˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

The hunt was over, the motel door slammed behind you, and before you could even kick off your boots, Sam was on you. His lips crashed into yours, hands gripping your waist like he’d been holding himself back for hours.

“Sam—” you started, but your words dissolved into a breathy laugh when his mouth trailed to your neck, teeth grazing your skin.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered against your throat, voice rough. “I’ve been dying for this since you walked out of the shower this morning.”

Heat rushed through you at the memory—you’d caught the way his eyes darkened, but you hadn’t expected him to snap like this. His size dwarfed you, pinning you against the door, the hard line of him pressing into your hip.

“You could’ve said something earlier,” you teased, fingers tugging at his flannel buttons.

Sam huffed a laugh, low and sharp. “Trust me, sweetheart, if I’d started earlier, we never would’ve made it to the hunt.”

That was all the warning you got before he turned you, guiding you toward the dresser. His hands were urgent now, sliding your shorts down with one impatient tug, his mouth brushing your ear as he whispered, softer, “Tell me you want this.”

“I want it, Sam,” you breathed, leaning forward on the dresser, heart racing. “Please.”

His control snapped. With one rough thrust, he was inside you, and both of you groaned at the suddenness of it. The dresser rattled beneath your palms as his hips slammed into yours, fast and hungry, years of tension unraveling in every snap of his hips.

Still, even in his urgency, he kept one hand locked around yours on the dresser, grounding you, while the other slid between your thighs. His fingers worked you with slow, teasing circles that contrasted the hard pace of his thrusts.

“God, you feel incredible,” he gritted, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged. “So tight… so perfect.”

The mix of rough and tender left you trembling, pleasure curling hot in your stomach until you came hard around him, muffling your cry into your arm. Sam’s rhythm faltered as he groaned your name, hips stuttering until he spilled inside you, shuddering against your back.

Silence filled the room, heavy and sweet. Sam leaned against you, breathless, his chest rising and falling against your spine. Then he chuckled softly, kissing your temple.

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄

︵‿︵‿₊˚๑‿︵‿︵

vein of gold — multi-part roman godfrey slow burn… messy feelings, bad decisions, and that dangerous kind of closeness you can’t step away from

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒

︵‿︵‿₊˚๑︶₊˚‿︵‿︵

untitled (vote) — hotch accidentally catches feelings, and it turns into this quiet, slow build kind of thing

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋

︵‿︵‿₊˚๑‿︵‿︵

untitled (request) — fluffy slow burn with sam, first time vibes, lots of softness and nervous touches

untitled (request) — things get heated but reader has an allergic reaction to latex during sex, so sam has to step up and handle it carefully

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃

︵‿︵‿₊˚๑‿︵‿︵

Your thumb hovers over the screen, Joel’s name lit up in the soft blue light of your phone. You shouldn’t be calling him. You know that. But the room’s spinning a little, your friend ditched you for some guy upstairs, and the boy who offered to drive you home just winked in a way that made your stomach turn.

You hit dial anyway.

It’s late—well past midnight—but Joel picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Joel…” Your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to. A little slurred. “I—I know it’s late, I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

His voice tightens immediately. “You alright?”

You bite your lip. “Can you come get me?”

A long pause. Then: “Where are you, baby?”

You tell him.

He doesn’t hesitate.

⸻

The street’s quiet when his truck pulls up—big, dark, familiar. You’re sitting on the curb, knees pulled up, heels kicked off into the grass beside you. It’s warm out, the kind of humid Texas summer night that clings to your skin and makes the air feel thick.

Joel slams the truck door and walks toward you fast, his boots hitting the pavement like thunder. His face is hard to read in the dark, but his jaw’s set and his eyes sweep over you like he’s checking for bruises.

“You okay?” he asks, crouching in front of you.

You smile, lazy and tired. “Joel Miller. My hero.”

He huffs, not amused. “Jesus. You’ve been drinking.”

“A little,” you admit, swaying slightly where you sit. “I’m fine.”

“You’re barefoot.”

“I couldn’t walk in those shoes. Evil. Made by Satan.”

He shakes his head and then—without a word—he scoops you up.

“Joel!” you giggle, arms automatically wrapping around his neck. “What’re you doing?”

“You can’t walk. I’m not lettin’ you trip in a parking lot and crack your skull.”

His chest is solid against yours. He smells like soap and sweat and that old cologne you’ve never had the courage to name. You rest your head on his shoulder and feel the muscle in his jaw tick.

