-ˋˏ [ bowie | 20 | any pronouns ] ˎˊ- [ selfship side acc]
┗━━━━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━━━━┛
┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆
┆ ┆ ┆ ┆ ⏳ ₒ
┆ ┆ ┆ *:･ﾟ ↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ ✦ ⌇ ʷᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ↴
┆ ┆ *ೃ bowies tumblr!
┆ ⊹ꮺ˚ banner credits ! *₊°。
¨🎞
✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧 ; all characters are 18+, written by adult(s), for adults, in adult scenarios. These scenarios can range from explicit, to gorey depending on the given tags. minors do not interact!
★📎 {} .. if requests are open, please be patient with completed drabbles! i am only one person with two weak malnourished thumbs, have mercy :(
☆💬。・i write for characters that have been considered "controversial" in the past, such as homelander, soldier boy, amanda young, etc. if those characters/sources bother you, please feel free to block me and my tags !
☆・．❕「tags」
-ˋˏ #bowies fics [all fics]
-ˋˏ #bowies requests [requested fics]
-ˋˏ #bowies headcannons [ all headcannons ]
-ˋˏ #bowies comfort tag [reposts of fanart of sources i love]
-ˋˏ #bowies silly tag [funny reposts]
-ˋˏ #pretty colors!!!@ [reposts of fanart of sources i love]
╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴
fic request status ; open !
headcannon request status ; open !
✩°｡⋆saw franchise x reader - all gender neutral
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: amanda young x reader
drowning ; unhealthy dynamics, descriptions of violence, s/h mentions slight stockholm syndrome, menetions of kidnapping, fluff, no smut - strangely soft moments and recalling memories of being taken in by amanda and john [ romance ]
quiet morning ; fluff, sleeping with socks, sleepy morning, buffmanda, pervymanda, straddling, teasing - amanda insists you both sleep in. [ suggestive ]
choice ; stroke mentions/slight descriptions, surgery mentions, panic attacks, grounding, hand holding, fluff, "i hate everyone but you" trope - after john has a stroke, you find yourself slightly split between two sides of the same coin. [ angst / romance ]
territory ; apprentice!reader, jealousy, amanda being a guard dog, anatomical terms for vagina, degradation, dubcon if u squint, biting, sadistmanda - amanda catches you and mark going over your lastet work. [ smut ]
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: mark hoffman x reader
worthy test ; dead dove, detective!reader, kidnapping, smut, gender neutral anatomy, gags, rough sex, slapping, needles, drugging, unhealthy dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, size difference kink, age difference, creampie, big ol man tiddies YEEHAWW!! - you and your team of investigators have been after jigsaw's apprentice for months, yet waking up bound to a chair makes way for suprises more sinister than you could have imagined [ smut ]
══════════════════════
✩°｡⋆the boys x reader - all gender neutral
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: homelander x reader
compliance ; sublander, bloodplay, knifeplay, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamic, consent, communication, prior planning, oral sex - getting homelander in a vulnerable position where you put him in cuffs he's not allowed to break. [ smut ]
supernova ; depowered!homelander, homelander reffered to as john, angst with a fluffy ending, domestic sweetness, anxiety attack, eating difficulties - john feels lost after losing his powers despite settling into a "normal" life with you. [ angst / romance ]
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: frenchie x reader
people will talk ; weed smoking, alcohol references, fluff, intoxication, cozy fic, - late night meetings between you, frenchie and a joint [ fluff ]
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: frenchie x butcher x reader
team building ; reader has vagina, weed use / intoxication, supe reaper, enemies to lovers if you squint, hell yeah for long buildup, threesome, lap sitting, oral [receiving / giving], spitroast, lots of petnames - As a Supe on the run, joining The Boys can be nerve wracking - Easing up tension is no easy feat. [ smut ]
══════════════════════
✩°｡⋆fallout x reader - all gender neutral
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: cooper howard [the ghoul] x bounty!reader
paid in kind ; gunplay, breathplay, bondage, spitplay, hairpulling, oral [ m receiving ], throatfucking, wallfucking, creampie, accidental yearning, prolonged eye contact is sexy, switch!cooper is underrated, mentions of past sexual experiences, nondescript reader genitals, rad x as ghoul birth control - you've been running for weeks, but there's nowhere he won't find you. [ smut ]
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: prewar!cooper x barbara howard x reader
summer lovin' ; costar!reader, hot tub time!, fluff beyond belief, relationship not labeled but everyone flirts with everyone!, alcohol mentions/consumption - after working on a film with cooper, you never imagined just how charming both of the howards were. [ romance / fluff ]
══════════════════════
✩°｡⋆you x reader - all gender neutral
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:joe goldberg x reader
sugar coated ; dead dove do not eat, canon joe, stalking, knife play mention, suicide mention, caged reader, manipulation, gaslighting, kidnapping - youve been in and out of mooney's since you moved to new york - it was only a matter of time before you caught his eye. [ angst / horror / story driven ]
spill ; dead dove do not eat, stalking, breaking and entering, voureism, somnophilia, noncon themes, masturbation, glove/latex play, reader has vagina, fourth wall breaks/unreality - hello you. im glad youre reading so much, you always know how to make my head spin. [ horror / smut / story driven ]
daydream; dead dove do not eat, stalking, unhealthy dynamics, power imbalance in a work place, flirting - you run into professor moore, and meeting for the first time feels like he's known you far longer. [ horror / fluff / story driven ]
full disclosure: dead dove elements, "canon" joe, following, flirting, unhealthy workplace dynamics, power imbalance, switch!joe, slight footplay, teasing fest, oral [ reader receiving ], fingering, premature orgasm, joe being a munch interrupted - a heated workplace encounter. [ smut / fluff / story driven ]
✩°｡⋆ Unexpected
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ thomas shelby x reader fic [ smut - specified anatomy ]
summary ; the shelby's and your family have worked together for quite some time. when your mother made a bold move against the lead shelby brother, you took to going to apologize personally.
tags / warnings ; intoxication, spanking, grinding, pleasure denial, thomas shelby being a bitch, smoking, masturbation, facial, cumplay if u squint, explicit consent, power imbalance - smoking, fluff, morning sex, oral [ reader receiving ] , power imbalance, overstimulation, reluctant feels, thomas shelby please have emotions?? please?? LMAO, irresponsible beta read we die like real men
i. evening ,, ii. morning
✩°｡⋆ Negotiations
; ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .: soldier boy x reader [ smut, angst - specified anatomy ]
summary ; upon joining The Boys to take down Homelander with the help of Soldier Boy, you come to realize he's much more of a hard bargain than you anticipated.
tags / warnings ; dubcon, forced orgasms, slight daddy kink, glove kink if you squint, size kink, southern charm, drug use, wall sex, no pronouns used for reader but afab anatomy is repeatedly mentioned - intoxication, weed use, cocaine mentions, slight angst, porn with a plot, destructive mutualization, lap sitting, pleasure denial, grinding ("the knee thing"), slight underwear fetish, m!masturbation, couch sex, free use elements, creampie, verbal threats, reader takes initiative (aka fucks around and finds out, with feelings!), is soldier boy a warning? if so, soldier boy antics!,
i. negotations ,, ii. necessary evils
═════════════════════
⊹ꮺ˚ masterlist will be updated bi-weekly!
⊹ꮺ˚ for a more accurate list, check #bowies fics ! <3
“Going back to Armand was natural, because he was one of a trio with Louis and Lestat, and though their stories have been told in the first person, Armand has always remained a mysterious and maligned character, estranged from the other two, yet intimately involved.”
— A Conversation with Anne Rice | The Complete Vampire Chronicles
Warnings: mentions of smut (18+), heavy flirting, mutual pining, angst, forbidden love, age gap (reader is early 30’s, Wade is 48)
Word Count: 5.9K
A/N: Lord, take this from me before I rewrite it for the hundredth time. Part 3 (very nsfw yes) is already written and coming tomorrow or friday!
👉 Read part one HERE👈
The days that followed blurred together in a haze of restless longing. Every thought of Wade stirred that same deep, throbbing ache between your thighs, the kind that logic couldn’t reason away no matter how hard you tried. The harder you fought to banish him from your mind, the more insistently he returned—his low voice murmuring in your ear during quiet moments, his strong hands gripping your hips in fevered dreams that left you waking slick and breathless. That night had marked you, etched itself into your skin like a brand, replaying in vivid fragments every time you closed your eyes: the press of his hard body against yours, the heat of his breath on your neck, the way he'd groaned your name as if it were a curse and a prayer.
It wasn’t just desire that lingered—it was a raw, magnetic connection. That impossible, intoxicating moment when everything had gone still, when nothing else existed but him, his cock straining against you, teasing the edge of what you both craved but were yet to claim. Rationally, you knew it shouldn’t have happened. That it couldn’t happen again.
You’d told yourself that more times than you could count, even as your fingers slipped between your legs in the dead of night, chasing the ghost of his touch. But beneath the guilt and confusion, there burned an undeniable thrill—a spark that refused to fade. You had been the one to cross that line, after all. Even with alcohol blurring the edges, the pull toward him had been real, undeniable. You’d wanted him—wanted to feel him stretch you open, fill you completely. And for one fleeting night, you were certain he had wanted you too.
But since then, your mind had become a battlefield. You replayed every second of that night—his voice, his touch, the look in his eyes—searching for meaning in the smallest details. You dissected every word he’d said, every pause between sentences, desperate for some sign that it hadn’t been a mistake. Yet the more you thought about it, the less sure you became. The memory of him had taken on a dreamlike quality, blurring at the edges until you could no longer tell where reality ended and fantasy began.
You wondered if he felt it too. If he thought about you when the house was quiet, if he still remembered the shape of your body against his, or if he’d convinced himself it had never happened. He hadn’t reached out—and neither had you—leaving you both suspended in this strange limbo where time slowed and reality felt paper-thin.
And yet, for all your attempts to move on, to bury the memory under reason and restraint, one truth remained: that night had changed everything.
No matter how hard you tried to deny it, a part of you still ached for him. Still waited for the moment your paths would cross again—for that spark to return, no matter how dangerous it might be.
It had taken a gentle but persistent push from your mom to finally get you out of the house. "It’s foolish to let a bad date get you down," she had said one morning, her voice laced with that familiar blend of concern and exasperation after noticing your increasingly withdrawn mood. You had deflected her probing questions with a half-truth—calling the night “uneventful,” insisting that maybe you just needed a break from dating to “focus on yourself.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was enough to satisfy her curiosity, at least for a little while.
By the fourth day of your self-imposed isolation, however, her patience had worn thin. The moment she caught you still in pyjamas, curled up on the couch with a half-empty tub of ice cream, she crossed her arms and declared that something had to change. You knew better than to argue.
With a mixture of reluctance and resignation, you finally agreed to meet an old school friend for drinks. As you began to get ready, you told yourself that it would do you some good—to talk, to laugh, to feel normal again. Maybe you’d even share a heavily edited version of your evening with Wade, just enough to ease the restless weight on your chest without exposing too much. You had been spinning in circles with your own thoughts for days, and the idea of voicing even a fraction of them to someone else felt like relief.
Standing in front of the mirror, you took your time—more than usual. You wanted to look good, but more than that, you wanted to feel like yourself again. You slipped into one of your favourite dresses, something that balanced comfort with confidence, and for the first time in days, you saw a flicker of colour return to your reflection. The slow, familiar ritual of applying makeup and taming your hair felt grounding—each brushstroke and dab of lipstick another layer of armour against the chaos swirling in your head.
When you were finally done, you stepped back and studied your reflection. You didn’t look like the same person who’d spent the past few days hiding from the world. There was a trace of life in your eyes again, a quiet determination beneath the uncertainty. Maybe tonight wouldn’t solve everything—but it was a start.
