Can you do a joey smut??? Idc about the plot I'll be happy with anything I love your work btw
whatever you ask of me ♱ joey jordison
Title: Whatever You Ask of Me
Pairing: Joey Jordison x Female Reader
Word Count: ~2,200
Content: Established relationship, passionate sex, dirty talk, worship vibes, some light dom/sub dynamics, after-show setting.
The door slammed behind you both, echoing off the walls of the dressing room. The crowd's roar was still ringing in your ears, the high of the concert still buzzing in Joey’s blood. Sweat clung to his skin, his eyeliner smudged, hair wild and damp from hours under hot lights and a mask.
You barely had time to register the door closing before he had you against it—his hand flat on the wood beside your head, his chest rising and falling fast.
“You,” he growled, voice low and dark, “were staring at me like you were gonna eat me alive all night.”
You blinked, breath caught in your throat. “Maybe I was.”
Joey smirked, tongue running along his bottom lip. “Yeah? I could feel your eyes from behind the kit. Knew exactly what you wanted.”
“I wanted you,” you said, quiet but bold. “I want you.”
His eyes darkened, pupils blown. “Say it again.”
“I want you.”
He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, lips just brushing but not kissing yet.
“You want me to fuck you?” he whispered, and the words hit you like a match to gasoline. “Hard or soft? Fast or slow? Tell me—I will do whatever you ask of me.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
“Hard,” you breathed. “Fast. Now.”
That was all it took.
Joey crushed his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole every ounce of air from your lungs. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs to lift you, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He carried you across the room like you weighed nothing, slamming you down onto the padded couch.
“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered, yanking your shirt up over your head, pressing hot kisses down your collarbone. “Sitting side-stage, all sweet and innocent, and the second we’re alone—this is what you want, huh?”
You nodded frantically, fingers fumbling at his shirt as he shrugged out of it, revealing a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest and tattooed arms. His hair clung to his face, wild and messy, and he looked at you like a man possessed.
He shoved your jeans down your legs with a low groan, tossing them somewhere behind him before kneeling between your legs.
“Look at you,” he whispered, spreading your thighs wide, dragging his fingers slowly over the soaked fabric of your panties. “Already this wet for me. All I did was talk.”
You whimpered. “Joey, please…”
“Yeah?” He hooked a finger under the fabric, sliding it to the side to expose your soaked heat. “Please what, baby? You want my fingers, my mouth—or just cock?”
“Cock,” you gasped. “Please. Just fuck me.”
Joey’s mouth twitched in a smug grin. “Begging so sweet for it. You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
He stood up just long enough to shove down his jeans and boxers, cock flushed and already hard, veins thick along the shaft. He gave it a lazy stroke, eyes locked on yours.
“Condom?” he asked, breath hitching.
You shook your head. “I’m on the pill. I need to feel you.”
His jaw clenched. “Fuck…”
He dropped back to his knees and guided himself to your entrance, teasing the head just barely inside you. He groaned as your slick heat clung to him.
“God, you’re tight,” he growled, then pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face twist in bliss. “You take me so fucking well every time.”
You cried out as he bottomed out, hips pressed to yours, stretching you wide and full. His hands slid under your thighs, anchoring you in place.
Then he started to move.
Fast, just like you begged—hips snapping into you with sharp, rhythmic thrusts that sent your body arching off the couch. The wet sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mingling with your moans and his ragged grunts.
“You feel that?” he panted. “How deep I am?”
You nodded desperately, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say who’s fucking you like this.”
“You are, Joey,” you gasped. “Only you.”
He leaned in, kissing you hard and filthy, tongue claiming your mouth as his thrusts got rougher. The couch creaked beneath you both, his pace relentless, precise, like the same rhythm he pounded into his drums—except this was just for you.
“Gonna make you come on this cock,” he growled. “Wanna feel you squeeze me so tight I lose my mind.”
You were already so close. Your body coiled tight, every nerve on fire from the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that existed.
“Joey—fuck—I’m—”
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, hips stuttering just a little as you clenched around him. “Come for me. Let go. Let me feel it.”
You shattered with a cry, thighs shaking around him as you came, heat flooding your core. He didn’t stop—kept pounding into you through the aftershocks, jaw clenched, brow furrowed in concentration as he chased his own release.
“Fuck, fuck—gonna come—”
He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast until he came all over your stomach with a deep groan, strands painting your skin. His hand trembled slightly as he caught his breath, resting his forehead against yours.
Silence fell for a moment, both of you panting, skin slick with sweat and come.
Joey looked down at you—flushed, ruined, blissed out—and smiled.
“You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair from your face.
You nodded. “More than okay.”
He chuckled, breathless, and grabbed a towel from the nearby counter to clean you gently, tenderness taking over where ferocity had just reigned.
As he curled up beside you, pulling you into his chest, he whispered:
“Next time, you want it soft and slow… just say the word.”
The first time you met each other was when Chris and Corey were filming for a TV show. The two were joking in front of the camera.
At one point Corey said, "I'm not wearing underwear."
You thought it was hilarious and a giggle escaped your throat. Quickly, you put your hand over your mouth. He didn't break out of character. When the shot ended he looked up and for the first time really looked behind the camera, his eyes narrowed because of the bright lighting. He let his gaze roam over your colleagues, until it finally stuck on you.
His blue eyes were friendly, twinkling at you in delight. He was immediately taken with you.
Your hand slipped from your mouth, revealing a wide grin. You're sure he smiled back.
He stood up unceremoniously, spoke to Chris and came to you. On his way to you, he took off his white and gray mask. Under it appeared his beautiful face. He asked blushingly for your number. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. You gave it to him, he came across quite sympathetic.
And today he's your boyfriend, your little babyboy. Around you he acts like a kitten that needs a lot of attention and love. Constantly touches and cuddles up to you.
You're standing in the kitchen, preparing your breakfast, when two tattooed arms wrap around your waist. You look down at them, you place your hands on his arms.
"Why aren't you in bed with me." He nestles his head against the crook of your neck.
"Honey I'm hungry. Besides, we've been in bed and cuddling long enough." You disengage from his arms and go to the fridge to get a juice.
He follows you, "But I want..." You turn around with the juice in your hand. You set it aside and put your index finger to his lips.
"Shhh. Corey, baby, we can cuddle after breakfast. Can you hold out that long?" He nods silently, kissing your finger.
"Fine." Your hand slides to his chin and cups it, pulling his face closer to you.
"Then let's have breakfast already. I'm really hungry." You kiss him, reaching for the juice.
"Can you bring those two glasses there?" You point to two empty glasses.
Corey answers in affirmative and immediately sprints to them, not wanting to be separated from you so long.
You find yourself in another room and walk over to a table setting. You want to push your chair back and are prevented from doing so by Corey. "I got this honey."
You grin. "Put the glasses down first." Corey blushes. "Oh yeah right." He quickly sets them on the table and reappears beside you.
He pulls your chair back enough for you to sit down. "Thank you. You're a true gentleman."
"Don't say that. I'm sure there are better ones out there." He kisses the top of your head and settles down opposite your seat.
You guys start eating. Corey talks about future shows and you talk about any shoots with a wide variety of celebrities.
When you're done, you put your used utensils in the sink.
Corey looks at you expectantly. You exhale loudly. "I promised." Corey grins broadly and suddenly throws you onto his shoulder.
You startle at first, but then lapse into laughter. Corey takes off running. He wastes no time.