“You always take care of me,” you murmur. “I like that.”

“You’re drunk,” he mutters.

“I still mean it.”

He doesn’t say anything.

In the truck, you slump against the window, feet in his lap, body heavy with warmth. You trace your finger over the seam of the seat, stealing glances at him. His hand rests near your ankle, careful but steady, his fingers flexing every few seconds like he’s remembering you’re there.

“You ever think about me?” you ask quietly, voice hushed under the hum of the highway.

He doesn’t look at you. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

“That’s not a no.”

He finally glances your way, sharp and tired. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’. Sleep it off.”

You pout. “I’m not a baby.”

“No. But you’re nineteen. You’ve had God knows what to drink. I’m not talkin’ about this with you right now.”

You shift slightly, letting your toes brush his thigh. He flinches.

“Go to sleep,” he says again, rougher.

But you hear it—the edge in his voice. The way he swallows hard when your fingers skim over the denim of his jeans.

He’s not unaffected.

You just don’t know yet how hard he’s trying not to be.

The house smells like him. Clean laundry, coffee, pine wood. You’ve only been inside a few times—back when your dad helped him with the new deck, or when they’d watch football and you’d pretend to care. But the guest room is empty now, clean sheets turned down like he knew you were coming.

Joel sets you down carefully on the edge of the bed, and you fall back with a soft thump, smiling up at him.

“Comfy,” you say.

“Good.”

He kneels to pull a blanket over you. You watch the way his brows furrow, how focused he is even now. He adjusts your pillow, stands to turn off the light—but not before you reach for him.

“Joel.”

He pauses in the doorway.

“Stay?”

He doesn’t turn around. “You’re drunk, baby. Go to sleep.”

“Just for a minute.”

His hand flexes on the doorframe.

“You’ll feel better in the morning,” he says softly. “Sleep it off. I’ll be right down the hall if you need anythin’, alright?”

The door closes gently behind him.

⸻

The clock glows red. Your mouth’s dry. Your head’s clearer than before—just heavy, not spinning. Your bladder aches.

You sit up slowly. Bare feet touch cool hardwood. You pad down the hallway toward the bathroom. No lights on, just the low creak of the old house as it settles into the night.

And then you hear it.

Low. Muffled. Not a voice exactly—but breath.

You pause at the door across the hall.

Joel’s door.

It’s open just an inch.

You should walk away. You should keep moving.

But your feet betray you.

You lean forward—just enough to see through the sliver of space.

And your heart nearly stops.

Joel sits on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, shirt off, sweatpants pushed down low on his hips. One hand is on his knee. The other…

He strokes himself slowly. Long, deliberate, like he’s savoring the tension.

You’ve never seen anything like it.

He’s thick. Bigger than you imagined. His hand barely fits around him.

Your lips part before you can stop them.

His breathing is uneven now. You hear him exhale, jaw clenched.

And then—

Then your name.

Barely more than a whisper. “Fuck… baby…”

You freeze. Breath caught. He’s thinking about you.

Your hand brushes the door, a tiny shift in weight—and Joel hears it.

His head jerks up.

Your eyes meet through the crack in the door.

He stills.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and rough.

You push the door open slowly.

He scrambles to pull the blanket over himself, standing quickly. “What the hell—? What’re you doin’?”

“I had to pee,” you whisper, stepping inside. “I heard you.”

His eyes are wild. Like a cornered animal. “You’re not supposed to—you shouldn’t be—fuck—”

“Joel,” you say quietly. “Were you thinking about me?”

He looks like he’s in pain. “You need to go back to bed.”

“I’m not drunk anymore.”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re stone cold sober,” he says, voice low. “You’re—” He swallows. “You’re my best friend’s daughter.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No,” he admits. “You’re not.”

Silence thickens the space between you. Joel stands with the blanket bunched in his fists, his chest still rising and falling from before. You can see the conflict written all over him—desire warring with restraint.

“Why’d you say my name?” you ask.

He closes his eyes. Runs a hand through his hair.

“Because I’m weak.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

“I’m not asking,” you say. “I’m telling you I want you.”

His eyes open, dark and dangerous.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

A pause. His knuckles are white where he grips the blanket.

“If I touch you,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “I ain’t gonna be able to stop.”

You tilt your head up. “Then don’t stop.”

He’s breathing harder now. You can feel the tension between you, thick and electric.