As you descended the final step of the stairs, your heels clicking softly against the wood, you called out a quick goodbye to your parents. The only response was the faint hum of voices and distant laughter drifting from outside. Frowning, you followed the sound through the hallway, the smell of grilling food growing stronger with each step.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks. There, standing at the open refrigerator, was a figure you knew far too well. Wade. His broad shoulders strained against the thin fabric of his dark T-shirt, the muscles in his back flexing as he reached for a bottle of beer. The casual way he stood there, hips cocked slightly, sent a forbidden thrill racing through you. Your pulse hammered in your ears, breath hitching as heat pooled low in your belly—surprise, confusion, and a raw, aching longing that made your thighs clench. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the way his jeans hugged his ass, memories of his hands on you flashing unbidden, making your core throb with need.
For a moment, you couldn’t move. Your pulse thudded in your ears, breath catching in your throat as a dozen emotions collided—surprise, confusion, and something warmer that you immediately tried to suppress. Your eyes darted toward the window, half-hoping, half-dreading an explanation.
Outside, the world was perfectly ordinary. Your mother sat at the patio table surrounded by her friends, their laughter ringing over the gentle clinking of glasses. The afternoon sun spilled over them, painting everything in a soft, golden hue. Your father, by the grill, flipped burgers with practised ease, deep in conversation with those at the table. It was a picture of ease and normalcy—everything your body wasn't. Your skin prickled with awareness, nipples tightening under the fabric of your dress as if Wade's presence alone commanded it.
The soft clearing of a throat snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned, pulse kicking harder, to find Wade standing by the now-closed refrigerator door. His eyes swept over you once, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, before locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pussy ache. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, but it was laced with something hungrier. “You look… amazing,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel under boots.
The words landed like a spark in a dry field. Seeing him there, in your kitchen, surrounded by the ordinary details of your home, felt disorienting—like two halves of your life had suddenly collided. The memory of that night, still vivid and raw, pulsed at the edges of your mind.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.
He stepped closer, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne invading your space without touching. Your breath shallowed, imagining those strong hands pinning you against the counter, his mouth claiming yours right there, risks be damned. The air between you crackled, thick with unspoken promises of what he might do if you were alone—strip you bare, bend you over, fuck you until you screamed.
He nodded toward the window. “Your dad’s turn to host the cook out,” he said easily, as if that explained everything. But the casual words did nothing to mask the heat simmering in his gaze, the way it raked over you like a physical touch, stirring the ache you'd been trying to ignore since that night.
You let out a short laugh, more breath than sound, easing a fraction of the tension coiled tight in your core. “Is that the story you’re sticking with?”
You stepped further into the kitchen—close enough for conversation, far enough to keep the air between you safe, ordinary. But nothing about this felt ordinary. The space crackled with awareness, your skin prickling as if his eyes alone could strip you bare.
His grin widened, though you caught the faint flicker of unease in his eyes. “A more paranoid man might think you’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice low and threaded with something real beneath the teasing—an uncertainty that told you that you’d had him worrying. He leaned against the island, looking casual, but the way his gaze held yours was anything but.
“It’s a good thing you’re not paranoid, then,” you replied, managing a small, practised smile. You refused to let him see how unsteady he made you feel, how your pulse had started tripping over itself the moment he looked at you.
He smiled again—slow, knowing—and the flutter in your stomach betrayed you, twisting into a sharp throb of desire. Silence fell, thick and humming, the refrigerator’s low buzz filling the space where words failed. Through the open window, you could still hear laughter from the garden, the clink of glasses, the smell of smoke and charred meat. It all felt so far away, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the imagined sound of his breath against your neck.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, voice quiet but weighted, each word dripping with the confession of nights aching for you.
You froze. For a heartbeat, you forgot how to breathe, your body flooding with heat at the admission. “Me too,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. The truth slipped out before you could stop it.
Something softened in his expression—relief, guilt, longing, maybe all three—but the fire in his eyes burned hotter. “I wanted to see you,” he said, his hand resting on the counter, inches from yours. The proximity alone made your fingers twitch, craving the scrape of his calluses, the way they'd grip your hips and pull you flush against him. “I wasn’t sure if you needed space. I know it’s… complicated.”
You gave a short, nervous laugh. “That’s one word for it.” Still, the warmth in your chest betrayed the calm front you were trying to maintain. The idea that he’d wanted to see you, that you hadn’t been alone in the uncertainty, sparked something reckless inside you, an urge to drag him into the pantry and let him fuck the tension out of you right there.
He hesitated, then reached out. His fingers brushed yours, tentative, then settled gently over them atop the counter. The contact was feather-light but electric, igniting sparks that raced up your arm and pooled in your belly. His thumb traced an absent circle on your skin, slow and deliberate.
“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated through you. “I know it’s wrong, but I can’t get you out of my head.”
You tilted your head, forcing a smirk, though your voice trembled just slightly. “I quite like that I’m on your mind, Mr. Felton.” The words were a tease, but they carried the weight of invitation, your gaze flicking to his lips, imagining them sucking on your neck, marking you as his.
Something darkened in his eyes, a flash of emotion quickly reined in. He looked toward the window again, grounding himself in the chatter outside. “You going somewhere?” he asked, the question casual, but his gaze lingered, taking you in—from the flush on your cheeks to the way your breasts rose and fell with each shallow breath.
“Out, for drinks,” you said, glancing away, pretending to check the clock though you already knew the time. His jaw tightened, just barely, a muscle ticking as jealousy flared.
“Another date?” The tone was light, but the edge beneath it wasn’t, sharp with the implication that you shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of another man.
You shook your head, smiling faintly, letting your fingers press back against his just enough to feel the heat of his palm. “No. Just meeting an old friend. The new cocktail bar on Seventh.” You hesitated, letting the tease hang between you, thick with possibility. “Maybe I’ll see you there later.” The words were laced with promise, your body already imagining him cornering you in a dark booth, his hand sliding up your thigh under the table.
His posture eased a little, though the tension in his eyes didn’t fade, if anything intensifying as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Maybe you will,” he said, his voice dropping lower, a husky whisper that made your pussy throb. “I hear they make a mean old fashioned.”
You laughed, a quiet, genuine sound that seemed to ease the air between you, or perhaps just redirected it, turning it molten. “I do have a taste for the older things,” you teased, letting your gaze drop just briefly to the faint outline of his cock before meeting his eyes again, bold and unashamed. “I’ll have to try it.”
“What are you trying?”
Forrest’s voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. You jerked your hand back instinctively, heat rushing to your cheeks, not just from embarrassment but from the frustrated pulse of desire still thrumming between your legs. Wade straightened almost immediately, the easy smile snapping back into place as though nothing at all had happened.
“Cocktails!” you blurted out, the word spilling too quickly. “Wade was just recommending them. I’m going to that new bar.”
“On Seventh?” Forrest asked, reaching into the fridge. “Delia and I went a few weeks ago. Word of advice — order the pretzel sticks and ask for ranch instead of mustard.”
“What’s wrong with mustard?” Wade asked, straightening beside you. He uncapped a beer with a soft hiss, and you caught the faint glint of condensation trailing down the neck of the bottle — and the small bead of sweat that slid down his throat when he took a drink. You looked away before your thoughts betrayed you in front of company.
“Nothing,” Forrest said with a grin. “But if you ask for ranch, they bring both. It’s a little life hack — extra dip, no extra charge.”
You smiled politely. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Forrest.” You cleared your throat, glancing toward the door. “I’d better get going.”
“Already?” Forrest said, pulling two more beers from the fridge and holding one out to you. “Come on, at least say hi to Delia. She’s been dying to see you since you got back.”
You hesitated, then accepted the beer from Forrest with a small smile. “Of course,” you said, though your eyes flicked instinctively toward Wade, a flash of warning that said you were about to enter very dangerous territory. You turned to follow Forrest toward the garden, but every step felt weighted, your body hyper-aware of the man behind you.
Wade trailed close, his presence like a magnetic pull, static crackling in the air between your bodies, charging the space with unspoken promises of what he'd do if you were alone. His fingers brushed your elbow in a fleeting, almost accidental touch, but the graze of his rough skin sent a jolt straight to your core.
The evening light bathed the garden in a warm glow, laughter and the sizzle of the grill drifting from the group ahead, but all you could focus on was Wade's steady footfalls matching yours, the subtle shift of his body heat radiating toward you like an invitation to sin.
“There she is!” Delia exclaimed, standing quickly to pull you into a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you! Have you registered with a doctor yet? Please tell me you’re coming back to me.”
You laughed softly, the sound a little forced as Delia's arms wrapped around you, floral perfume enveloping you like a time capsule. “I’ve missed you too,” you murmured, hugging her back.
Wade's chuckle rumbled low beside you, light and teasing on the surface, but laced with that undercurrent you knew too well. “Delia, you’re a paediatrician,” he said, his voice carrying just enough amusement to blend with the group's laughter, but his gaze... God, that unreadable stare fixed on you over her shoulder, dark and probing, like he could see right through the facade to the woman who'd begged for his cock days ago in the truck's cab.
Delia pulled back with a playful glare his way, her manicured hand lingering on your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in a sisterly caress that only amplified the vulnerability twisting in your gut. “But she’ll always be the little girl who got LEGO stuck up her nose,” she said fondly, her eyes sparkling with memory, drawing titters of laughter from the table where Forrest was already settling in, passing out more beers.
The words hit like a gentle slap, your cheeks flushing hot—not just from embarrassment, but from the stark contrast they painted. Around Wade, even in the raw frenzy of your earlier fuck, you'd felt seen, desired as the adult you were, his hands claiming every curve with a hunger that stripped away the years. But here, amid the familiar faces, you shrank, the boundary blurring until you were that awkward kid again, all scraped knees and hidden crushes. Your smile felt brittle as you nodded, murmuring something non-committal about the doctor, but inside, a quiet ache bloomed.
He stepped closer then, casual as ever, his shoulder brushing yours in the tight circle of the group, but the contact sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You could smell him—sweat and earth from the day's work, mingled with that faint, masculine scent that still lingered on your skin from before. His hand grazed the small of your back as he reached for a chair, a touch so brief it might've been nothing to anyone else, but to you, it was a promise: I see you, all of you—the girl, the woman, the one who came undone on my cock. Your breath hitched and you shot him a quick glance, finding that unreadable gaze waiting, smouldering with intent amid the light-hearted banter.
You eased into the chair Wade pulled out for you, the wooden seat creaking softly under your weight as the group's chatter swelled around the long table laden with platters of charred steaks, buttered corn, and steaming potatoes. Your throat tightened, a quick clear to shake off the lingering flush from earlier, but when he dropped into the spot right beside you—his thigh pressing firm against yours under the tablecloth—the air between you thickened, charged like the humid evening breeze rustling the garden leaves.
His hand found yours beneath the cover of the dangling cloth, fingers sliding over your knuckles in a deliberate sweep before lacing through, his grip warm and unyielding, thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow, rhythmic circles that sent sparks racing up your arm. You kept your eyes forward, fixed on the flickering candlelight dancing across Delia's animated face as she recounted some long-ago mishap, but every nerve in your body tuned to him—the heat radiating from his palm, the subtle flex of his fingers mirroring the way he'd gripped your hip before, pulling you down onto his length with that same quiet command.