"Corey put me down." You smack his butt. "I can walk on my own."
"You're so slow, though. Then I'll have to wait until tomorrow before you make it to the bedroom." He teases.
You make an indignant face. "Corey Todd Taylor, who always takes this long to take out the trash?"
He ignores the question. You watch Corey walk through the door to your bedroom, already gently laying you down on the bed.
You can't react quickly because Corey has already jumped behind you and snuggles as close as possible to you.
He exhales with pleasure. "Finally." You turn around in his arms.
"Finally?! It wasn't even three quarters of an hour ago that we were lying here together."
Corey combs through your hair. "But I missed you during that time." He makes a pout.
You smile and nuzzle your forehead against his chest. "How are you going to make it on tour without me?"
"Let's not talk about it." A sad note resonates in his deep voice. He hugs you tighter, afraid of losing you. You take in his scent.
His body gives you warmth, you immediately feel safe.
"I love you till death." Corey whispers. His breath tickles your ear.
"I love you too babe." You lean on your arms and kiss him gently.
Then you let yourself fall back into Corey's arms, the arms that protect you from all the dangers in this world.
I love YOUR JIM FICS!!! Can I request a story where Y/N and Jim are on tour, pick a huge fight right before the show, and then have to share a tiny bunk on the bus while still super mad but secretly horny? Lots of sass, tension, and cold, snarky hate sex, please!
LOVE THIS AHHH!!!
burnout ♱ jim root
- A fight before the show turns into rough, unresolved sex in a shared bunk.-
-
Pairing: Jim Root (Slipknot) × Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Realistic Smut, Established Relationship, Angst, Size Difference, Power Struggle, Emotional Tension
Warnings: P-in-V sex, lack of foreplay (painful penetration), unresolved argument, brat behavior, rough tone, size kink, emotional coldness during intimacy, implied aftercare tension, dirty talk, biting sarcasm, light degradation, no immediate resolution, mild language, reluctant arousal, clashing love and resentment
Word Count: ~6,000
-
You found him in the tuning room, hunched over his guitar with that furrow between his brows so deep it looked permanent.
He didn’t look up when you came in. Just kept twisting one of the pegs, plucking the low E-string again and again, brow tight like it personally offended him. You stood there watching him for a second, arms crossed, your back still aching from standing all day. He hadn’t said more than five words to you since yesterday afternoon.
“Hey,” you said, carefully.
“Mm,” Jim grunted, eyes still locked on the fretboard.
You waited. He said nothing else.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
God. That word. Like a slap.
You stepped closer. “You sure? Because you haven’t looked at me once.”
Now he looked up — just for a beat — and then went right back to the strings.
“Trying to focus,” he muttered.
You blinked. “Okay, but I’m not the fucking enemy, Jim.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re acting like I’m bothering you by existing.”
“Y/N,” he snapped suddenly, the growl in his voice low and biting, “can you not do this right now?”
Your whole body tensed. “Do what?”
“This.” He put the guitar down with a sharp clack on the stand and straightened up slowly. All six-foot-six of him unfolded like a warning. “You picking a fight before I go on.”
You stared up at him. The height difference was ridiculous — like yelling at a lamppost. Still, you didn’t back off.
“I’m not picking a fight,” you said tightly. “I’m trying to talk to my boyfriend, who’s apparently forgotten I’m even on this tour.”
Jim exhaled harshly, pacing away from you, running a hand over his mouth. “Jesus, Y/N…”
“No, fuck you,” you shot back, stepping after him, small and furious. “You’ve been shutting me out since we got to Denver. I ask you what’s wrong, you brush me off. I try to sit next to you, you get up. You didn’t even kiss me when you left for soundcheck.”
He turned on you so fast you actually startled — and it pissed you off that your body still flinched when he raised his voice.
“You want a kiss?” Jim snapped, towering over you now. “Is that what this is? You want a fucking kiss?”
You stared up at him, defiant. “Yeah. I do.”
He grabbed your jaw — not hard, just firm — and leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours in a single, flattened kiss. No tongue, no heat. Just pressure. Like sealing an envelope.
When he pulled back, his hand dropped.
“There,” he muttered. “Happy now?”
You wiped your mouth with your sleeve. “Wow. That really cleared things up. Thanks.”
“I’m trying to get in the zone. You barging in here to bitch at me doesn’t help.”
“I’m not bitching,” you hissed, voice rising with frustration. “I’m telling you I feel ignored and you’re acting like I’m a fucking inconvenience.”
“Because you are right now!” Jim exploded. “I’ve got ten thousand people out there waiting for me, and I don’t have time to babysit your feelings!”
Silence.
That was the one.
Your heart kicked like it had been dropped off a ledge.
“…Babysit?” you repeated, voice quiet and dangerous.
Jim’s jaw flexed. His hands were fists. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No, go ahead,” you snapped. “Tell me how hard it is being around your clingy, needy little girlfriend.”
“Y/N—”
“Fuck this.” You turned and stormed out.
-
The show came and went.
You didn’t watch from the side this time. You stayed backstage, sitting on a fucking flight case, arms wrapped around your knees, pretending not to care. Pretending you weren’t boiling under your skin with rage and hurt and every emotion you weren’t allowed to show right now.
And when the show was done — when Jim walked past you, still glistening with sweat, nodding to techs, speaking to anyone but you — you couldn’t take it. You slipped outside, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the back wall, letting the cool air bite into your skin.
Your phone buzzed once. You didn’t check it.
Ten minutes later, a voice startled you.
“Uh… Y/N?”
You turned.
A young security guard stood a few feet away, clearly nervous. “Jim sent me to get you. Said you should head to the bus.”
You squinted at him. “He couldn’t come himself?”
The guy shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t know. He just told me to find you.”
You rolled your eyes and dropped the cigarette, stepping on it with more force than necessary.
-
You found Jim sitting alone on the tour bus, hood up, shoulders hunched, a beer half-drunk in his hand.
“Really?” you said sharply, stepping up into the entryway. “Sending a security guard like I’m some random fan you need wrangled?”
Jim didn’t even look at you. “You walked out.”
“And you let me,” you snapped. “You didn’t say a single fucking word to me after the show.”
He turned his head slowly. “You were outside smoking. What was I supposed to do, chase you down in front of the crew?”
“Oh right. Can’t risk looking like you care.”
“Don’t start,” he said darkly.
“Start? You started it in the tuning room, remember? You kissed me like I was your fucking aunt.”
Jim stood up, fast and tall. You stepped back out of reflex — barely — but he didn’t move toward you. Just loomed there, tense and ragged.
“I told you,” he said, voice low and even, “I can’t fight with you before a show. I told you that.”
You blinked hard, feeling heat rise behind your eyes. “And I told you I needed you. I’ve been trying for days, Jim. You’ve shut me out over and over and then act surprised when I snap.”
He rubbed his face. “I’m tired, Y/N.”
“No shit,” you snapped. “So am I.”
You stood there facing off like two people who didn’t know how to reach each other anymore. And yet — you were still stuck in the same space. Same tour. Same damn bus.
Eventually, Jim muttered, “Get in the bunk.”
You scoffed. “No.”
“You wanna sleep on the floor?”
You didn’t answer. You pushed past him, yanked open the curtain, and climbed into the narrow bunk.
He followed.