He steps closer still, towering over you, heat rolling off his bare skin.

“Sweetheart,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve tried so goddamn hard not to look at you like this.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Then stop trying.”

Joel’s chest rises with every breath like he’s struggling to stay grounded. You’ve never seen him look like this—unraveled. His hair’s messy, sticking to his forehead, mouth slightly parted like he’s been holding in every word, every look, every thought for months.

“Do you even know what you’re doin’, baby?” he says, voice hoarse.

“I know I want you.”

He lets out a bitter, breathless laugh, like that hurts worse than anything.

“You shouldn’t.”

You take a step forward, heart pounding.

“But I do.”

Joel’s jaw flexes. “This ain’t right.”

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you, breathing unevenly, the blanket still clutched in front of his hips like some kind of shield.

You move closer.

His hand reaches out—automatically, instinctively—fingers brushing your arm like he’s checking that you’re really there. That you mean this. You tilt your face up toward him, waiting.

When he speaks, it’s quiet. “I’ve thought about this,” he confesses, almost broken. “God, I’ve thought about it so fuckin’ much I hate myself for it.”

“Then stop hating yourself.”

His eyes close. You’re close enough now to feel his heat, smell the sleep-warm skin and old spice lingering on his neck.

“I’m not a little girl, Joel,” you say. “I’m not your friend’s kid tonight. I’m just me.”

He groans—soft and low—like it physically hurts to hear.

And then his hand lifts slowly to your cheek, brushing your skin like it might burn him.

“You tell me to stop,” he rasps. “You say it, and I will. I swear to God.”

You don’t.

Instead, you lean forward, press your lips softly to his.

It’s the lightest kiss—barely a touch—but his body jolts under it, and the blanket slips a little lower on his hips.

His hand curves around your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he kisses you back, finally, slowly, like he’s memorizing your mouth. He kisses you like he thinks he’s going to hell for it.

Maybe he is.

But he’s going anyway.

You gasp when his other hand drops to your waist, pulling you in gently, and you feel it—him. Hard against the fabric. Thick and hot and real.

He breaks away, panting.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

“You already are,” you breathe.

He looks down at you, brows drawn tight with emotion. “This your first time?”

You nod.

Joel’s face breaks.

“Christ.” He steps back like he’s been slapped, dragging a hand through his hair. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

You freeze. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he snaps. “No, it ain’t that. It’s just—” He paces a short line across the room. “You really want me to be the one? For this?”

You walk toward him slowly, nodding. “It’s always been you.”

That cracks something open in him.

His hand is back on your cheek again, reverent. Like he’s holding something fragile.

“I’m gonna go slow,” he tells you, voice trembling. “You tell me if anything feels wrong. You tell me, and I stop. No questions.”

“I trust you.”

He swallows hard. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust myself when you look at me like that.”

You reach for the hem of your oversized sleep shirt—the one he gave you to wear, from his drawer—and pull it slowly up and over your head.

His breath catches.

You’re not wearing a bra.

He just stands there for a moment, staring at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. You start to cover yourself on instinct, arms folding up—but he steps forward fast and gently grabs your wrists.

“No. Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t hide from me.”

You nod.

Joel’s hands are warm, rough as they slide up from your elbows to your shoulders, then down to your sides, memorizing the shape of you. His palms span your waist like they were made to fit there.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he mutters. “You don’t even know.”

You blink up at him, flushed. “You can touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you.”

“No—I mean really.”

His eyes darken. “Sweetheart. If I start, I won’t stop.”

You step closer until your bare chest presses against his.

“Then start. Please.”

That breaks him.

Joel groans softly, his mouth crashing into yours, and this kiss is different—deeper, desperate. He lifts you easily by the backs of your thighs, carrying you to his bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He lays you down gently, reverently, hovering over you like he’s not sure he deserves this.

His hand runs down your thigh, back up your stomach, over the soft swell of your breast. You arch into him.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “More than okay.”

He leans down to kiss your neck, your collarbone, the slope of your breast. His mouth is warm and soft and so careful. You’ve never been touched like this. Not even close.

“God, you’re soft,” he mutters against your skin. “Could stay here all night.”

Your thighs squeeze together.

He notices.

Joel moves his hand lower, dragging it slowly down your belly to the waistband of the borrowed sleep shorts.

He pauses.

“Can I?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

He slips a hand beneath the waistband, sliding over the front of your panties, pressing softly.