The dinner unfolded in waves of overlapping voices, your parents' friends leaning in with booming laughs that drowned out the crickets beyond the fence, the smoky aroma of the grill mingling with the faint tang of beer on your dad’s breath as he passed you a plate. “Dig in, kiddo,” he said with a wink, oblivious to the way your pulse hammered where Wade's skin met yours. The awkward knot from the reunion unravelled bit by bit, laughter pulling you into the flow, and for fleeting moments, you let yourself sink into the illusion: not the wide-eyed daughter returning from afar, but someone woven into this tapestry. Maybe Wade’s secret, perhaps his partner.
Wade's voice cut through now and then, low and easy as he bantered with the others, but under the table, his hold tightened when your fingers twitched, as if sensing the pull of old roles threatening to resurface. You risked a sidelong glance, catching the line of his jaw in the soft glow, the way his lips curved just for you in the shadow of his beer bottle—a private smirk that whispered of sweat-slicked skin and the ache he'd left between your thighs.
Then your mother’s voice broke through. “Aren’t you going to be late, honey?” she asked, lifting her glass.
You eased your hand from Wade's grasp, the warmth of his fingers lingering like a ghost on your skin as you fished out your phone from your purse. The screen glowed accusingly—over an hour late for your friend, the minutes devoured by the feel of his touch under the tablecloth.
“You’re right,” you murmured, pasting on a smile, your voice steadier than the flutter in your chest. “I need to head out.”
“Where to?” Delia chimed in, her eyes sparkling with that familiar nosiness, leaning forward like she was about to unravel a secret. “Got a hot date lined up?”
“No,” Wade cut in before the word could leave your lips, his tone smooth but edged with a haste that betrayed him. He cleared his throat, the sound rough in the cosy hum of the dinner. “She’s just meeting a friend.”
Your eyes locked with his, a spark igniting in the space between—charged, unspoken, heavy with the memory of that night. You nodded, breaking the stare first, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, just grabbing some drinks.”
“That new spot on Seventh,” Forrest tossed in, his elbow nudging yours playfully as he grinned. “You’ll love it.”
Delia’s excitement bubbled over. “Ooh, definitely try the pretzels. Tell them to swap the—”
“Way ahead of you,” Forrest interrupted with a wink, mimicking a finger gun your way. “I’ve got her briefed.”
Laughter rippled around the table, light and easy, but it barely registered as your dad pivoted, beer raised like a toast to mischief. “Dates, huh? Wade, how’d yours go the other night?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs, the question slicing through the chatter like a blade. That night—the one where his no-show ended in you, tangled in his arms, his cock buried to the hilt as you gasped his name? Your gaze dropped to your phone, pretending to scroll, but your thumb trembled, the phantom ache between your thighs pulsing in rhythm with your quickened breaths.
“Bust,” Wade drawled, reclining in his chair with that effortless poise, his broad shoulders shifting under his shirt. “She ghosted me. Didn’t even show.”
“That’s terrible,” your mom cooed, her hand fluttering to pat his arm in sisterly comfort.
Wade’s lips curved into a subtle smirk, his eyes sliding to yours for a fraction of a second—dark, knowing. “Could’ve been worse. Turned into a damn good night regardless.”
The tip of his boot grazed your ankle then, a slow, deliberate drag that shot electricity straight through you. You sucked in a breath, flicking your eyes to him, but he just lifted his beer, sipping casually, his face a mask of innocence while his foot pressed firmer, tracing the curve of your calf like a promise of more.
“What’d you end up doing?” Delia prodded, fork hovering as she waited, all wide-eyed curiosity.
“Just took a ride,” Wade replied, his voice dropping low, the words laced with double meaning that only you caught — the rumble of the engine, the creak of suspension as he fucked you senseless, his grip bruising your hips while you rode the waves of his relentless pace.
Your foot nudged Wade's under the table with a deliberate press against his calf that caused him to jerk slightly, beer sloshing towards the rim as he coughed. The table erupted in easy chuckles that masked the pulse of awareness thrumming between you two.
“Damn,” Wade muttered, dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes flicking to yours with a glint of playful retribution that promised payback later. “Guess that date dodged a bullet.”
“Stay on the horse, Wade,” your dad urged, hoisting his bottle in encouragement. “Actually, I’ve been hyping you to this gal at work—she practically begged for your number.”
The words hit like ice water, your grip faltering on your phone. It tumbled from your fingers, clanging sharply against the wood, silencing the group's mirth in an instant. Heat flooded your face as you snatched it up, forcing a brittle laugh. “Clumsy me,” you whispered, the apology tasting like ash while your mind raced with images of Wade's cock hardening for someone else, stretching her the way he'd stretched you until you shattered around him.
Wade scratched at his neck, his posture shifting with a mix of humour and unease. “Whoa, seriously? Appreciate it, man. Kinda at a loss here.”
A sharp pang knifed through you. Logically, he couldn't shut down your dad's offer outright, not with everyone watching. But the hesitation, the lack of outright rejection, stoked a fire of possessiveness deep within you.
“Well?” Forrest pressed, his grin widening like he was in on some cosmic joke. “You hitting her up or what?”
Wade let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. “After how the last one went down, I’m swearing off the chase for a while.”
Relief uncoiled in your chest, a sweet rush that eased the vice—right up until his hand found you under the tablecloth, fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above your knee, inching toward the hem of your dress with agonising slowness.
Your mom's words sliced through the air. "What? Don't be silly!" she chirped, her voice bright and insistent, eyes sparkling with that meddlesome glee. "Don't let one lousy date chase you away. You're starting to sound as hopeless as my daughter."
The table rippled with sympathetic chuckles and murmurs, a chorus of light-hearted jabs that did nothing to drown out the thunderous beat of your heart echoing in your ears, or the hot rush of blood pulsing low in your belly. His fingers still lingered under the tablecloth, a ghost of pressure on your thigh that made your pussy clench involuntarily.
"Mom," you shot back, forcing your voice to stay light even as it cracked with the sharp edge of jealousy twisting like a knife. "You're way too wrapped up in Wade's love life. Let the guy breathe." The words hung there, laced with a possessiveness you couldn't quite hide, your gaze flicking to him—those dark eyes locking onto yours, unreadable but smouldering.
Your mom rolled her eyes with exaggerated flair, swatting at the air like she was dismissing a fly, while your dad leaned back, fishing into his wallet with that deliberate slowness that only amped up the tension coiling in your gut. He pulled out a folded scrap of off-white paper, tossing it across the table toward Wade like it was no big deal—but to you, it felt like a grenade, visions exploding of Wade's hands on some other woman's hips, thrusting into her the way he'd done with you.
"Here's her number. Mary, from the office," your dad announced, grinning wide as he waggled his eyebrows. "Yoga instructor on the side. Call her up, buddy. Trust me, she's flexible." The table erupted in a mix of laughter and groans, the innuendo hanging thick, but all you could focus on was Wade's hand withdrawing from your leg, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as he reached for the paper.
Heat surged up your neck, burning your cheeks as Wade plucked it up, turning it between his thumb and forefinger with a casual flick that made your stomach drop. "Well," he said, voice sheepish as he addressed his friends. "How can I say no to that?"
Something primal snapped inside you, a fierce surge of want and rage that drowned out the chatter. Your chair scraped back with a harsh grind against the patio stones, the sound cutting sharp as you bolted to your feet, every eye turning your way. Wade's gaze followed, confusion flickering in those heated depths, but beneath it, a spark of hunger that made your thighs press together, aching for his touch to chase away the image of him with her. You shoved your phone into your purse with trembling hands, stepping away from the table on unsteady legs.
Your words tumbled out in a rush, clipped and overly cheerful to mask the storm raging inside. "I'm really late," you said, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue as you kept your movements sharp, efficient—grabbing your purse like it was a lifeline, slinging it over your shoulder with a finality that felt too desperate. "It was great seeing you all again."
You leaned down to press quick kisses to your parents' cheeks. A nod and a wave to Delia and Forrest, their smiles warm and oblivious, and then you forced your eyes to skim past Wade—skipping over the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something like hurt and confusion in his stare.
The jealousy clawed deeper as you turned away, a vicious twist in your gut at the image of him dialling that number later, his voice low and coaxing over the line, the way he'd pin some yoga-flexible stranger against a wall. Shame burned hot in your veins, mixing with the anger you turned inward, a self-lashing whip for daring to care, for letting that forbidden night in the truck burrow under your skin and rewrite your rules. What right did you have? He was your dad's best friend, off-limits in every way that mattered.
You needed out. Fresh air to cool the flush creeping over your skin, space to untangle the mess of want and regret before it spilled over. This thing between you? It was undefined, a raw edge of lust you'd both indulged in the shadows, but it was never to come to light. You couldn’t blame him for not rejecting your dad’s offer. What was he supposed to do? Proclaim his interest in his best friend’s daughter over dinner?
Swallowing hard, you smoothed your features into a bland smile, the mask holding just long enough as you pivoted toward the patio door, the screen creaking faintly in the evening breeze as you returned into the safety of the house.
But Wade's voice cut through the murmurs behind you, low and edged with that gravelly timbre that sent a shiver straight through you. "Hey, wait up," he called, the chair scraping as he rose too casual, too deliberate, his footsteps heavy on the stone path, closing the distance before you could escape the front door. You didn't turn, but you felt him there, the heat of his body radiating like a brand, his presence a magnetic pull that made your steps falter. His firm hand holding the door closed gently from above your shoulder.
Your gaze locked onto the door handle, fingers curling around the cool metal like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Wade, please,” you whispered, the plea laced with a desperation that clawed at your chest. “Don’t.”
He loomed so close behind you, his chest nearly brushing your back, that familiar ache ignited low in your gut—the same forbidden spark that had simmered all night, threatening to consume you. “You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the air, wrapping around your throat like invisible fingers.
A sharp, jagged laugh escaped you, bitter and raw. “I’m not,” you lied through gritted teeth, the words tasting like ash. “I just need to get out of here. I’m late.”
“Then let me drive you,” he pressed, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine to pool as slick heat between your thighs.
You twisted to face him, finally meeting those piercing eyes that had haunted your every waking moment since that night. The raw concern in them warred with confusion and a deeper hunger you refused to acknowledge, a look that ripped at your defences, leaving you exposed and trembling. “You’ve been drinking,” you managed, straining to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.
“Just one beer,” he shot back, his lips quirking into a faint, remorse-tinged smile that only deepened the ache.
“Wade...” The name slipped out softer than a breath, barely audible, your resolve fracturing under the weight of his nearness. The space between you crackled, thick with the unsaid—your jealousy over that damn number, his unspoken claim on you, the way your body betrayed you with every stolen glance across the table.
“Come on,” he coaxed, voice dropping to a husky whisper that stroked your core like a lover's tongue. “I just want to make sure you get there safe.”
You knew you should refuse. Shove him aside, storm off into the night, sever this dangerous thread before it pulled you under again. But your feet rooted to the spot, body warring with your mind, drawn inexorably to him — the memory crashing over you in a torrent: his strong hands gripping your thighs, holding you tight to him, your pussy clenching around his thick length, milking him until he spilled inside you with a guttural curse.
A shaky exhale tore from your lips, shattering the heavy quiet. “I’m fine,” you forced out, injecting steel into your tone that your quivering limbs didn't feel. The lie hung between you, fragile and unconvincing.
Wade's eyes bored into yours, probing, stripping away the facade until you felt naked under his scrutiny. For a split second, vulnerability flashed across his features—raw, unguarded pain that mirrored your own turmoil—before he schooled it away. “I don’t like ‘fine’ when it comes to you,” he replied, voice rough with emotion, stepping back only far enough to free the door, the retreat feeling like a physical ache.