And suddenly you were in it — both of you, crammed into a bed the size of a coffin, your five-foot frame curled against the cold wall while six-foot-six of brooding, silent rage pressed behind you.
You could feel every inch of him. His knees bumped the back of your thighs. His forearm brushed your shoulder. He exhaled, and the air tickled the back of your neck.
“Stop moving,” he hissed after a few minutes.
“Then stop breathing on me.”
“I’m lying still.”
“You’re crowding me.”
“I’m twice your size,” he snapped. “Where exactly do you want me to go?”
You shifted again just to spite him.
He grunted and kicked his leg out slightly — enough to nudge your ankle and make you squirm more.
The tension was unbearable.
You hated this. You hated that you still wanted him. That despite everything, your body still ached for his.
You hated that he wasn’t touching you.
That all that space he took up — it still didn’t feel like enough.
The curtain was the only thing separating you from the rest of the world. But inside this bunk, it was a battlefield of silence and everything you weren’t saying.
You whispered into the dark, “I don’t know why you even wanted me here.”
He didn’t answer.
But you felt his breath falter.
Your shoulder bumped his chest when you, for the thousandth time, tried to get comfortable. “Can you move?”
“Where?” Jim mutters. His voice is low and pissed. “We’re in a fucking shoebox.”
You grunt, shifting around, arms pulling the blanket and adjusting your tank top. It barely covers anything. You didn’t exactly dress for war tonight — lace panties, soft shirt, no bra. You hadn’t expected to be sleeping next to a six-foot-six wall of pure tension.
“You’re taking up all the space,” you hiss.
“I’m literally pressed against the wall,” he snaps back. “Maybe if you’d stop squirming every two seconds—”
“I’m not squirming—”
“You’ve elbowed me in the ribs twice.”
You roll your eyes in the dark and huff. You turn over sharply, giving him your back, which presses your bare thighs and ass flush against his boxers. His arm is tucked between the mattress and the wall, but you can feel the tautness in his body — the tension coiled beneath his skin.
You lay still for a full ten seconds before shifting again, trying to get comfortable.
“Jesus, Y/N,” he mutters. “Can you stop moving?”
You freeze.
“I’m uncomfortable,” you snap.
“No shit. You picked a fight and now we’re stuffed into a fucking microwave,” he says, voice tight. “You get what you want?”
You’re about to whip around and tell him to go fuck himself again — but then the bus rumbles.
A bump in the road. Just enough of a jolt to rock you backward.
Right against him.
More specifically: right against it.
You go still.
So does he.
You can feel it. Hard. Heavy. Pressed right against your lace-covered heat.
You say nothing for a second. Neither does he.
Then: “Are you seriously hard right now?” you spit, not bothering to lower your voice.
“Are you seriously grinding on me?” he fires back.
“I didn’t grind! The bus moved!”
“Uh-huh.”
You twist, facing him. His face is barely lit by the strip of LED light outside the curtain. His jaw is clenched, his eyes unreadable.
“Well maybe if you weren’t some pervert who gets off on being pissed—”
“Oh please,” he huffs. “Like you’re not soaking through those tiny-ass panties right now.”
Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
He shifts, and that thick cock presses harder between your legs, and fuck — he’s not wrong. Your body betrayed you the second he got hard. Now your pulse is in your throat, and yeah, you can feel it — the heat, the wetness, your panties practically sticking to you.
You try to move away. He keeps his hips still.
“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing against his chest.
“You’re dripping,” he says, low. “I can feel it on my leg.”
You shove him harder. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re soaked.”
You both fall into silence, breaths sharp and short. The anger’s still there, but it’s tangled now — a thread of tension pulled too tight, fraying into something else. Something that’s burning hot and humiliating and desperate.
“You’re not even gonna get me ready?” you ask, voice suddenly cold. “You’re just gonna shove it in and hope I survive?”
He scoffs. “You think I’m touching you after the way you acted?”
You glare. “I’m not taking that without prep. Are you fucking insane?”
“Then figure it out,” he growls.
Your brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“You want it? Get yourself ready.”
“Jim.”
“I’m not fingering you when you’ve been acting like I’m a fucking disease all day.”
You glare harder. You’re furious. Humiliated. And still achingly turned on. You stare at him, jaw set.
“Fine,” you mutter. But you weren’t fine, and you weren’t ready. You knew you weren’t.
Your body was still slick — hot and flushed and needy — but not in the way it should’ve been for him. Not for his size. You’d never done it like this before. No prep. No fingers. No foreplay. Just heat, anger, and the unbearable pressure of him nudging at your entrance.
“Jim…” you whispered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your expression for the first time all night.
He didn’t stop. His jaw was locked, eyes fixed on your face, and he pushed in — just barely. The stretch was instant. Sharp. Wrong.
“Shit,” you gasped, your whole body tensing up.
He stilled.
Your hands were braced on his chest now, tiny fingers splayed over the broad, solid expanse of muscle. He was so much bigger than you — always had been — and right now, the difference felt unbearable. He wasn’t even halfway in and you already felt full to the point of pain.
His breath ticked against your face. Then, for a split second — just one — his brow furrowed.
“Y/N,” he murmured. “You’re not—fuck, you’re not ready.”
“No shit,” you snapped through clenched teeth. “That’s what I was trying to say.”
He gritted his teeth. Pulled back just a little. “You should’ve said something sooner.”
“I did. You ignored me. You told me to use my own fingers like I’m some disposable hole.”
He flinched, just barely. But you caught it.
Something shifted in his expression. The fire dimmed. The anger cracked — not completely, just enough for something else to slip through. Regret. Guilt. That familiar, quiet look he got when he realized he’d gone too far.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered.
You blinked up at him, lips trembling slightly, and for a moment the silence in the bunk filled with something you hadn’t shared in hours — intimacy.
But then — you moved. Just slightly. Your hips tilted to adjust.
You clenched.
It wasn’t on purpose.
He froze.
“Stop,” he snapped, eyes going dark.
You blinked, startled. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, it’s not helping,” he growled, holding himself back with visible strain. “You’re like a goddamn vice right now.”
“Well maybe that’s because your caveman dick doesn’t fit when you’re too much of a pissed-off jackass to do the prep!”
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, bracing a hand beside your head. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
And just like that — the flicker of tenderness vanished. The fight returned. Not as loud now — not with the other guys within earshot. But more brutal somehow. Quiet and cutting. The kind of argument you can only have when you know someone so well that you know where to hit hardest.
“Why are we even doing this?” you muttered, voice shaking. “You clearly don’t want me.”
Jim’s eyes snapped to yours.
“You think I’d be inside you if I didn’t want you?” he said lowly, bitterly. “You think I’d lose sleep, let you crawl all over me on this fucking bus, beg security to bring your ass back, if I didn’t want you?”
You stared at him, breathing hard. Angry. Humiliated. Wet.
And you didn’t answer.
Because you did want him. And he wanted you. That was never the problem.
The problem was everything else.
“Just—go slow,” you said finally, voice small.
His jaw worked. Then he nodded, once.
He pushed forward again, slower this time — steady, inch by inch, with a hiss of breath between his teeth. It still hurt. He was still too big and you were still too tight, but now the burn felt like a challenge you weren’t going to back down from. His body pressed into yours, covering you, filling you — until finally he was fully inside.
You were panting. Sweat beading along your collarbone. Your head tipped back, pressed against the bunk wall.
Jim didn’t move.
“Okay?” he whispered. Quiet. Just that once.