You let out a breathy sound, thighs trembling.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You hide your face in your arm, embarrassed.

Joel pulls it gently away. “Hey,” he says, soft but serious. “Don’t hide. It’s a good thing.”

“I’ve never… I didn’t know it’d feel like this.”

“You ain’t even felt anything yet,” he says, kissing your cheek.

He slips your panties down, slow and patient, then settles between your legs, letting his hand come back—this time, skin on skin.

His fingers slide between your folds, slow and steady, circling your clit in featherlight patterns.

You gasp.

Joel watches your face carefully. “That okay?”

You nod quickly, hand fisting the sheets.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

That makes your stomach flip.

He keeps working you, slow and unhurried, until your hips are grinding against his hand and your breaths are ragged.

“I got you,” he whispers. “Just let go for me.”

You come hard—whimpering his name, thighs trembling around his hand.

Joel leans over you, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder. He holds you like you might float away.

“That’s my girl,” he says softly. “Takin’ me so good already.”

You’re blinking up at him, dazed, panting.

And he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

You’re still catching your breath, trembling from the orgasm Joel coaxed out of you with nothing but his fingers and words. He’s hovering over you now, breathing heavier than before, watching every inch of your face like it holds the answer to some question he’s been asking himself for years.

You reach for him.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head slightly, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “This ain’t about me.”

“But I want it to be.”

His throat bobs. “You sure, baby?”

You nod. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes flutter shut, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it hurts.

“You say shit like that and I swear to God…” he mutters.

You reach down to tug the blanket away from his hips. Joel doesn’t stop you this time.

His cock springs free, thick and heavy, flushed deep at the tip. Your lips part instinctively. You knew he’d be big—you just didn’t know he’d look like this. Your thighs clench on instinct.

Joel watches your expression with something like worry.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmurs, leaning over you again, kissing the edge of your mouth. “We don’t gotta do this if you’re not ready. I’ll be fine just holdin’ you.”

You swallow hard. “I want it, Joel. I want you.”

His face softens, thumb stroking your cheek. “Okay, baby. Okay.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, his body pressing closer—naked skin to naked skin, heat wrapping around you like a second blanket. You feel the weight of him between your legs, heavy against your thigh.

“I don’t got a condom,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, cheeks burning. “I’m on the pill.”

His eyes close. He breathes out slow.

“Christ.”

Then he’s lining himself up, fist wrapped loosely around the base of his cock. His other hand slides under your knee, guiding your legs open wider.

You feel the blunt, warm tip at your entrance—barely there.

“Deep breath, baby,” he whispers. “Just let me in. Little at a time.”

You exhale, and he pushes forward.

Even just the head makes you gasp—it stretches in a way you’ve never felt before. It doesn’t hurt, but your body tenses anyway, overwhelmed by the sudden fullness.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs. “You’re doin’ so good.”

You grip his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut as he presses in another inch.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “fuck.”

You whimper softly, and his mouth is right by your ear in an instant.

“You okay? You tell me if I need to stop.”

“No,” you gasp. “Don’t stop. Just—slow.”

“I got you,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

He moves so carefully it almost hurts—inch by inch, letting you adjust, kissing your jaw, whispering how good you’re doing.

When he’s finally all the way in, he pauses, buried to the hilt, both of you shaking a little.

You’ve never felt anything like it.

The stretch, the fullness, the warmth of his body pressing into yours—it’s overwhelming in the best way. You feel completely taken, completely safe.

Joel brushes your hair back, kisses your temple.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he mutters. “Feels like heaven.”

Your hips shift slightly, instinctive.

He groans.

“You tryin’ to kill me?”

You smile, breathless. “Want you to move.”

He pulls out just a little, then rocks back in—slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch.

Your back arches. “Oh my God—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, thrusting again, just a little faster. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod fast, nails digging into his back. “Feels so full—I’ve never—fuck.”

He chuckles low. “That’s it. Take me. You’re takin’ me so well.”

Each thrust is careful, deliberate. He doesn’t fuck you—he makes love to you like it’s killing him not to lose control, like he wants to savor every second of being inside you.

“Never gonna forget this,” he whispers. “Never had anything this good.”

His forehead rests against yours. The bed creaks softly beneath you. His hand slips between your bodies, fingers brushing your clit, and you jolt.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he says, voice rough and loving. “Can feel how close you are.”

“Joel—” your voice breaks, high and helpless.