Without another word, you wrenched the door open and stepped into the biting night air, the chill doing nothing to douse the fire he'd stoked. You walked away, leaving him behind.
that jonathan fic is genuinely so good, part two better be in the works ill be lurking🫃🫃
LMAOO tysm!! part two is indeed in the works, and *talk show host voice* the reader may have bit off a bit more than they can chew with this one folks ..
tags / warnings ; dead dove elements, "canon" joe, following, flirting, unhealthy workplace dynamics, power imbalance, switch!joe, slight footplay, teasing fest, oral [ reader receiving ], fingering, premature orgasm, joe being a munch interrupted
summary ; a heated workplace encounter.
word count ; 3.1k
a / n ; clearly im having the MOST fun writing joe, this has been such a kick for my motivation! apologies for the lack of pnv! but would you want a part two to this? I have some ideas hehe :) i hope you guys like the story stuff, thank you for all your support! i love you guys <3 and so does joe!
Being honest feels...Uncomfortable.. Even if it's just for a second, I can't say I enjoy getting to tense my shoulders to my ears after a day like this. Full, drowning in habitual back-and-forth debates, bouncing off the walls from every direction - Good kids, smart, most of them. But out of all of this, seeing you is... Well, Honest.
My body, I didn't realize how tight it was until I saw your smile. Having to awkwardly unhinge my strained jaw, though, it made your eyebrows furrow, mouthing 'What?' My heart is slamming already, fingertips shaking. You elate me, and I thankfully find a way to manage a smile. The ringing pulse is still echoing in my head, but I can't allow myself to focus on anything but the way you speed up to get closer to me. Your eyes, pupils gaping in this gouache dim lighting, still make their way to me, and it feels like I finally understand the warmth of the sun. I'm ashamed I can't hesitate to put my hands on you, not even as the silent gaping hallways seem to open up around us, crumble away. You laugh, the motion wordless, but I can see it in your wicked gaze; You missed this, missed me. Your upper teeth dig into the plush of your lip, there you go. Driving my heart into third gear as my hands collide with your hips. You're too dressed up, did you do this for me? Wear this perfume, the one you wore when we met - My smell, our smell.
"Not in the hall, Mister Moore," A caricature's name on your lips, and yet I forgot where we were before you spoke. Fuck, you have me thinking in desperate circles, but you're right - Any sight of me groping a TA won't be something I could exactly live down. I don't take my eyes from you, and I can feel yours stick as you turn your head, hand grappling up my shirt to my tie; God dammit, you're good, prying away and yanking me by my newly ordained linen leash.
Joe breaths hard, his back against the wooden wall, your stomach against his. His eyes are heavy, a small smile playing at his lips as he pants softly. You're grip on his tie doesn't waver, wrapping your wrist in a circle to coil his tie, somehow drawing him even closer. This is too much - Too good for a classroom, too big of a risk. The thoughts bark over the swell of your breath, leaning into his ear. His knees practically buckle at the simple motion, hands still on your hips, shaking with restraint. "Been thinking about you all day," I need not even to confirm my thoughts, as you do it for me. Joe's heart pounds against yours, and your breathing mingles in a quiet beat. He relishes it, in you, in having you so completely surrender your desires to him. You slowly loosen your grip on his tie, backing away from the man with a bitten lip. You liked playing with him, seeing such a couth, controlled man hardly able to catch his breath before he begins to lower himself to his knees in front of you. He's panting like a dog in heat, brown eyes glued to you with a half-lidded admiration. How do you manage to look even better from my knees? A serpent stripping away your layers slowly before my watchful gaze. You lean your lower back against a desk, the classroom flooded with the sound of Joe's soft breathing as he knelt before you. Watching him, quietly - He didn't like it when he first caught you staring. Joe could feel your gaze melt into the padding of his blazer, softening his hardened suppression with a single glance that lasted too long. But now it was different - The way he looked up with so much earnestness, the yearning practically pouring from his lips as he spoke; "You are so beautiful." His hands balled at his sides, I'm controlling myself so well, you'd be proud. You are proud, I see it, how your foot inches over slowly to my thighs - Are you trying to kill me? I'm being the best man I can, for you, and you drag me on my knees before you, a walking temptation far beyond what I can handle. Especially now. But, fuck you are good at what you do. You are good at playing the unknowing role; It suits you in a way that makes it hard to think clearly. What are you doing to me? Ruining my mind, rotting every empty dark corner with a smear of your body, an echo of your giggle. Yes, that one, the one you give me when I lurch.
Knuckles white, Joe lets a hiss escape his lips, dropping his head immediately to the stiff space between his thighs. He grunted, an equal amount of shame and yearning tearing at his sense of control. Your socked foot pinned his aching cock in place, the layers of fabric between you unable to stifle the warmth. The twitches. Your stomach flips as he brings his head back up slowly, graying curls falling over his dark eyes, brows furrowed in a tight knot. His teeth bared, expression a flash of a man you hadn't seen. Nearly like a dog in a cage, offered a hand and biting out of a subconscious routine. You are too good. You crack a grin.
"What's wrong, Professor?" You slowly move your foot, back and forth, and his hips jut up instinctively. He whimpers out an embarrassed gasp, biting his lip to silence the sound. Don't bite.
"I want - To touch you," Joe managed through gritted teeth, eyes wrenching shut as your foot pressed a little too hard. You kept it there for a small moment before pulling it back entirely. He tried to follow your movements, the ticking in his mind a rattling warning. Drench the fire, end this. "Please," Strings in Joe's fragile mind strummed with each unseen shuffle of your clothing, the soft humming song of silence, settling in time with his breath. He swallowed hard, clenching his jaw tightly as you came back into his view - Just your calves at first. And up, Joe's eyes climbed your body with an exploratively, invasive gaze. Studied, as if every mark and curve of you was already memorized. When he reached your face, he could feel the string snap. Coiled tighter, tighter, the overwhelming sound of his own heartbeat shuddered through every vein like a tree in a storm, shaking the roots. You shook him to his very core, and as the coil snapped, he moved to his feet before you could register his hands on your body.
You hoisted yourself onto the desk, the smell of coffee hot on Joe's tongue, mixing with your breath. You could hardly catch it, his calloused hands rippling over every inch of your skin, you panted into his mouth. He smiled at this, bringing his lips away from yours just enough to plunge at your neck. Your hands reached his tie again, pulling him close with a soft moan. His lips were hot, tongue desperate to taste you, leaving a glossy trail in its wake over your chest. Joe's beard scratched down each soft kiss or hungry lick. He assaulted your senses from every part and angle of your body - Besides the parts that pooled and screamed at your mind to satisfy. You whined softly, the sound music to his ears, something of dreams. You want me, say it. I need you to say it for me, I'll give you everything; Every single part of me is yours now, the parts I hate, the parts I created for you. You wanted this; You need a good man like me in your life.
"Please, touch me, I want to feel you - I won't tease you again,"
"No," Joe panted. "Tease me again. And again. Leave me begging for you to stop, begging for more, leave me tied up - Just never leave...Me."
A beat, a moment of clarity struck a tangled chord in the dim classroom. Your hands found your way to the graying dark coils, sweat dampening Joe's scalp. He watched you, the sound of his breathing and heartbeat rushing in his ears, the taste of your flesh still on his tongue. Slowly, you guided him down, bringing your ass to the edge of the wooden desk - Joe could feel his mouth water, your legs spreading to reveal the true soft nature of your desires; Sweat stuck you to the wood like glue, Joe now on his knees once again, his hands on your thighs. Your body and mind were on fire, each one of his perverse gropes a stoke to the raging flame. You are telling the truth; I can see it, no - I can smell it on you, how badly you need me. Not just now, you need me always. The primal grip of your nails in my hair is killing me. Your wet cunt on display is killing me, how you balance yourself on the desk, posing your perfect figure all for me. My hands are shaking, and hoping you don't notice, I keep moving. Keep squeezing, nails leaving crescent indents in their wake. Looking up at you, your eyes half lidded, anticipating my every single movement - Do I really mean that much? Feeling you shudder when I finally rest my cheek against your inner confirms it.
Joe's breath is hot on your bare pussy, the cool air of the classroom making the warmth that much more precious. You bite your lip, squirming in your spot slightly. Patience. He brought a thumb to the soft lip of your aching cunt, the motion urging a light flinch from your legs - It was intimidating. How he inspected you so silently, taking in every inch of you like he craved to stain it in his mind. He pulled the lip open gently, watching your pussy bloom like a flower at the denied stimulation. I promise it'll be worth it. It was embaressing, the instinct to snap your legs together urging your leg muscles to twitch; But Joe simply rubbed your thigh with his free hand, eyes unmoving from your cunt, his heart jackhammering against his ribs. Eventually, a pathetic whine perched in your throat, wiggling your hips into his thumb. "Please, Professor,"
Joe's movements were slow, almost hesitant, but his thumb grazed over the slick folds of your cunt. He glided down to your dripping entrance, rubbing gently into the pooling warmth to gather the arousal now puddling obscenely on the desk. And back up his rough thumb went, head tilting off to the side as he kept his eyes on your cunt, lips parting. Words never came, though his thumb finally reached your twitching clit, the wetness of your own body gliding in tandem with his calloused skin. Your back arched slightly, breathing coming in short quivers. Joe's mouth watered as he drew his gaze up to yours, desperate and yearning more than he had ever seen - He leaned in finally, pressing a soft kiss to your clit, pulling it taught with his thumb. Your legs twitched, your gentle gasps and hitched breathing making way for a mewl. He continued, kissing down your cunt with a deep inhale; His adoration was never easily hidden, even he could admit, but the way your hands grasped at his touseled curls made him feel alive. At the tip of his tongue, a price he could not pay just yet, I love you. I love you. I love you. The matra warmed his head, spinning his vision as he drowned in the feeling of you, his tongue sliding against your folds with a muffled grunt. His beard scratched at the soft skin of your thighs - Joe didn't just lick your pussy, he made love to your body with his eager mouth. He kissed, sucked your clit, toying with the sensitive bud in his mouth with the tip of his tongue before moving to your entrace. He moved so desperately, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed deep in focus. Your chest heaved, sweat pooling in the curves of your body as you watched him, the realization dawning on you. He wasn't doing this just for your pleasure. He moaned into your cunt like he was already deep inside of you, his tongue lashing sloppily at your entrance, laying gentle kisses with a pant. Saliva and arousal mixed together to bead in his beard, the hair tickling your pussy as he rose his head to return his passionate makeout session with your sensitive clit. You moaned, voice breaking with a breathy giggle at the ticklish sensation. Joe's eyes opened, sweat rolling down his forehead, slowing his tongue briefly.
"Ah-hah! B-beard," You attempted the breathless explanation, cheeks burning, one of your hands dropping from Joe's head to his bearded jaw. He exhaled a small chuckle through his nostrils, the sound purring from his throat as he shook his head slightly. You scratched your nails fondly against his thick stubble before Joe dove in once more, eyes resting close as he continued his feast. Your smile was cut hard with a sharp gasp, his hot tongue lashing against your twitching clit, lips squeezing it ever so gently. His calloused middle finger met your entrance, teasing and padding at the soaking entrance. You whimpered, the feeling of him giving himself up to you was exhilarating, and the weight of what that meant settled on your shoulders; It elicited a groan from you, biting your lip as he sank his finger into you. Joe moaned in response, eyebrows twinging together - Fuck you're tight. Just the sound of you is killing me, I need more, to hear your moans morph into screams. I want to be the one to make you fall apart and piece you back together. Joe pushes his finger deeper, tongue kissing your clit in a slow deep ryhythm. You had to pull your hands away from his hair, just to lean your weight onto your palms, behind you on the desk now. You brought one to your mouth, stifling the louder moan that tumbled loosely from your gaping lips. Your heart hammered hard, drowning every other sound aside from Joe's ragged moans that grew in intensity in tandem with your own. He added a second finger, hooking upward and pushing up to the velvety roof of your pussy. He beckoned you from the inside, a temptation not for you to toy with, but for your shaking body to decide. You bit down on your fingers, still pressed tight to your lips, chest swelling with a jolted gasp. He went on, coaxing the pending orgasm from you with a hungry plea.
