
“Hope they get this.”
He kissed either one of your cheeks.
“These too.”
You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.
The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.
Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.
𝄒 ﹙ 𝒔. ﹚ there's only one person to ever have sukuna even consider opening his heart for them and this is how you realize it was always you.
❝ how does it feel to be all that you are? all that you want to be, is that what you want to be? ❞
𝄒 ﹙ 𝔀. ﹚sukuna x fem!reader , angst , comfort , short text story , unrequited love , sukuna's an ass but he means well , swearing , happy ending bc i don't want to get jumped, ignore timestamps and mistakes bc i saw a couple but can't be bothered to fix them....sorry lani, i'll take you instead if that's okay , lowkey might make a part 3 bc lani deserves more (i actually don't care...i was trying to be woke)
❝ and how does it feel to be what you've become, what you said you would never be, is that who you want to be? ❞
My roman empire is that people forget that Feyre was attracted to Rhys IMMEDIATELY, before she saw anything good in him. In ACOFAS, she admits she wanted him even UTM. In other words, she saw him at his CoN-est, was in love with Tam, and still couldn't help herself. So, she and Rhys don't have such a complicated, ambivalent relationship for so long because Rhys is morally grey. They have a complicated relationship because Feyre doesn't know how to rationalize caring about someone who's so morally grey. ACOMAF isn't about Feyre suddenly thinking Rhys is a saint. ACOMAF is about her coming to accept and respect Rhys because, after her own experiences UTM, she identifies with and understands his moral ambiguity. Whether or not she and Rhys are equally morally dubious is a different conversation, but basically, accepting and loving Rhys is also Feyre loving and accepting herself.
andulkaphoto
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