Your eyes flicked up to him, the anger still simmering behind your lashes.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Now shut up and fuck me.”
His expression twisted — arousal and frustration and something darker. And then he did.
The rhythm returned, harder now, more punishing. His cock dragged along your walls, thick and unrelenting. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t murmur praise. He just drove into you like he had something to prove. Like every thrust was a challenge.
You met him in kind — digging your nails into his back, gritting your teeth, your legs trembling from the strain of keeping your voice down. Every now and then, your breath caught — not from pleasure, but from how tight it was. How it still hurt, even now.
But the pain made it real. It grounded you. Anchored you to him.
Because for all your anger — all your fighting — this was real. This was you and Jim, tangled in love and rage and the brutal intimacy of knowing someone so deeply you could wound each other without even trying.
And still — you kept fucking.
Because it was the only way to feel each other when words failed.
And maybe, just maybe, it was the only way to remind yourselves you still belonged to one another — even when everything else felt broken.
Hello dear! how are you? hope ok <3 i really love your writing and would love to ask you for a smut request (only if you want) i would like it to be an imagine of joey finding y/n masturbating and moaning his name, only if you want you can add sex rough and maybe degradation. take your time <3 please and thank you 💗
𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 ♱ 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧
love this! thank you for the request!!
warnings! smut, smut and very much smut! rough sex! degradation, punishment, fingering and so much more
summary; joey teaches reader a lesson for thinking she could do better than him
words; 1569
-
IT WAS LATE, and the house was too quiet. Joey wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, but you couldn’t wait any longer. The need had been building all day, a slow, simmering burn that you’d tried to ignore, but it was impossible to deny. Your body ached with longing, a desire that only he could satisfy, but he wasn’t here.
Your fingers itched to touch, to find some relief, and before you knew it, you were naked on your bed, your hand between your legs, searching for the pleasure, the one only he could give you.
Your mind was filled with thoughts of Joey—his hands, his mouth, the way he commanded every inch of your body when you were together.
Your fingers moved in desperate strokes, slick with arousal, and you couldn’t stop the soft moans that slipped from your lips, his name on your tongue like a prayer.
“Joey,” you whispered, the sound of it spurring you on as you dipped your fingers deeper, chasing the release that teased at the edges of your consciousness. Your back arched off the mattress, your breath hitching as you imagined him here, hovering over you, his intense eyes locked on yours, his voice rough and possessive as he told you how much he wanted you.
But no matter how much you tried, no matter how fast or slow your fingers moved, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t him. Your frustration grew, a whimper of desperation escaping your lips. You needed him. God, you needed him so badly.
Lost in your own world, you didn’t hear the front door open, didn’t hear the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs. All you could focus on was the growing ache between your thighs, the pressure building, and how close you were—so close—when suddenly, a voice cut through the haze of your desire like a knife.
“Enjoying yourself, kitten?”
Your eyes flew open, heart lurching in your chest as you turned your head to find Joey standing in the doorway, his expression dark and dangerous. The shock of being caught was like ice water on your skin, and you froze, your hand still buried between your legs.
“Joey,” you gasped, scrambling to sit up, but before you could move, he was there, his hand wrapping around your wrist in a bruising grip as he yanked your fingers out of your pussy.
“I asked you a question,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Were you enjoying yourself, kitten? Did you think you could get off without me?”
“I—I wasn’t—” You stammered, but the words caught in your throat as he brought your wet fingers to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, but there was no mistaking the anger in his eyes, the tension in his grip. He wasn’t pleased.
“You weren’t what?” he mocked, his eyes never leaving yours. “Weren’t thinking about me while you touched yourself? Weren’t moaning my name like a needy little slut?”
His words hit you like a blow, sharp and cutting, and you felt the sting of tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I was thinking about you,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I couldn’t wait, Joey. I needed you, but you weren’t here, and I—”
“So, you thought you could just take care of it yourself?” he cut you off, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think you can do a better job than me, kitten? Is that it?”
“No!” You shook your head frantically, desperate to make him understand. “No, Joey, I didn’t mean—”
“Shut up.” The command was harsh, and you obeyed instantly, your breath catching in your throat. His hand tightened around your wrist, his other hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark, filled with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. “You don’t get to touch yourself without my permission. You don’t get to come without me. Do you understand?”
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his dominance pressing down on you in a way that made your pulse race with equal parts fear and excitement. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“Sorry isn’t good enough, kitten,” Joey snarled, his gaze piercing as he released your chin and shoved you back onto the bed. “I’m going to teach you a lesson. A lesson you won’t forget.”
You barely had time to register his words before he grabbed your legs, spreading them wide as he settled between your thighs. His eyes were locked on your exposed, glistening cunt, and the intensity of his gaze made your breath hitch in your throat. He replaced your fingers with his. You gasped at the sensation. Joey leaned down between your legs and grabbed on to your thighs, holding them spread apart. You whimpered when he blew on your sensitive skin, the hair on your neck standing up. He worked roughly, leaving no time for you to adjust or get into his rhythm. He merely plunged his two fingers in and out of you so fast, that you weren't quite sure, as to what was happening anymore. You hissed and groaned, using the pillow beside you to muffle your screams. “You were so horny, for this weren't you? Couldn't even wait a day for my fingers, could you?” Joey taunted and looked up at you with a devilish grin. He suddenly retrieved his fingers from your cunt and for the first time ever, you were almost relieved. He’d been so fast, so brutal with your cunt that it was nearly aching.
You were taken aback by his fury. You’d expected him to be flattered, but he was seeing red.
“You think you can do a better job than me?” he hummed, his voice low and dangerous.
Joey stood up and fumbled with his jeans, the chains clinging together as he dropped them to the ground. He took a step towards the edge of the bed and leaned down, positioning himself on his knees. He leaned over and grabbed a hold of your ankles, pulling at them roughly towards him, so that you were perfectly aligned in front of him. Your heart raced as Joey pulled his hard cock out of his boxers. He positioned himself between your thighs, his eyes dark with intent as he stared down at your exposed, glistening pussy. You were so wet, so ready for him, but he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. Not after what you’d done.
“Let’s see how much you can handle, kitten.”
Before you could respond, he slammed into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, and you cried out, your back arching off the mattress as the sudden intrusion stretched you wide. Joey didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t offer you any reprieve as he set a punishing pace, each thrust deep and unrelenting.
“Is this what you wanted?” Joey growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drove into you with merciless force. “You wanted to get fucked, didn’t you, kitten? You couldn’t wait for me, so you had to do it yourself. You had to touch yourself like a dirty little whore.”
His one hand travelled up to pinch your nipple and the pain made you gasp.
His words cut deep, but they only fueled the fire burning inside you. You were helpless beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his thrusts, the roughness of his grip, but it was everything you craved. Your body responded to his dominance, the sting of his degrading words only pushing you closer to the edge.
“Tell me how much you need me,” Joey demanded, his voice sharp and commanding. “Tell me you can’t get off without me, kitten.”
“I can’t,” you gasped, tears streaming down your cheeks as your nails dug into the sheets. “I can’t, Joey. I need you. I need you so bad.”
“That’s right,” he growled, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch, to make your head spin with a dizzying mix of fear and pleasure. “You belong to me, kitten. Every part of you is mine. No one else can make you feel this way. No one else can fuck you like I can.”