"Please - Fuck, yes, give me all of you - Hhah," Joe's grunts and gasps planted and bloomed into whimpers, eyebrows twisting from focused to torn between worlds. He had been rocking his hips, tight against his slacks, still pinned between the layers of thick fabric. With this position on his knees, came a stroke of muted pleasure with each hitch of his hips. He thrust into the air messily, out of the rhythm of his own tongue, that he insisted not to fall out of. Not when you're so close. You watched him fall apart, eyes opening to see your hammering heart reach its peak - To see the tangled chords between you both pull straight, and keep pulling, keep pulling so tightly until finally.
Your back arched deep, unable to muffle the deep moan that growled and purred through your whole body, the vibrations of it sending shaking jolts straight to your muscles. Joe slurped eagerly at this, his fingers still rocking at that same devilish pace, your arousal rolling and beading down his wrist. The pleasure was stomach-turning, your eyes rolling back as you rode out your orgasm on Joe's steady tongue, matching his hot panting. I can't take it - This is too much, you're too good. You're taste alone is too much for Joe, the feeling of your thighs quaking, the sudden burst of pleasure taking you by storm - Pleasure he gave you, that you begged him for, pleasure only he could bestow. Joe came in his slacks with a sudden ragged gasp, his fingers inside you stuttering in their determined pattern as he thrust upwards into nothing below you. He whimpered into your pussy, the sudden warmth of his cum soaking his twitching cock sending waves of dizzying heat to his spinning mind. He felt equally pathetic and powerful in your hands, between your legs - He wanted more, though your senstive pussy hitched and contracted, the pleasure nearing on painful as he went to go for an immidiate second feast.
"Jonathan!" Joe couldn't push down the proud smile on his wry lips, breathing still shuddering as he continued to loosely thrust into his own sticky mess. "It's two thirty, we have to - Ngh.. Lecture," You tried to piece together the words as your gaze had drifted to the clock sitting on the wall, eyes widening slightly. He playfully groaned, feigning annoyance with you. I never could be, I'm greedy, and I know it. But you do too, you beg for me to take as much of you as I can at once - Even if it slightly humiliates me, you don't need to know that detail... But I should find time to clean myself up beforehand. You're so smart. With a slow nod, Joe lifted his head, giving your pussy a soft goodbye kiss, drawing a jolt from your entire body. You still shook, though the hot waves of sweat on your skin began to cool, your eyes resting closed for a few moments, humming softly. You heard the creak of the wooden floor as Joe returned to stand, eyes still closed, as you basked in the chaste bliss. The sound of Joe's panting slowed, moving closer to your face. You smiled at the feeling of him so close, the smell of his cologne mixing with your arousal and sweat on his beard. He leaned in, planting a slow, definitive kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on his lips, his breathing warm against your upper lip as he held you there, your heart fluttering at the simple yet gentle motion.
Your eyes finally opened when he pulled back, his honey-brown gaze adoring, curls tousled, and tie pulled loose, nearly undone. You smiled slightly and followed suit, though when a loud knock clattered against the locked classroom door, "Hey! Find a better place to do this!" A student, no real threat, as they presumed the pair of you were students as well. Your hard breathing formed into soft laughter, both of you palming your mouths tightly. I wish I could stay like this forever, watching you naked, smiling and laughing, memorizing the beauty marks on your body only you know about. Damn this school, this place - It doesn't exist when we're here, together, especially like this. Joe places another feather-light kiss on your lips, and you can feel yourself falling further than you ever anticipated.
warnings: smut, pillow humping, masturbation, dom kate sub reader, cursing, pet names, teasing
wc: 1.4K
send reqs, i would love to write more abt kate <3
Kate was away in Florida for business stuff that you didn’t keep up with because it didn’t pertain to you in any way. But you hated that she’d be gone for a week. When she told you that she’d be away for some time, you shook your head, thinking she was messing with you for sure.
When she left, you sat back in the bed, not knowing what to do with yourself. You tried to work on your homework and go out with friends, but that was all short-lived. By Wednesday, you were so fucking bored. That’s why you called to “check in” around 12:20 AM. Around that time, she would probably still be awake, getting out of the shower. She liked being up at night; she claimed it was calming and easy.
She didn’t pick up the first time, maybe she was asleep after all, you thought. You set your phone down beside you and lie there.
Referring to this entire week she’d be gone, she told you not to touch yourself, not to even think about it. Kate knew that would drive you up the wall, but how could you listen to that? That was impossible. You didn’t want to disobey her, but you did. She wouldn’t find out anyway. You grabbed a pillow while you lay down on your stomach, then placed it between your legs and started to roll your hips, pressing down softly just to ease the ache, to hopefully feel something. You bit your lip and let out a quiet breath. It was no good without Kate. Your phone buzzed beside you, before you could even start to get off at the thought of your girlfriend. Kate's name flashed across the screen. It’s like she knew what you were up to.
You scrambled up and threw the pillow onto the floor, then picked up your phone and answered the call. “Kate!” Your voice was weirdly high-pitched and more cheerful, probably the most it had been in days. Your fingers subconsciously drifted down your lower stomach, you imagined being caught by her, or imagining what she would do if she were with you right now.
Kate smiled at your voice as she sat down on the bed, some papers scattered around in front of her. “I was having a shower, I didn’t see your first call,” she replied, underlining something on a paper.
“Hm. Yeah, thats fine,” you smiled, moving your middle finger to your clit, a small whimper escaped your lips as you did so, you quickly tried to cover it up with a cough. She heard that, but played it off.
“How was class today? What did you do?” Kate asked, placing her phone down next to her and turning on the speaker.
“It was okay, normal, boring. I went to this new coffee shop, over in SoHo.” You could feel the redness creeping up on your face, how Kate actually paid attention to what you did while she wasn’t around. “But it wasn’t really all that, I miss you and your coffee.” You whispered the last part of your sentence, laughing nervously, trying to keep your cool. At this point, you were trying to get off to her voice. You continued to pleasure yourself.
“I miss you too; I’ll be there soon,” she said absentmindedly, thumbing through the papers on her lap. You could hear the faint rustle of them. Her voice was lower now, a little rougher. Maybe she fucking listened to the way your breath hitched. Suddenly, she paused, like she was listening. You knew her good enough to realize that that wasn't just a silence, it was suspicion.
“You sound out of breath, why?” She remarked, the corner of her mouth lifting. She took a moment. ‘What exactly are you doing, sweetheart?”
Your breath hitched again, “Nothing.”
A longer pause. She could hear you. “You’re touching yourself.” That was more of a statement.
You opened your mouth, and your first instinct was to lie, of course. You quickly shut up.
“Didn’t I tell you not to?” Her voice was changed, and the warmth disappeared. “Did I not explicitly tell you not to touch yourself while Im gone?” She scoffed.
You tried speaking, but nothing came to mind until you randomly blurted something out. “I didn’t forget. I just.. missed you. I couldn’t sleep.” You could hear her condescending laugh, it made your blood boil. “Kate, c’mon, I’ve been so bored.”
“I told you, and you didn’t listen.”
“It was hard to listen to that.”
“That was the point.”
You gulped, literally. “Kate…”
“Put me on video, love.” Kate sighed.
“What?”
“FaceTime, right now.”
You hesitated, but your finger was already at the button when her face popped up on your screen, flushed from her bath and her damp hair tucked behind her ears— you felt caught. She tilted her head at you, “Show me.”
You blinked slowly, “Show you what?”
“Use your head, show me how far you got before you called me.” You shifted the phone, reluctantly aiming it downwards, just enough to grant her a look at the blanket you were under, your thighs still slightly trembling. “There you go.” You felt so damn embarrased, turned on and you didn’t know what was worse. “I’m going to tell you exactly what to do, and you will listen.”
You nodded quickly.
“You don’t get to come until I say.”
You looked around, sighing. But ultimately listening. “Blanket off, I want to see.”
Your cheeks burned as you pushed the blanket down; the cold air was insulting. Your thighs tensed instinctively, your hand hovered near your core, but not touching. You skillfully balenced your phone to give her a view that was a bit shaky, your legs were parted, your pussy was wet. She could see that. She was just staring. Kate exhaled quietly. “Christ. All of that? For me?” You nodded, you were too shaken to speak.
You were already so sensitive, and the sound of her voice was making everything way worse. You started to reach between your legs again, but she clocked it, fuck.
“No.” She said as your hand froze, “You don't move unless I say to.” Nodding, you placed your hand elsewhere. “Spread your legs just a bit wider.” You could hear her adjusting slightly, her pushing the papers aside, the soft rustle of her robe. Some moments passed by before she spoke again, “Okay… just with two fingers, slow circles.” You listened, letting out a breathy moan as your fingers met your swollen clit, it was horrible for you, going that slow. But Kate’s eyes were glued to your every move. “Good.” She praised you softly, “Is this how you were touching yourself earlier, before I called back?”
For a moment, you looked at her, your breath catching in your throat. She was staring right at you, her gaze was intense, nearly possessive. You bit your lip as if to hold back what you were going to say, “I humped a pillow.”
Kate laughed, amused. “Seriously? I nearly feel bad.”
“Yes, Kate.” You gasped.
“Keep going, just a little faster now.” You moved a little faster, whining her name as your head tilted back into the pillow. You were so close already. “Don’t.” You whimpered, but your body wasn’t obeying. You tried so hard to hold back. “You got it, sweetie. Take what I give you.”
When you got close, twice, she made you stop. Kate was touching herself now, and you knew it in the way her breaths were becoming shorter, heavier. Somehow her eyes never left yours, though.
By the third time, tears entered your eyes. “Kate, please, Im sorry… please, it won’t— happen again.” She giggled at you.
“Alright.” She let up, “rub your clit faster. Fuck yourself with your fingers too.” Listening, you did as she told you. You rubbed your clit, your hips jerked up, your moans got louder and more frequent. “That’s it.”
That was it for you, and luckily, she let you come finally. “Come for me, baby.”
That did it for you. You came with a cry, thighs shaking, mouth falling open as the pleasure was all-consuming. You kept on, fingers pumping slowly as you rode the high out. “Fuck.” You gasped. “Mh.. Kate.”
Just listening to your moans and the lewd sounds your pussy made had Kate coming right after you, you could hear her too, a muffled “fuck” falling from her lips. Broken. Kate let her head fall back, chest heaving. “Hell.” She whispered.
Some silence passed, an oddly liberating silence.
Kate spoke first. “I'll be home in three days,” She said, fixing herself. “I love you. Go get yourself some water, and change the sheets while you’re at it.” She smiled at the camera, you were still coming down. She was fine, but noticed your lack of response. “Are you going to say anything?” She said
“Got it.” You held a thumbs-up, and she ended the call, leaving you there.
Do you perhaps still take requests for Joe Goldberg? If yes, can I pretty please with a cherry on top have some Joe Goldberg x chubby! Fem! Reader? Gm is totally fine I'd just like some chubby representation...
I know you probably won't believe me but this ask is my first ever and I just noticed that there aren't any fics with Joe Goldberg and curvy/chubby reader....(I have thick thighs and some curviness around all my edges if you need that type of info) I don't care if it's a drabble, a fic, or hc or anything just a Joe Goldberg x chubby reader
Oh! Could you maybe make like, they meet at the library and he supposedly goes to help him and she calls him "oh lovey-" "sweetie, actually-" "sweet boy-" stuff like that??