“Come on, pretty girl. Let go for me. One more.”

You come with a sharp cry, clenching around him, your whole body trembling.

Joel groans, pulling you tight against him, and you feel it—the stutter in his hips, the hitch in his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps. “I’m gonna—can I—?”

“Inside,” you whisper, desperate. “Please.”

His thrusts stutter once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you, warm and thick, a deep growl ripping from his chest as his head drops to your shoulder.

You lay like that for a while, tangled together, hearts racing.

Joel doesn’t pull out immediately. He strokes your hair, kisses your neck, holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, bliss-drunk. “More than okay.”

He smiles against your skin. “You wrecked me.”

You giggle, body still twitching from aftershocks. “Good.”

Joel finally pulls out with a soft groan, and you whimper at the loss. He murmurs apologies, kissing your knee, then your hip, before grabbing a towel and gently cleaning you up.

You watch him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You take care of me,” you whisper.

Joel glances up, eyes dark but tender.

“Yeah, baby,” he says. “Always.”

⸻

You wake slowly.

It takes you a few seconds to remember where you are, and even longer to remember why you’re naked, wrapped up in warm sheets that smell like him.

Joel.

His bed.

Last night.

Your whole body aches in a way that’s new — good ache, heavy and slow and real — but your heart is a little frantic.

You shift slightly, glancing down at yourself under the blanket, bare legs tangled with his. His arm is still around you, strong and sure, like he never let go.

You turn your head.

Joel’s awake.

He’s just been watching you, quietly, eyes soft and unreadable. His hair’s a mess, and his voice is low and scratchy when he speaks.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, knuckles grazing you so gently it makes your chest ache.

“You feelin’ okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just… sore.”

Joel gives a small, guilty smile. “Yeah, that’s on me.”

You laugh, nervous.

The silence stretches. Warm. Careful.

You press your face into the pillow, hiding. “Is this where you tell me it was a mistake?”

Joel stiffens.

You feel his arm curl tighter around your waist.

“No,” he says. “No, sweetheart. This ain’t a mistake. Not to me.”

You blink at him.

“I just…” You swallow hard. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

Joel sits up slightly, resting on his elbow so he can look down at you. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

“I didn’t fuck you just to forget you,” he says, voice rough and serious. “That ain’t who I am. And that ain’t what you deserve.”

Your eyes sting.

“You sure?” you ask, small.

Joel cups your face with one big, warm hand. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

He leans down, kisses your forehead.

“I’ve wanted you for longer than I’m proud of,” he admits quietly. “Tried to bury it. Push it down. Told myself you were off-limits, too young, too sweet. I tried so damn hard not to look at you like that.”

“But you did.”

“I do,” he says. “And now that I’ve had you…” His eyes close, thumb stroking your cheek. “There’s no goin’ back for me.”

You blink fast, heart thudding.

“I mean it,” Joel says. “You want me? You got me. But not just in bed. I want all of you, baby.”

You whisper, “You already have me.”

He lets out a quiet sound — half groan, half sigh — and pulls you into his chest, burying his face in your hair.

You lay there in silence for a long time, just breathing.

After a while, Joel murmurs, “You’re still gonna have to face your dad.”

You groan. “Don’t remind me.”

He chuckles softly.

“But I’ll be there,” he adds. “Whatever you want me to be. Whatever you need.”

You look up at him. “You really mean that?”

He nods. “I don’t half-ass nothin’. Especially not with you.”

Your hand slips over his chest, resting where his heart beats under warm skin. “So what now?”

Joel kisses your knuckles.

“Now,” he says, “I make you breakfast. Then maybe we do this whole ‘you wear my shirt and kiss me in the kitchen’ thing before we start figurin’ out what the hell we’re gonna tell your daddy.”

You laugh. “He’s gonna kill you.”

Joel smirks. “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

You roll your eyes.

He leans down, kisses your lips sweet and slow.

Then he murmurs:

“First time you called me, you were drunk, wearin’ that little dress, flirtin’ with me in my truck. And I told myself I wasn’t gonna touch you. That I was gonna be a good man.”

You blink up at him.

“I ain’t a good man,” he whispers. “But I’ll be yours if you’ll let me.”

You nod.

“I want that.”

Joel smiles.

And in the morning light, tangled in his sheets, still sore and buzzing from everything he gave you — you realize you’ve never felt safer.

Never felt more wanted.