A whimper escaped your lips as his grip tightened, his thrusts growing even more intense, each one driving you closer to the brink. The heat pooled low in your belly, the pressure building to an almost unbearable peak, and you knew you were close—so close—but you wouldn’t let yourself fall until he gave you permission. Until he told you you could.
“You’re going to come for me, kitten,” Joey hissed, his voice rough with his own impending release. “But only when I say so. Only when I give you permission. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you choked out, your vision blurring as you teetered on the edge of oblivion. “Please, Joey, I need to come. Please let me come.”
His grip on your throat tightened even more, cutting off your air, making your head swim as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Come for me, kitten. Now.”
The command sent you spiraling over the edge. With a choked cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you trembling, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your walls clenched tight around his cock, pulling him deeper, and Joey groaned, his release following yours as he buried himself to the hilt, his warmth flooding you.
For a long moment, you were both lost in the aftermath, your bodies still shaking, hearts pounding in unison as you lay there, tangled together on the bed. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, the heavy rise and fall of his breath as he slowly came down from his high.
Finally, Joey pulled out of you, rolling onto his side as he gathered you into his arms, his demeanor softening as he held you close. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing through your hair as he murmured, “Good girl, kitten. That’s what I like to hear.”
You snuggled into his chest, your body still quivering from the intensity of it all, but there was a deep sense of satisfaction, of comfort in the way he held you, in the warmth of his embrace. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice small and shaky.
Joey kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment before he spoke, his voice a soft rumble against my hair. “You’re forgiven, kitten. But remember, you don’t need to do that on your own. I’ll always be here to take care of you.”
His words soothed the last remnants of your fear, replacing it with a warmth that spread through your chest
i have a lil request! it’s joey jordison x fem reader fluff i guess?? basically joey and reader are best friends and one day they’re hanging out in his room and sitting beside eachother and she looks up at him and he kisses her, and it’s her first kiss. sorry this is so specific you can put your own twist on it if you’d like!
tongue-tied ♱ joey jordison
Short, but I hope that’s okay!!
warnings: nothing but fluff!!
-
The faint hum of a distant guitar riff floated from the stereo speakers, filling the air with a soft undertone of sound. Joey’s room smelled faintly of old vinyl records and the faint bite of cigarette smoke clinging to worn-out band posters taped unevenly on the walls. Dim lamplight softened the edges of everything, casting warm shadows that made the space feel smaller, cozier.
You sat beside Joey on his unmade bed, legs crossed beneath you. Your worn-out sneakers were kicked off at the foot of the bed, and you twisted the hem of your oversized hoodie between your fingers—a nervous habit you never quite grew out of. Joey, sitting just inches away, tapped his drumsticks lightly against his thigh, a restless rhythm only he could hear.
“You’ve gotta hear this part.” He leaned over to adjust the volume knob, shoulder brushing against yours as the song’s tempo shifted into something heavier. The sudden closeness sent a jolt of warmth through your chest, though you tried not to let it show.
“I like it,” you mumbled, though your mind was only half on the music now. He was much more of a music fanatic than you, and your shrugged answer made him pout slightly, yet it did not halt the good, yet slightly awkward vibes, between you.
It was always like this when you hung out with Joey—easy, comfortable, but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name.
Joey dropped the sticks onto the bedspread and flopped back against the pillows, hands folded behind his head. His dark hair fanned out against the fabric, and his eyes—shadowed beneath that glossy black hair—glanced sideways at you.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. “Something on your mind?”
You hesitated, unsure how to put words to the jittery feeling in your chest. It wasn’t nerves exactly. More like anticipation. The air between you both felt charged in a way it hadn’t before, like waiting for a drumbeat to drop.
“Just thinking,” you said vaguely.
“About?”
You opened your mouth to answer but found yourself suddenly, absurdly tongue-tied. So instead, you looked up at him—the simplest answer of all.
Joey’s gaze met yours, steady and curious. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. And then, before you could think too much about it, he leaned in.
The world seemed to slow as his lips brushed yours—soft and a little unsure at first, like he wasn’t certain if you’d pull away. But when you didn’t, he pressed in a little more, the warmth of his hand ghosting against your cheek.
It was your first kiss. Awkward and sweet and perfect all at once.
When he pulled back, his smile was shy in a way you’d never seen before. “Was that okay?”
Your breath hitched as you tried to find words that didn’t sound ridiculous. But in the end, all you could manage was the truth.
“Yeah,” you whispered, heart pounding in your chest. “More than okay.”
Joey laughed softly, dropping his hand from your cheek but not moving away. The air between you felt different now—lighter, warmer. Like something long overdue had finally fallen into place.
“Good,” he said, voice soft with something that might’ve been relief. Then, more teasingly: “If I’d known you’d look at me like that, I would’ve kissed you sooner.”
You swatted his arm, cheeks burning, but the grin tugging at your lips wouldn’t be suppressed. And when he laughed—soft and familiar, the sound of home—you knew things had changed between you. But in the best way possible.
Hi I Love ur fanfics and this is my first time requesting,so I have an idea for a joey x FEM reader story, so reader had just gone out of the shower and joey walks in and he questions why she's covered in scars and he tries to comfort her by laying down in bed with her and kissing the scars on her body. Feel free to ad smut if you want sorry if it doesn't makes sense I'm bad at explaining things.
marks ♱ joey jordison
warnings! slight mention of self-harm! semi-smut?!
Steam curled in lazy tendrils from the bathroom as you stepped out, a towel wrapped loosely around your damp body. Droplets clung to your skin, tracing the familiar patterns of old wounds, reminders of a past that never fully left you. The dim glow of the bedroom lamp flickered, casting soft shadows across the walls as you padded toward the dresser, reaching for a fresh shirt.
The sound of the door creaking open made you freeze.
“Hey, babe, I—” Joey’s voice trailed off as he stepped inside. His dark eyes flicked over your bare shoulders, down your arms, and further still. You could see the moment realization hit him, the slight furrow of his brows, the way his jaw tensed.
You immediately turned your back, pretending to rummage through the drawers, your heart pounding in your chest. “Joey, you scared me.” You forced a chuckle, trying to mask the sudden lump in your throat.
He didn’t respond right away, which was unusual for him. Joey was always quick with a snarky remark, always had a teasing grin ready. But not now. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
You swallowed hard. “What’s up?”
A rustle of fabric, the shift of the mattress. You turned slightly to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, his tattooed fingers running over his black jeans, his rings clinking softly. He looked… lost.
“Come here,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
You hesitated, gripping the towel tighter. “Joey—”
“Please.”
It was that single word, laced with something fragile, that made you move. You sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He reached out slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, and traced a calloused fingertip along one of the more prominent scars on your thigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Shame crawled up your throat, tightening its grip. “Because it’s in the past,” you murmured. “Because it doesn’t change anything.”
Joey exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching before he laced them with yours. “Doesn’t change anything?” His gaze met yours, intense and unreadable. “This is you, sweetheart. Every part of you.” He lifted your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “And if you think for a second that I don’t care about this—about you—then you don’t know me at all.”
Your chest ached, emotions warring inside you. “I just… I didn’t want you to look at me…differently.”
Joey scoffed, shaking his head. “Differently? Fuck that. If anything, I just…” He trailed off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I just wish I could’ve been there. Wish I could’ve stopped it, you know?”
Your throat tightened. “It’s not your burden to carry.”
“Too bad,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re mine, and that means every part of you matters to me.”