Anyway I Love your work! Hope you have a great day/night/evening/life
daydream
johnathan moore [ joe goldberg ] x chubby fem librarian!reader
18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni
> joe's internal dialogue
tags / warnings ; dead dove do not eat, stalking, unhealthy dynamics, power imbalance in a work place, flirting
summary ; you run into professor moore, and meeting for the first time feels like he's known you far longer.
word count ; 1.3k
a / n : omg!! i love writing for specific requests, as joe, it makes the process soo much more fun!! i took a couple of creative liberties, but made sure to include everything asked :) we need more chubby representation!! i hope i wrote this drabble justice, chubby gals deserve some "light" stalking too y'all! <3
This Library is exquisite. Of course, I couldn't help myself from meandering about campus after recovering from the reeling hiring process. It was comforting, surrounded by the smell of pages, going up and on for miles above head. The second floor, quiet and persistently reserved for those who insisted on studying, noses driven between the worn pages like prophets. You know what I mean, I'm sure; The day you said my name, behind the second-floor desk, the swell of light shining into the necklaces you surely knew drove every man in the room up the wall - You smiled, apples of your round cheeks curving into your eyes, peering through your lashes to assist a carbon copy of the person before. You were kind, considerate to each person who came with the same problems. I don't know how you do it, especially now that I stepped my way into the line and; No. I step my way out of line. I can feel puckering eyes, glancing and sticking to my shoulders like glue - I am off the table for love right now, and need to get off this ride. I'll find you after I find out who keeps buzzing the phone, burning a hole in my back pocket. Just as I take a step onto my heel, a frayed copy of David Copperfield digging into the side of my ribs, I'll check out downstairs, collect myself and my concerningly fast heart rate, and -
"Can I help you, sweetheart?" The man, whose brown eyes swam the second story of the library hesitantly moved to you; A professor, English. You heard ample things about him, the frequenters of your level reporting their assigned findings in quiet whispers. You smiled softly, leaning your shoulders onto the desk and tilting your head off to the side, eyebrow cocking. The dark-eyed man wet his lips, opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. A beat, then a brisk laugh from your nostrils, nodding to the book snug to his side. "You better not be stealing for your personal collection, professor."
Fuck, you're good, and you know it. It doesn't take me long to realize the lingering floral smell of this floor is from you, not as I stiffly approach the desk while demeaning myself silently. Idiot, stop moving your feet. Professor, the word sounds obscene on your lips in a way I don't think I'll ever be able to properly conduct. Taking a breath solves nothing, but I know you can see my nervous tremors as I lift David to reveal the cover, trying for a smile. I can tell it looks as jagged as I feel, but still, you put out your hand, and I manage to force my throat to squeeze the comment out.
"No, no; I'm sorry, I didn't know I could check out here. I figured you were exclusively a study guide," 'Mr.Moore' spits lies like a seconod language.
"Ohh, I see... I'm a study guide with a useless book scanner then," You speak like it's a revealtion, hoping to ease this mans nervous demenor with a light wiggle of your fingers forward. "Copperfield, huh?" Joe's jaw clenches as your recognition, chuckling hoarsly as he forked it over, laying it into your palm. His cold hand grazed your soft warm one through the transaction, the placement of his grasp noticeably unessecary - Was he flirting? Even he couldn't tell, but the banter felt good, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Not like that - I mean, you're always busy with students, I didn't want to clog up your line," He juts a thumb over his shoulder, the empty space behind him not settling into him until after he spoke. Was he always this nervous? Another thing he couldn't tell, not even now.
This was an introduction I wanted to plan, If I'm really honest I needed more time. But if the universe wanted to throw me into your warm arms, would it be so wrong to follow it's guiding plan? The first day I saw you, weeks ago. Books against your chest, pants snug fit to your doughy thighs, hair a tousled mess as you walked from your car; You aren't on too many social medias, but you are focused and driven on pushing yourself for more, a bigger life, something to explore and peel open. You didn't get dished the bright opportunity all these spoiled kids did, you worked to get where you are and you aren't finished. That spark was so electric, didn't you feel it too? I crossed the street, directly going for your path as you took a hard glance to your phone, managing to juggle it from your back pocket. Your shoulder clashed with mine, and the books went a tumble between us onto the cement. It made me wince, but it was worth hearing that voice. "Oh lovely, I'm so sorry!" You're considerate. You put your hand onto the flat of mine, doe eyes finding me. The moment was brief, but it took the breath from my lungs being so close, the floral smell, the soft squeeze you gave me before going to collect the littered books. I wanted to live in that moment forever, swallow the feeling of you calling me lovely. I want more, to hear more.
"No, I'm sorry - I don't really look where I'm going when I'm on my phone too," It's a little rude, I can see your cheeks flush, eyeing me slightly. But it's worth it when you smile, nose scrunched as you stood, allowing me the grace of picking up the rest of the books.
"Alright honey, watch it, not a student." I can feel my knees starting to buckle when you stand up, a few heads shorter than me. I already knew, of course, but it was fun to watch you flounder. And before I could tack down even your name, you were gone. "But I do have things to do, sorry again!" It was more than enough to get high off of. You're a kind girl, aren't you? A sweet one, one who sees me past the details.
It was so easy to swipe your copy of David Copperfield during that little collision, but I think you know that, and I don't think you care. Not even as you scan it, eyebrows shifting as you recognize the strings frayed on the spine. I swallow, wondering if you recognize me the same way, from weeks ago. A small collision I carefully planned, all for you. I can feel my heart jamming into my chest when you hand it off back to me, trying to not be visibly disappointed at the lack of contact. I never realize how truly silent everything feels when you aren't talking, but being a lurker of the library since our encounter has filled my head with you. The books you love, your favorite students, the ones you pretend to love and grumble about when you think you're out of earshot. You aren't ever out of earshot from me.
"Have you been following me?"
Fuck.
"No?" Yes.
"Just - Sorry, I feel like I've seen you and I'm pretty sure I lost my Copperfield, like a month ago?" Your eyes move to the mystery man, his graying curls falling forward as he cocked his head, examining the book in his hands. Feigning recognition, and then;
"Ah! Miss not looking where she's going? I got this one from the un-shelved cart," It's a brisk lie, one that will be good for us. Copperfield, it's our thing now, something we can tell our kids. Genuine recognition looks gorgeous on you, a couple blinks and that eye creased smile, your real smile. Being close to you feels even better than I remember, a high I've been chasing for so long. My eyes, stiffly controlled, remain on yours; But a smart man can appreciate a delicious peripheral.
"Oh god, yeah! Mister clumsy, Professor...Moore?" Even the fake name I wear sends spikes through my blood, crystalizing the cells and shattering every other definition of want and love I thought I knew before. I give a nod, putting the book to my side. "That's what I figured! Thanks for the help that time, sweet thing." My heart can't take your nicknames, but you knew that since the moment we met. I want to know about you, I've already memorized your recent reading list, and taken my time imagining you with a book and nothing else. The sparking images dries my mouth, giving another hoarse chuckle. Your shape, something I can't pull myself from marveling at, something I crave to grope, to mold to my own body and hold entirely. Your curves, the perfect waves for my hands to rest and drown in -
"Jonathan is fine. I'd love to know you're real name, just so I don't mistake you as a study guide again, Miss...?" You give me your name, extending your hand out for proper contact. I already knew, but the thrill of truly being allowed to know you is a high I don't think I'll ever come down from.
joe goldberg x gender neutral reader [ anatomy specific ]
18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni
> joe goldberg's internal dialogue
tags / warnings ; dead dove do not eat, "canon" joe, stalking, breaking and entering, voureism, somnophilia, noncon themes, masturbation, glove/latex play, reader has vagina, fourth wall breaks/unreality
summary ; hello you. im glad youre reading so much, you always know how to make my head spin.
word count ; 2.1k
a / n ; i absolutely love writing for joe! this was a concept i really wanted to mess around with, id highly suggest minding the tags and also minding the fact i write for joe out of pure morbid fun, not for fanservice! so proceed with caution of nonconsenual themes and general creepy behvior. But hey if you think most fics on here aren't in character, heres my doing my best to change that! mwa
You were right, this is... Different. I knew you liked writing. Maybe, not into literature as much as I am, but despite all my attempts at forcing your nose into a hardcover, it was precious. How cagey you were about your writing. I can see it now, that screen pressed flat to your chest, ashamed. You know I know, you have to. Your eyes are resting on the television in front of you as if you weren't thumbing your keyboard like a rabid animal just a few moments ago. What are you inspired by? Surely not the takeout, long cooled, sitting on the coffee table. But still, I like this game. I know it won't last long, and I know you'll cave into it - Into me.
Digital writing, not as much of a discrepancy to the world as I got to know you, got used to reading novels over your shoulder. I couldn't resist, not while you slept so beautifully, so deep in your dreams you wouldn't notice - No, not my business. I'm a good man, you need a good man; But trust is one thing, you caging your phone from me is another. Why are you protecting it like a live wire? One look then, just one.
Your attempt at a password is precious, did you know that? Biometrics, new school, even for me, but you couldn't part ways with your dearest number code. Clogged, different apps, the colors assaulted my eyes when you insisted on showing me a book you were looking for at Mooney's- You were thrilled when you did. My eyes will adjust. Now what app was it? I could feel the gray in my hair illuminating at the thought, but you refused to let me get too hasty over it when we met; I think you like it. Nothing too far gone in your notes app, aside from the occasional single words with nothing else. Do you ever clean out this garbled junk? Searching, and more and there it is, a little blue square, white T.
Navigating these things is not my expertise. I can feel the crows feet on my face blinking a flashing target on my back; I'm getting too old for this, but moving to your account, searching under 'drafts' pauses the train of thought. My name, pasted between filthy words - Did you write this? Legs, thighs, arousal; My heart is jamming, and I can't deny the sigh of relief breaching my lips. I glance down at you, still sleeping soundly beside me, your breathing even and soft. I'm the nice man at the bookstore, but you're twisting me around in your mind right now, aren't you? Are you dreaming of me? I glue my eyes back to the screen, resisting the physical urge to put a hand onto your warm body. You know I'm here, don't you? Stories, after stories - My hand on your throat, you crave this? The feeling of my heartbeat against your back, while I ravage you, fingers tangled in your hair, breathless. I can imagine it, just how you write it; It's not your fault you can't write me perfectly, but just seeing my name repeated, over and over, folded into your fantasies? You know me well enough to know I want you, well enough to know you drive me insane - Was this all on purpose? I try to be a decent man, a good man. And you trip into the reopening of Mooney's, small talk; That's all it was, but you knew.
Well. You... are a pervert, and trust me, I've seen everything; Describing my body? My cock, the weight and warmth of me in your mouth - Is it the writing, or the imagination that takes your breath when you touch yourself? The feeling of typing my name, writing it over and over like a mantra. I can picture you reading them, phone flush to your body, breathing wavering as you read over the words you wrote. You deny the real feeling, the feelings between us, but you can feel it. The pulse rushing from the words on your phone screen straight to your thighs; Fuck, why are you making me do this? Did you want to get me hard? This wasn't a part of the plan, and surely you know that. We've hardly even met, exchanged pleasantries. But I know you, now. The real you, I can see it now. Right now.