You bit your lip, feeling raw under his gaze. Before you could overthink it, Joey reached for you, pulling you into his lap effortlessly. The towel loosened around your body, slipping slightly, but he made no move to adjust it. Instead, his hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking over your skin like he was memorizing every inch.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a feather-light kiss to your collarbone.
A shiver ran down your spine. “Joey—”
“Let me,” he interrupted gently. His lips trailed lower, skimming over old scars with reverence. Each kiss felt like a silent promise, a vow that he saw you—all of you—and cherished every part.
Heat coiled low in your stomach as his hands roamed, slow and deliberate, teasing at the edges of the towel before pulling it away completely. You gasped, instinctively wanting to cover yourself, but Joey caught your wrists, guiding them around his shoulders instead.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your sternum. “Not from me.”
You sighed, melting into his touch as he continued his slow worship, lips pressing against every scar, every mark, until all you could feel was him. The weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the way he touched you like you were something precious.
“Lie down for me,” he whispered, and you obeyed, sinking into the mattress as he hovered over you.
Joey took his time, savoring every reaction, every hitch of your breath as he traced his tongue over sensitive skin. His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs as he settled between them, the weight of him pressing you into the bed in the most delicious way.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, nipping at your hip. “Every inch of you.”
Your fingers tangled in his dark curls, pulling him closer as a soft moan escaped your lips. He smirked against your skin before kissing his way back up, capturing your mouth in a slow, deep kiss that left you breathless.
“Joey, please,” you murmured, arching into him.
He groaned, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
And then he was everywhere—his hands, his lips, his voice, worshipping you in a way that made you feel whole, made you feel seen.
hiiii, would you mind doing an angsty one shot with jim where the reader and him are seeing each other again after having decided to take a “break” from one another due to a hiccups in their relationship? maybe add a little smut? thank you so much! love your works! 🖤
hiccups ♱ jim root
i hope you enjoy this! sorry for the long wait!
summary: jim and the reader reunite, confront their shared mistakes, and decide to try again.
Pairing: Jim Root (Slipknot) × Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Break-up/Make-up, Angst, Reconciliation
Warnings: P-in-V sex, vanillia, oral sex (giving and receiving.
Word Count: ~ 3.282
-
The sky over Des Moines has that sickly, bruised-fruit color it gets right before night settles in for good—purple and gray and heavy, like it’s pressing down on the city. By the time you pull into the gravel lot of the dive bar, your hands are clenched so tight around the steering wheel your knuckles ache. The place looks exactly like it always has: a low, squat building with a flickering neon sign, the kind of bar people go to when they don’t want to be recognized or remembered. It smells like old cigarettes and spilled beer even from the parking lot, like regret has soaked into the foundation.
You spot his truck immediately.
It shouldn’t still have the power to do this to you, but it does. The sight of it hits your chest like a dull blow, knocking the air halfway out of your lungs. He’s here. After weeks of space, of carefully worded texts and long silences, he’s just… a few yards away, sitting on the other side of a wall.
The break was supposed to help. That’s what you told each other, anyway. A pause. A reset. Something to stop the slow erosion that had been happening ever since the tour cycles grew longer and the quiet between you grew sharper. Fame hadn’t broken you—it had just worn you thin. Both of you. Too tired to fight, too tired to fix it, too tired to even explain what hurt.
You push open the heavy oak door. The bell above it rings, loud and bright in the dim bar, and the sound makes your stomach twist. Inside, the air is warm and stale, music humming low from a jukebox in the corner. No one looks up. This place is perfect for disappearing.
And then you see him.
He’s in the back booth, exactly where you half-expected he’d be, hunched over a glass of whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him anchored to the floor. Even like that—even folded into himself—Jim takes up space. His shoulders are broad, his presence unmistakable. His long hair hangs loose, partially hiding his face, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his posture. The way he holds himself when he’s braced for impact.
As you walk toward him, he looks up.
“You’re late,” he says, his voice rough, low enough that you feel it more than hear it.
You stop at the edge of the booth. “I almost didn’t come.”
Something flickers across his face—hurt, understanding, relief—all tangled together. He slides over, the vinyl seat squeaking softly, and pats the empty space beside him.
“But you did,” he says quietly. “Sit down. Please.”
You do.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The table between you feels like a no-man’s-land, cluttered with condensation rings and old regrets. Finally, you start talking—not about the break, not yet. You talk about the tour dates he’s wrapping up, the riffs he can’t stop obsessing over, how every song feels like it’s chasing something he can’t quite catch. You tell him about the house, how it feels too big when he’s gone—and somehow even bigger when he’s there but not really there, lost in his own head.
The truth creeps in slowly, careful and unarmed. The hiccups were never explosive. There was no betrayal, no dramatic betrayal you could point to and say, that’s where it broke. It was the quiet. The way he’d retreat inward, shut down, become unreachable. The way you started to feel like a ghost, moving around him instead of with him.
“I didn’t know how to come down,” Jim admits finally. His voice is softer now, stripped bare. His hand moves across the table, hesitant, until his fingers hover near yours. “The adrenaline just… it burns everything else out. I’d come home and feel empty. Like there was nothing left to give. I hated that you saw me like that.”
Your throat tightens. You let your hand rest against his, closing the distance he was too afraid to finish crossing.
“I didn’t mind the shell, Jim,” you say quietly. “I minded that you wouldn’t let me help fill it back up.”
His fingers curl around yours immediately, like he’s been waiting for permission. His hand is warm, rough, gripping just a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, absent-minded rhythm, and the simple touch sends a familiar ache through you.
The tension shifts. It’s still emotional, still fragile—but there’s something else now, something physical and undeniable. The booth feels smaller. The space between your knees and his feels charged. When you look up, his eyes aren’t on your face anymore—they’re on your mouth, like he’s memorizing it all over again.
Jim’s hand is still hovering near yours, not touching now, like he’s afraid one wrong move will send you bolting.
The silence is deafening. You’re the one who breaks it.
“This wasn’t just on you,” you say, quietly but firmly. “I need you to know that before we go any further.”
He looks up at you then, really looks—brows drawn together, jaw tight. “I know you keep saying that, but—”
“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “You don’t. You hear it, but you don’t believe it.”
That makes him go still.
You glance down at the table, at the little cracks in the wood filled with years of spilled alcohol and bad decisions. It feels easier to talk when you’re not staring straight at him. “I pulled away too, Jim. I got resentful. I stopped asking questions because I was scared of the answers—or worse, scared you wouldn’t even hear them.”
He swallows. “You always heard me.”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “And that’s part of the problem. I listened so hard that I forgot to talk.”
That lands.
He leans back against the booth, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”
“I didn’t tell you,” you admit. “Not clearly. I’d get passive, snippy. I’d act like I didn’t care when you disappeared into your head, but I did. I cared so much it made me angry.”
His mouth twists, something like pain flashing through his eyes. “I thought you were… bored of me. Or tired of the same conversation over and over.”
You look up then. “I was tired, yeah. But not of you. I was tired of feeling like I had to compete with the noise in your head.”
He nods slowly, absorbing it. “I didn’t realize how shut down I was until you weren’t there anymore. The house was quiet, and for once it wasn’t peaceful—it was loud as hell.”
That pulls a small, sad smile from you. “Funny. I felt the same way.”