Hello, you. Reading more? I'm glad - I mean it, really, you know the nagging of the man at the bookstore is one thing, but you'll get used to the classics once you're mine. Really mine. Once I can wrap my arms around you while you sleep, once these aren't just fantasies; Some of these things are extreme, even for me, but you want someone who will do anything for you. A man who can thrust a blade to your throat, make you gasp for air, but also protect you from this evil world. It was irresponsible, but I'll remind you when you're mine to lock the windows before you sleep. For now, I've never been more thankful you're so forgetful - It's sweet. Your room is comfortable, breathable, and sharing your air is intoxicating. Can't you hear me breathing? Hovering beside you, watching over your most vulnerable and beautiful state? You're lucky to have me. Could you imagine if some random man broke into your bedroom at night? I'm here to protect you, protect our fantasy, you have no idea we share. I can't wait to come through the front door to see you after work, no more hiding under your bed, I promise. Unless you ask for it, of course. I'd do anything for you.
Joe's hand falls down over his body, the rustle wrenching a wince from his throat. Quiet, he reminds himself. His gloved hand white knuckled your phone as he palmed his cock. Sweat beads down the side of his jaw, the description of your perversions riding on the line of obscene - And he loved every moment of it. His breath shuddered, eyes dancing between the words on your screen and your sleeping frame. The thought of pulling back the covers, exposing your warmth to the sting of cold, his latex-gloved hands rolling over the soft of your stomach. Joe's shaking hand fumbled with his belt, the metallic click sending a shudder through your unconscious body. You shuffled slightly, kicking away the sheets; It was hot, the little knowledge of another occupant in your bed not reaching your subconscious. He broke the seam of his underwear, sweat sticking his pants to the apex of his thighs, pulling down just enough to free his throbbing cock. He hissed, the feeling of the latex glove on his shaft a sick reminder of this encounter; Unaware, but knowing more than you ever could. Choking back a grunt, he swallowed hard, squeezing at the tip of his cock. A bead of precum pearled at the slit, and Joe's heart staggered in his chest, thumb scrolling over your phone. He had been drooling, allowing the pool to spill into his glove before reaching down once again - He felt like an insatiable high schooler, dark eyes lulling half lidded between you and your fantasies on full display. Joe began slowly, imaging the vivid sight of splitting your cunt; You described it already, he didn't need to worry about supplementing his desires, or risk his saftey with tugging your at sheets and sleepshirt. Surely you know I'm here. Fuck, you feel amazing.
Joe hitched his hips upwards; He wanted to pound you into your squeaky mattress, crawl through the spaces of your room he so neatly memorized - All this for you, all of him for you. His chest tightened with a moan, head falling back ever so slightly, cock pulsing as his spiral fell deeper, darker. Joe shut his eyes, your phone falling onto his lap as he planted a hand over his mouth.
God dammit, you're tight. He could practically hear the swell of your moan, pitching to a whine as he reached the hilt. Relishing in the purely euphoric feeling of your cunt around him - He craved it, like an animal he trained to stay quiet, subservient. He groaned into his palm, panting softly as he stroked himself, wanting nothing more than the hot feeling of your cunt around him. Please, I've been good. I've played nice. Even while you read this now, you know how much I've resisted these things about myself - But you take pleasure in them. It horrifies me in every way imaginable, makes my stomach turn; I should be disgusted by the things you want from me. And here I am at the mercy of your body, your power over me palpable in your bedroom. The smell of you is surrounding me, suffocating me.
Joe stifles another moan, less hidden than he'd like. The veins of his cock surge, his chest swelling with the smell and taste of the air only you breathe. He wants to taste all of you, your hips grinding your cunt down onto his greedy tounge, your blood from a nick in the kitchen. Everything you could create, he wanted, needed. He sighed through gritted teeth into his gloved palm, teeth now clenching at the black latex. Why do you have to make this all so fucking difficult? I want to be what you need, not just a fantasy; We're more than a fantasy, you wouldn't come looking for me like this if it wasn't true - Does that scare you? That I can see you, all of you, the parts you obscure from your peers and family, and still love you the same? Fuck, you're going to ruin me, just the sound of your breathing gets me off.
Joe arched his back into his fist, chest quivering with a threat to let his voice spill. Clamping tight over his mouth, his eyes parted open to find your sleeping body; You rolled onto your back a few moments ago, arms tucked close to your chest. You were peaceful, unaware of the violation happening just inches away, in your own bed. The sight of it was obscene in Joe's mind, teeth breaking the thin barrier of latex as he clenched his jaw, feverishly stroking his cock. His sweat dripped from his jaw and chin, lips pursed as he focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Your lips, soft and parted, glossy with a smear of drool. I could do anything to you right now. And the idea of that makes your heart thrum - Is that not real? Real, true, romantic and fucked up love? I want to drown in you, taste every inch of your body and bare my soul to you. Joe tilts his head back, eyes glued to your face, his pace unwavering as the hot binding of his senses came to a rushing pulse. He bucked his hips, shuddering and making your bed squeak, spilling his cum into his hand and thighs. He couldn't tear his eyes from you, stroking himself more, somehow pushing past the peak. He frantically, sloppily used his cum as more lubricant, knawing into the latex of his glove. You would be so proud of my restraint - I want to follow every line of this, twist your fantasies into your reality until you can't tell why you crave me the way you do. I want to be in your dreams, to take up every one of your senses until I can call you mine; You already did these all for me, infected my dreams and urged my heart to keep you safe. Joe let a whimper pry from his throat as he came a second time, eyes rolling back at the image of you pleading on your knees for him. This time the rattle of your bed stirred your peace, Joe's shaking body just inches away. He just couldn't stop, the thrill sending a shockwave racketeering through his veins as your expression changed. Just a soft furrow of your brow, a soft hum passing your lips as you sighed, shuffling your legs. But it was enough to keep Joe on the edge, eyes pinning you to the spot as he slowed his strokes. The sloppy mess dripped over the knuckles of his gloved hand, staining the black fabric of his pants. His hips continued to tense at a steady pace, tongue clamped between his top and bottom set of teeth. Just one more, I deserve it, and you're loving this. Joe rubbed the tip of his thumb over his sensitive tip, lips parting with a painfully pleasured expression; He had to stay silent, he kept reminding himself. Though the obscene wet sound of his fist slick against his cock, in your bedroom, was more than he needed to finish a third time. His mind was numb, the smell of your sweat, the taste of the air you breathe - So much of you, all at once. The air was thick with Joe's heavy breathing, unsteady as he stood up from your bed, body still quaking with the ghost of pleasure. He pried alcohol wipes from his duffel bag, still catching his breath as he leaned down, beginning to wipe away any cum left on his pants. He can leave a thing out of place, underwear can go missing, but he refused to leave evidence of nights like these.
A weak moment, he told himself as he set your phone back down onto your bedside, resting every urge in his body to lean down and kiss your forehead. He let his eyes linger on you as he slowly zipped his small duffel bag, new items to keep nestled deep within the pockets. You wouldn't notice they were missing. Joe smiled softly at the thought, shaking his head as he moved back to his feet.
One day, I'll leave you something to find. You'd love that, and knowing that for a fact is something that will just make our love stronger. I'll be back tomorrow night, we have a date, now that you've given me so many new ideas.
tags / warnings ; dead dove do not eat, canon joe, stalking, knife play mention, suicide mention, caged reader, manipulation, gaslighting, kidnapping
summary ; youve been in and out of mooney's since you moved to new york - it was only a matter of time before you caught his eye.
word count ; 3.3k
a / n ; yatta yatta friendly reminder i use writing to explore dynamics among characters, any and all depictions of violence, sex or otherwise are over 18 and purely fictional. probs one of the darker things ive written but i tried to stay as true to canon as possible! thats it thats the warning
Well; Hello, you.
I'm ashamed to say I almost missed the sound of you coming into the store - You. You are a strange little thing, a dusty book reader. You've experienced life well, now you're wanting to look at it rather than keep trucking through it. Ready to settle down - No. No, you are a stranger. A stranger with a face that catches the subtle filtering light from the tan shades of Mooney's. The small hairs and creases in your cheeks refract the dust in the air, and your eyes, God, your eyes. Your teeth are tearing at your bottom lip, of course subconsciously because of how tight your attention is on the spines of the books. The intricate gold titles, your fingers pressing against them. Your nails are neat, but chewed to the quick. Maybe another subconscious habit you've picked up through the months of visiting my shop. You travel over the different winding isles, my eyes actually losing track while still hearing your soft hums. A habitual person by nature, pattern driven. The wondering thought of how your wet lips, freshly bitten up, would feel against mine infects me once more. How your bitten nails would scratch up my back.
You. Who are you? I've seen you again and again, and your earbuds stuffed hard in your ears make it no easy secret to pry open. You check out psychology books, thick fiction. House of leaves piqued my interest, a true mind ruining book consumer. How twisted does this interest run? You wear comfortable baggy clothes, these trips running into the deep evening of the city. You don't make changes for anyone around you, you don't present yourself like you are hunting to socialize - I assume so, considering that you've never texted or even checked your phone the hours you're here.
What are you listening to? What's your favorite music to read to? I want to pluck an earbud out, hearing your hums pause as those saucer eyes swim up to find mine.
No. Do not even start to think about this, fantasies at work is past a line even I have - Yet apart of me can't help but wonder, how easy it would be to pick you up. How your fingers would interlock with mine, gripping tight while my nose rests in the crook of your neck. Those collarbones, are you trying to kill me? Pulling off your sweatshirt, your stomach curving perfectly down, exposed just for a second before your shirt settles into place. Your arms, collar bones - Your voice. Oh Shit.
"Hello? Anyone home?" You tap infront of me, on my counter. Those nails. Golden rings tie over your middle fingers, and one other on your left pinkie. I was right, you do look good in a gold ring.
"Sorry - Checking out?" You nod silently, and i can't help my dissapointment. I want to hear more. "What are you listening to?" I can't stop myself.
Your voice is smooth, mid toned and not pitchy at all. A warm carmel, matching your low gaze. You nod, silently - I want to hear you speak again. For the first time in months, my eyes don't dart down to the title resting on the counter, but stay on you.
"Oh; Nothing, I just like having them in so nobody bothers me, y'know?" You smile wrly. And I realize how truly deep I'm in.
It was a fairy tale - Of course. He structured it just so you would feel like you walked in air in his presence. The pair of you were something of a spot in time waiting to happen, something your friends spoke of fate and your parents adored. Moving in was a choice made early; You couldn't deny you were still leeching from your parents here and there, your direction of life moving to drive you to chase yourself, truly find yourself. You insisted on independence, waving off your home state for New York after scraping together the funds to fix your rather squeaky car. A road trip, your explained to Joe as you sat across from him, the warmth of the coffee shop filling your chest as you took a slow breath. You missed home, it was a dull ache, and as if he could unstitch the furrow of your brow, break the seams of what you assumed was a practiced facade. He put his cold palm over the back of yours, resting in a squeezed fist as your words trailed off, gaze pooling into the coffee before you. It drew your attention, chest jumping at the soft motion, and also the fact his dark eyes never moved from yours, even as you looked away. Joe studied your expressions, lips tilted up, slightly parted as if he were practicing the words through his mind. But they never came to be voiced, not within your memory now.
Now - Those moments are smeared through a bleary grinding wail you can't seem to pry from your mind. The silence was the first thing you noticed, then the cold of cement against your hot face; Too hot. Sweat soaked your clothes against your body, peeling your flesh from the cold ground, eyes wrenching open in the flourecent lights that beamed overhead. Breaths choked from your throat, the suffocating stillness of the room sending a rigid chill through your pulse. You raced for answers, to fill the gaps and explain this very moment, saliva spilling over your bottom lip as you choked down air. Had you been breathing? You slammed a palm to your heart, the drumming againsy your ribs falling into place verbatim to your hazey mind beginning to clear.
You just wanted something else. Joe was kind, he considered every one of your feelings, took your words into meaning that you couldn't describe beyond absorption. He couldn't tear himself from you; And the independent part of you itched like an old dog, chewed at your ankle like an angry animal. Your friends began to see less of you, Joe showing up in the corner of your eyes; And one night you swore he was in your sleep paralysis. Looking back - He was definitely standing there. And you were wide awake.
"Joe - What the fuck is this? You are sick," You recall the desperation in your voice. The ringing in your head hurt the most, purely beyond belief. The edge of Alice in Wonderland, a hardback gifted to you from an ex boyfriend. The one you found under his mattress, blood gluing and sticking the pages together in a shrouded fresh red and dried brown mess. A cut space between the layers, and your ex boyfriends cracked cell phone. Your stomach twisted at the memory, the pain in your temples now drilling into your skull with the dull explanation. You fought to grab at your bearings, palms against the cement, taking staggering breaths as you looked around yourself. Glass. More glass, the vision of your disheveled face staring just as shocked to see you in this state. Asking the same questions, why are you here? The surgical hue of green soaked into the musty air, the cold biting at your fingertips, and sweat soaked skin.
"Joe?" You called into your own reflection, even the sight of his name on your lips causing your body to tense. You hoped you were wrong, hands palming at the glass to slowly stand up, eyes whirling around. A bed, a small shelf, a bucket. Books. "Joe! " A second time, the pang of your own voice against the glass echoing a digging sear into your head. The room was dark, it was impossible to tell from inside exactly where you were, aside from the blinding floodlight overhead, it shadowed every surrounding corner. You stilled, your gasps slowing to healthy breaths, chest stiff as your heart continued to hammer in anticipation.
Joe sits in a metal folding chair, just out of sight. He's been there, arms loosely crossed over his stomach, sleeves rolled up; Not looking at you, not quite looking at anything, his eyes glued to the space in front of him. His eyebrows twitched, thoughts barking through his ears, jaw tightening. Hearing your voice stirred him from this lifeless, corpse-esque thought spiral. He made no move to respond, only lifting his gaze to watch. Inspect. Piece together and take apart, watch your hands shake and chest swallow down the air, as if you'd run out.
Did you know this was going to happen? I understand. I honestly take it as a pass at my intelligence; Talking to your ex, promising him you will rid yourself of me? Why did this have to so suddenly change everything you saw so right about me? Was it the blood? Squeamish, I never took you as the type, especially not when you asked me to use a knife on you in bed. You think I forget those things? How different you were, while you were truly unsure of the man I was? Was it all a lie? A fantasy of yours, you infected my mind with? And you leave me? And, god, do you really think I'm that sick? That I'd let you run out of air? You're smarter than that.
"I'm glad you're alright," An exhaled chuckle, breaching the dark silence. The muffle of the glass twisted your sureness of his voice, hand coming to cup your ear; A slash of aching pain soared at your skull, prickling in hot pins against your temple and jaw. You hissed.
"I'm not fucking alright, what is going on!" You demanded, eyes shutting as you garnered the strength to rev your voice into a shuddering snarl. Silence, before a long dragging creak. The toes of his polished shoes came into sight past the shadow, as if the black ink spit him out. He sickened even the swell of darkness. He came to a stop, light casting heavy shadows over his face. He was dragging the metal chair behind his body, expression unreadable as he tilted his head off to the side. He inspected your wound from afar like an autopsy. You wanted to wretch.
"You have... A minor concussion," Joe's voice explained, seeping through the cracks of a sympathetic mask, eyebrows stiffly furrowing into a soft expression. You've seen it before, when you wept into his chest, when you cut your finger in the kitchen; Was that all just the means to this end? He smiled warmly, like you were a child who misspoke in class, demeaning. An 'I know better than you' twinge in brown eyes.
"Joe what the fuck is going on! Is this because of me texting my ex? Doesn't this just fucking prove what I was saying!" You shouted, the words managing to rip through the jagged stab of your ribs against your strained lungs. It stung your head, rattling your jaw bone, bringing a hand down to slam in punctuation against the glass. But he just sighed, slowly shaking his head as he took a seat on the chair. He leaned back, stretching his legs forward and crossing his ankles - You looked down at him now, fist shaking by your side as he watched you. Just watched, not reacted; Like an impenetrable force of bullshit, he just kept the same sympathetic smile.
"I'm not sick," He raised an index finger, lazily pointing in your direction. "You...have a concussion," You rolled your eyes, scoffing in a quiet hiss. He dropped his hand to rest on his thigh. "And I would like to be close enough to help you but," Joe took a slow inhale. "After how you blew up on me last night, I just,"
You couldn't belive the poision spilling from this vipers mouth, his eyes genuine as he spoke, explaining it as honestly as he knew how. He trailed off, eyes lulling around the room as he brought his shoulders up in a shrug, exhaling sharply. "I just want to know I can trust you," He brought up a hand, brushing the air away. "That is all this is,"
"This? is crazy." You spoke, eyebrows raising and glancing around, throat strained from screaming, demanding answers. "Fuck," You muttered, his presence something that you couldn't escape from any angle, the burning feeling of his gaze soaking into your skin tugged at your mind. You wanted to think, to plan.
"See, you keep on saying that; But I know you,"
"Don't,"
"I know you're smart; I don't know why you're panicking right now. I would never do anything to hurt you; I'm trying to help you, help us. He's nothing, you told me yourself," Joe spoke, the tension in his voice flowing like a rushing stream, rippling over your voice and drowning away hope of a retort. Your throat ached.
"I'm thirsty." You spoke, grayrocking his attempts to unstitch you between his fingers. A beat reached the pair of you, your eyes resting on his hands, refusing to let his gaze inspect your own. Slowly, you pushed off of the glass, walking cautiously around the large box. You kept one palm on the side of the wall, treading towards the door - Was it even worth trying? The small latch box beside it seemed less likely to get through, but more likely to actually open. You craned your mind for ideas, eyes lulling to the thin mattress on the bed.
"Good," Joe sighed out the words, as if he was holding the air in the room in his tightly wound fist. "That's - That's good," You can hear the creak of the metal, squealing backwards as he jumped to his feet. You didn't bother follow his shadow smear off into the rest of the darkness, staring at the image of yourself reflected in the glass. You sat slowly onto the mattress, lowering your aching body and mind down - You finally rest your back onto the wall, and your nerves scream at you; But you're too exhausted now to cry out, your throat dry and scraped. Click. Was he always so quiet? The small door of the latch closed, your eyes floating open. You didn't realize when you closed your eyes, the ice cold room coddling your bloody body, the swelling of your temple veins finally beginning to steady. Nonetheless, your lips parted, the skin chapped.
"Did you kill him," You breathed the words, the flicker of genuine curiosity crossing your tone as you lifted your head. Three water bottles stood in the glass latch box, your hesitation a moment of firey resistance. Dried tears tracked the tacky skin of your flushed cheeks, no moisture left in your body. You cried it all away. You felt like Eve in the garden, the snake offering out a promise of kindness, sanctity.
"Yes," The air was still. "But... You didn't let me explain anything before assuming the worst, and here we are. You're assuming again," Joe sounded - Dissapointed, lost in the fog of his own making.
Is that really what you think of me? Christ, I left you for fifteen minutes, to buy you cold water and ice packs. You think that I just do this for no vital reason? You didn't let me explain the book. I did this all for you, I kept this man from hurting you again, from breaking your heart like it was nothing. Now you fear the parts of myself you taught me to take pleasure in. And you take it all back? I did this all for us.
"What is there to explain, Joe?" You muttered dryly, voice hoarse. You might have been asleep longer than you thought, using your palms to steady yourself onto your feet. You lulled towards the box, the metal handle demeaning in its own way. The water bottles behind the glass dripped with condensation, pooling around one another. A flinch in the dark as you stumble, and you could have sworn you heard a sigh of relief when you opened the box.
Can't you see how worried I am? You have a concussion for God's sake - Your coordination is alright, all things considered. I knew you'd be scared, horrified at this, that's why I tried to protect you.
"I was protecting you," He's still in the dark, but his voice moves to watch you drink down the water. You chugged gluttonously, stomach twisting at being empty, but the cold water continued to plummet. After a moment, you breathe hard, water flecking from your lips. "Ever since we met... Things fell into place for you - Your ex finally backed off, your friends stopped pulling you into places and groups you hated," Joe stepped into the light, standing in front of the box, mirroring you. "I did all those things for you! Your job even,"
Your gut curdled. Your boss, an older man, being cut down from a banker to working alongside you in the grocery store - He made creepy remarks, but nothing you hadn't seen or been able to brush off. You mentioned it once to Joe, speaking of your boss' crude behavior and lack of manners, and the following week he passes; Suicide.
"You killed my fucking boss!"
"I got you a promotion! He was a pervert, someone who could really hurt you. Imagine if I wasn't here, for just one second, imagine how your life would be." Your throat clenched, hand grasping at the empty waterbottle with a squeaking crunch. Joe threw his eyebrows up, chin dipping off to the side, tilting down his eyes to your horrified expression. "I just wanted to keep you safe. I never wanted you to find these things - And you're making me into the monster," He blinked at your silence, wetting his lips as he sighed, shaking his head. He brought his hand to his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose.
I'm not thinking straight; If you had given me even just a day to prepare for this, I could have explained this all to you - You, I know you would understand. You have to. And you will, in time.
"I love you." It was almost convincing enough for you to believe, it sounded so close to the man you knew, the man who slow danced with you in your kitchen. You stood, shaking, in shock with a fist white knuckling, sweating. Just as Joe dipped back into the dark, there was a paused moment of relief. And hearing his steps echo up the stairs shot panic through your frozen chilled veins. When will he back? Will he be back?
Cold. Dark. When the lights shut off, you woke up. Ironic, though you knew Joe was still there. You could hear his shallow breathing, matching the slow rise and fall of your own body - You couldn't sleep the moment you were swallowed into the dark, grouped into blindness with him. But better to feign being asleep than to hear his voice from every angle of your skull, bouncing, echoing. Was this it? Death, you thought. No chance of sleep, no use in moving. You had finished the water hours ago, yet the knawing hunger in your stomach stabbed into your gut hard. A growl rolled through your body, trying to tighten yourself into an impossibly smaller ball. To be loved by Joe Goldberg, is to be defiled. And he insisted on watching every single part of you break.
I know you aren't asleep, but it's okay you don't want to talk. Every couple goes through hard patches - I'm being put on the couch tonight, but you'll apologize, you'll come to know that people do bad things for the people they love. Love is more important than anything; It extends past our abilities to comprehend these social morals implanted in our heads. You're smart, you always wanted to fight against these "social norms", so why are you fighting how I want to love you? I'm giving you everything, begging you to give me just a word. Anything, I miss your voice. I hurt you, hit you - I understand if you hate me. But I can't give up, not on you, not on us. All I ever wanted to do, for you, is to take care of you; And at least this way, I finally can.
Hey guys, so I feel weird making one of these, but my dad gave me the okay, so I’m doing so.
The above picture is of my sister, Raven, at her swearing in ceremony when she became a citizen, something she is very proud of and worked very hard towards. Raven is autistic, trans, and an immigrant. Unfortunately, since the election, Raven has been assaulted on two separate occasions, purely based on her appearance and what body parts bigoted people think she may have. They have called her horrible things and threatened her with even worse physical violence than they actually did. My dad is hoping to move from Texas to California, where she will be safer and much less likely to be attacked again. This move will cost a lot of money that sadly went to my dad’s cancer treatment a few years ago, as well as a more recent hospital stay. If you are in a position to help, please consider donating here to get my sister to a safer place.