He leans forward again, forearms braced on the table. “I should’ve let you in more. I should’ve said, ‘Hey, I’m not okay, and I don’t know how to fix it.’ Instead, I just… disappeared.”
“And I should’ve pushed back,” you say. “Instead of matching your silence with my own. I thought giving you space was the loving thing to do, but really, I was protecting myself.”
He studies you for a long moment, eyes searching. “Did you ever think about not coming back? Like… really ending it?”
Your chest tightens, but you don’t lie. “Yeah. I thought about it a lot. Some days it felt easier to imagine a clean break than fixing something this tangled.”
His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Same. And I hated myself for it.”
You reach across the table again, this time more deliberately. He takes your hand immediately, like muscle memory kicking in.
“But I didn’t want to be done,” you continue. “I just didn’t know how to be better without burning us both out.”
He squeezes your hand once. “I don’t want to keep doing this halfway thing. Where I show up physically but leave you alone emotionally.”
“And I don’t want to keep assuming the worst when you shut down,” you say. “I want to ask instead of accuse. Even when I’m scared of what you’ll say.”
There’s a long pause. Not awkward—heavy, but honest.
“So what are we saying here?” Jim asks quietly. “Because I don’t want this to just be… missing each other.”
You meet his eyes, steady. “I’m saying the break showed me what doesn’t work. But it also showed me I still want to try—if we both do.”
His thumb starts tracing your knuckles again, slower this time, calmer. “I do. I want to learn how to come home without shutting you out. And I want you to call me on my shit when I start drifting.”
A breath leaves you that you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “And I want you to tell me when you need space instead of disappearing. I can handle the truth. I can’t handle guessing.”
He lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “We really sucked at communicating.”
You huff a soft laugh. “World-class bad.”
The tension breaks just enough for something warmer to slip in. He looks at you differently now—not desperate, not guarded. Grounded.
He exhales, a shaky breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “We should get out of here,” he mutters. “Before I say something stupid. Or start apologizing all over again.”
You squeeze his hand once, grounding him. “Okay.”
He stands first, towering as he always does, but when he looks back at you, there’s something different there—hope, cautious and real. As you follow him toward the door, the bell rings again, sharp and clear, and for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t sound like an ending.
Outside, the night has cooled, the bruised purple sky deepening into something darker and quieter. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you follow him toward his truck. Neither of you rush. It feels important not to.
Jim unlocks the door but doesn’t get in right away. He leans back against the side of the truck, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them like he can’t quite settle. The neon from the bar washes over his face in soft flashes of red and blue.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“When things started going bad,” he says slowly, choosing each word, “did you ever feel like I didn’t want you anymore?”
The question lands heavier than you expect. You take a breath. “Sometimes. Yeah. Not because of what you said—but because of what you didn’t.”
He winces but doesn’t interrupt.
“When you’d come home and go quiet, I’d tell myself you were just tired. But after a while, it felt like you were relieved I wasn’t asking for anything.” You glance away, embarrassed by the honesty. “So I stopped asking.”
“I thought you didn’t need me the same way anymore,” he admits. “You were so… capable. You handled everything. I figured you were better off when I stayed out of the way.”
You look back at him, disbelief flickering into something sadder. “Jim, I didn’t need you less. I just needed you with me.”
He exhales hard, tipping his head back against the truck. “God. We really missed each other, didn’t we?”
“By inches,” you say. “Which somehow hurt more.”
Silence stretches again, but it’s different now—no longer a wall, more like a pause to breathe.
“I was scared,” he says quietly. “Not of losing you. Of keeping you and still failing.”
You step closer, until there’s barely space between you and him. “I was scared that if I told you how lonely I felt, you’d feel like you were never enough. And I didn’t want to be another thing you felt like you disappointed.”
His eyes soften. “You don’t disappoint me.”
“I know that now,” you say. “But back then… I let fear do the talking.”
He nods, eyes dropping to the ground. “I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want fear running the show.”
“Me neither.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then he reaches out—not fast, not desperate—and brushes his thumb along your wrist, right where your pulse jumps.
“So,” he says, a hint of nervousness creeping in. “Do you want to come back to my place? We don’t have to—” He stops himself, shakes his head. “I’m not asking for anything. I just don’t want tonight to end in a parking lot.”
You smile at his proposal and nod.
The drive to Jim’s house is a blur of rain-slicked pavement and the rhythmic thrum of the engine, a sound that usually lulls you to sleep but tonight feels like a countdown. You glance at his profile in the dim glow of the dashboard—the sharp line of his jaw, barely visible beneath his impressive beard, the way his large, veiny tattooed hand grips the steering wheel a little too tight.
The silence between you is heavy, vibrating with all the things you didn’t say at the bar, all the months of "space" that only served to show you how empty the world felt without his shadow looming in it.
When he finally pulls into the driveway of the home you once shared, your heart performs a painful stutter. He kills the engine, but neither of you moves.
"I didn't change the locks," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble in the cramped cabin. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt too final."
"I kept my key," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. "In the back of my wallet. Just in case."
He turns to you then, his dark eyes searching yours, looking for a sign that this is more than just a momentary lapse in resolve. He finds it in the way your breath hitches. Without a word, he’s out of the truck and opening your door, his hand reaching for yours to lead you inside.
The house smells like him—sandalwood, old guitar strings, and that faint, metallic scent of the road. As soon as the door clicks shut, the "break" officially shatters. He doesn't flip the lights. He doesn't need to. He crowds you against the wood of the door, his massive frame a warm, solid weight that you’ve ached for.
"I missed you so fucking much," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His beard is soft, scratching your skin in that familiar way that makes your toes curl.
"It was so quiet here. It was driving me insane."
He kisses you then, a slow, deep exploration that tastes of the whiskey he had at the bar and the raw desperation of a man who has been starving. His hands, those long, incredible fingers that can coax fire from a fretboard, are suddenly everywhere—mapping your curves through your clothes as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.
He leads you to the bedroom, the sanctuary where you spent so many mornings tangled in sheets. He strips you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression one of pure, unadulterated reverence. When you are finally bare before him, he drops to his knees.
"Jim..." you gasp, your fingers sinking into his long, dark hair.
"Let me," he murmurs against your thigh. "I’ve spent four months thinking about how you taste."
He parts you with practiced ease, his thumbs gently spreading your cunt as he leans in. The first lick is long and slow, a deliberate stroke that sends a bolt of electricity straight to your core. He’s meticulous, his tongue swirling around your clit while he uses his fingers to stretch you open, sliding two of them deep inside you to feel the way you're already soaking for him.
You arch your back, a ragged moan escaping your throat as he drinks you in. He treats you like a masterpiece, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, his tongue flicking and pulsing against you until you’re a trembling mess of nerves. He doesn't stop until your hips are bucking against him, until you’re sobbing his name into the quiet room.
When he finally stands, his eyes are dark with a predatory heat. You reach for him, your hands fumbling with his belt, needing to feel him just as much.
You pull his trousers down, and his cock springs free—thick, heavy, and pulsing with his heartbeat. You take him into your mouth, wanting to give back every ounce of the pleasure he just poured into you.
He lets out a choked sound, his head falling back as you swirl your tongue around the head of his length, tasting the salt and the heat of him. His hands rest on your head, his fingers threading through your hair, not pushing, just holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him upright. He’s so sensitive, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches as you take him deeper, your hand stroking the base of him.
"Enough," he rasps, his voice breaking. “I can't... I won't last if you keep doing that."
He pulls you up onto the bed, hovering over you, his massive body shielding you from the rest of the world. This isn't the rough, angry sex of a fight; this is a reunion. It’s soft, it’s sweet.
He enters you slowly, his cock sliding into your dripping cunt with a heavy, agonizing friction. You both let out a synchronized moan as he bottoms out, the fullness of him stretching you, completing the puzzle that has been missing a piece for months.
"Look at me," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
You open your eyes to find him watching you with a look of such profound love that it brings tears to your eyes. He begins to move, a slow, rhythmic grind that emphasizes the connection rather than the speed. He’s deep inside you, his chest pressed against yours, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your own.
Every thrust is a promise. Every time he pulls back, only to sink into your heat again, it feels like he’s stitching the wounds of your relationship back together. His hands find yours, pinning them to the pillow, fingers interlaced as he drives deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot that makes your vision go white.
"You're mine," he panted, his sweat dripping onto your skin. "Tell me you're mine."
"Always, Jim. I’m always yours."
The pace quickens as the tension builds, the friction of his skin against yours creating a heat that feels like it’s going to consume the entire room. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him. The sound of his heavy breathing and the wet slap of your bodies meeting is the only music you need.
When the climax hits, it’s a slow-motion explosion. You shatter beneath him, your walls pulsing around his length, and he follows you a second later with a guttural roar, his body locking tight as he spends himself deep inside you.
He collapses onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. For a long time, neither of you speaks. You just lay there, tangled together, the silence finally peaceful.
Jim eventually rolls to the side, pulling you into his arms so you’re tucked against his side. He kisses the top of your head, his hand stroking your arm in a slow, soothing motion.
"We have a lot to talk about tomorrow," he whispers into the dark.
"I know," you murmur, closing your eyes and finally feeling safe. "But tonight, let's just stay here."
"I'm not letting go," he promises, his grip tightening just enough to let you know he means it. "Not again."
— Y/N calls it quits too early—Jim proves she’s not done.
Pairing: Jim Root (Slipknot) × Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Smut, Established Relationship, Power Play, Slight Overstimulation
Warnings: P-in-V sex, overstimulation, teasing/brat behavior, light dominance, dirty talk, no aftercare neglect (ends soft), mild language
Word Count: ~3,000
-
The bedroom was quiet except for the soft buzz of the lamp and the slow drag of breath between kisses. You were already straddling him, hands on his chest, his shirt half unbuttoned beneath you. His hair was messy—your fault. His lips, red and slightly swollen—also your fault.
Jim leaned back slightly against the headboard, lazily tracing his fingers up your thighs beneath his shirt, which now hung off your shoulders.
“Kind of aggressive tonight, huh?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
You grinned, your lips brushing his jaw. “I just wanted you.”
He hummed. “You always do.”
You rocked your hips slowly over him, feeling how hard he already was beneath you. “Yeah, well… you were being mouthy earlier.”
“I was right earlier,” he corrected. “You’re the one who gets mouthy when you’re horny.”
You didn’t dignify that with a response—you just slid your hand between your bodies and guided him into you. The groan that left his mouth made you feel like you’d just won a prize.
“Fuck,” he hissed, hands tightening around your hips. “You’re serious tonight.”
You sank down on him fully, closing your eyes and relishing the stretch. “I told you I wanted you.”
Jim’s head tilted back against the wall, his jaw clenched tight as you started to move—slow, deliberate, letting him feel everything. He let you take the lead, just gripping your waist and watching you through half-lidded eyes.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice gravel-thick. “Taking what you want.”
“I always do,” you breathed, hands planted on his chest.
His smirk deepened. “I’ll remember that later.”
But right now, he wasn’t trying to take control—he was letting you ride it out. And you did. You chased it. You pushed your hips harder against his, leaned in and bit at his neck, dragged your nails down his stomach, until the fire started curling low in your belly. You moaned against his skin, grinding down, chasing every flicker of pleasure until it finally took over—sharp, fast, overwhelming.
Your body trembled as you came, and you felt Jim’s grip falter for a second, his own breath catching at the way you clenched around him. But you were done. You’d gotten yours.
You slumped forward, forehead pressed to his collarbone.
You were nestled comfortably against him, your back to his chest, skin flushed, heartbeat just starting to settle. He was still inside you, hard and unmoving. You were riding the high of your orgasm, smug and drowsy, already halfway checked out.
“Mmm.” You sighed contentedly, resting your head against his shoulder. “That was so good.”
Jim’s voice came a second later. “Uh-huh. Glad you enjoyed yourself.”
You laughed sleepily. “You’re welcome.”
His voice dropped lower. “I didn’t come.”
You smirked, eyes still closed. “Yeah. You can do that later.”
“Later?” he repeated, incredulous.
“Yeah.” You shifted slightly, just enough to make him groan at the movement. “You’ll be fine.”
There was a pause. A moment of silence that felt almost too quiet.
Then you felt it—his hips pulling back just slightly.
Your eyes popped open. “Jim—”
Before you could finish, he thrust into you. Slowly. Deeply. No warning.
“Jim!”
He didn’t say a word. Just kept moving, slow and controlled, his hand slipping to your hip to hold you in place.
“Wait—what are you—oh my god.”
He kissed the back of your neck, breath warm. “You were perfectly fine a minute ago.”
Your body jolted, still sensitive from your orgasm. You reached behind you to press at his thigh. “I just came! I’m—shit—s-sensitive.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t stop. His thrusts stayed steady, hips pressing against your ass, cock sliding right against that oversensitive spot inside you that made your breath catch every time.
“Jim!” you gasped, trying to squirm forward, but he held you tighter.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Holy—okay—wait, fuck—”
“You’re not done until I’m done,” he said low in your ear. “Thought you could just come and roll over? Nah, babe. Not how this works.”
Your brain short-circuited as pleasure and overstimulation collided. His rhythm never faltered, each thrust deliberate and dragging, like he was savoring how wrecked you were getting.
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a breathy, desperate sound.
“Oh, now you don’t have anything to say?” Jim teased, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “You had a whole lot of attitude two minutes ago.”
You whimpered. “J-Jim, I—fuck, please—”
“You’re taking it,” he growled. “You’re gonna feel all of me. Since you clearly had more in you.”
You couldn’t think. Couldn’t argue. Your entire body was hypersensitive, twitching with every drag of him inside you.
“Feels too good, doesn’t it?” he muttered against your skin.
You nodded helplessly, mouth parted in a silent moan.
“You wanted to be in control,” he continued, breath heavy. “Now I’m in control. That okay?”
You choked on a yes. It came out more like a sob.
Jim’s free hand slid under your thigh, hiking your leg up so he could get deeper, and the way you cried out made him groan behind you.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good for me.”
Your second orgasm hit so fast you didn’t even realize it was building. One minute you were breathless, the next you were shaking in his arms, legs trembling, your whole body spasming around him.
You cried out his name, nails digging into his forearm where it wrapped around you.
Jim gritted his teeth as you clenched around him, his thrusts faltering. “Shit, babe—fucking hell—”
He buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural groan, hips pressing flush against your ass as he held you tightly.
Neither of you moved for a while. Just panting, sweat-damp skin against skin, hearts racing in sync.
Finally, you managed to breathe out a stunned laugh. “You’re… such an asshole.”
Jim chuckled, kissing your neck. “And you started it.”
