via

And, fuck, you can't even say you hate it or regret it—though you really wish you could say so.

You'd promised yourself after the third time that you'd stop. You wouldn't fall for his charming character, puppy-dog eyes, smooth words, or heaven-sent dick; actually, you'd ignore him, maybe even find someone else to help bite away at your sexual frustration for the remainder of your college years.

Someone safer, with far more respect for boundaries.

Because for as beautifully as Peter Parker fucked, for as skilled as he was with his hands, fingers, tongue, fucking everything—he had one glaring, impeding flaw.

He absolutely refused to use a condom.

"Don't have any," he'd murmured the first time you let him between your legs and asked the most obvious question of 'what about condoms?'

You almost shut it down there, but then he pinned you with those puppy-dog eyes, as if he knew what you were about to do, voice a husky whisper, "I'm sorry, I couldn't get any before you came over... is that okay?"

It wasn't. It shouldn't have been.

You should have made that crystal clear, or at least demanded he run to the nearest convenience store if he wanted to stick his cock in you—but you didn't.

You simply nodded, let that stupidly attractive little half-smile he gave you twist your heart, and proceeded to let him fuck your brains out, completely raw and bare. Let him pump his cum inside you and squeeze your throat a little as he did so, feeling your eyes roll at the way his tip smeared against your sensitive cervix in the most pleasurable way.

And even though you were nearly incoherent by the end of it, you were still able to stress that next time, he better have a damn condom.

And Peter smirked, pleased at the confirmation of a next time, and promised that he would have one.

Really, you probably should have seen that for what it was—a bold faced fucking lie. But he was a damn good liar, and they tend to twist even the most obvious of lies into something inherently believable.

Just as Peter had done the second time around.

On your back, legs splayed, lips locked with his and pussy positively buzzing from the promise of being stretched by that heavenly cock pressed against your cunt, you couldn't really register how faux it was when Peter leaned over and opened the bedside drawer, rummaging around inside it before popping up from your lips with a softly hissed, "shit."

"Wh-what is it?" you pressed breathlessly, eyes darting between Peter's tensed jaw and his hand still in the drawer. There was an ache where his lips had just been, an ache that begged to be soothed.

"The condoms," he half rushed, half groaned. "I swear to God I put them in here. They were there last night, I double checked—shit, I'm sorry, babe—maybe next time? I can't find them—"

You were stupid. So, so stupid. But you were so horny, so worked up from his lips and hands, that when Peter tried to push away from you, your hand shot out and caught his bicep.

"It's fine," you pushed out hurriedly. Peter's eyes snapped to you and his jaw unclenched, but his brows furrowed. "We can still—fuck, just don't worry about the condom. It's okay."

Had you been a little more clear headed, you may have been able to realize that weird gleam in his eye was actually the shine of victory, and not the puddle of concern you originally took it for when he asked if you were sure.

The first two times could be written off as you maybe being too gullible, but in a way that was acceptable; after all, Peter was able to hide his disdain for condoms pretty well.

The third time around? He didn't even try—maybe because he knew that by now, you were so hooked to his dick and the way he fucked you that he could get away with it.

And he wasn't entirely wrong. No, actually, he wasn't wrong at all.

That was evident in the way you were bouncing on his raw cock, taking him all the way to the hilt and rocking forward subtly before pulling up again, pulling soft groans and hissed curses from his lips. Rinse and repeat.

And he's just watching you, eyes sharp like a hawk, reveling in the way you unravel for him, a small smirk on his lips because even though you'd been so adamant for 'protection' at the door, you folded so easy.

A few slick words, soft phrases, sultry touches, an easy lie of he 'can't feel anything through them and he really, really wants to feel you, baby', and one look at his dick and you went wild, forgetting all about pesky condoms in exchange for mind-numbing pleasure.

Thank every god in every universe that you weren't fertile during any of those hookups; otherwise you'd definitely be carrying a miniature Peter Parker right now—which wasn't in your books, at all.

You couldn't say the same about this time. Which is why you shouldn't even be here, face down, hips lifted, moaning into a pillow that smells of Dior Sauvage and fresh linen fabric refreshner while you're railed into next week.

You hadn't even meant for it to happen; it wasn't on your agenda for the day.

But when you ran into Peter, his hair freshly trimmed, top shirt buttons popped to expose just enough of his chest, smelling of the same cologne you're currently huffing from his pillow now—well, your ovulating self couldn't fucking say no when he invited you to his place.

And, again, you can't even feel any regret. Because it's everything you'd been craving for the last few days; rough, feral sex, with your face pressed into fabric and your pussy fucked open so deliciously.

God, in this position, Peter feels even bigger than normal. His tip smashes into your cervix with every long, deep thrust, and the subtle upward curve of his cock allows him to slide right against that spot inside you over and over and over—holy fuck!

"Fuuck, Peter—mmm—easy—" you choke out, words slightly muffled by the pillow and nearly drowned out by harsh slaps of flesh. Your pussy is fluttering around him, so sloppy and drooly and that you can hear every single squelch of his cock splitting open your walls.

And Peter fucking loves it. Can't shut up about it, actually.

"Goddamn, jus' listen to that pussy," you can hear the smirk on his lips. "So fuckin' wet, isn't she? You been thinking about me, baby? I think you have been. Prolly been thinkin' about this dick messing you up since last Tuesday, huh?"

'Shut the fuck up,' is what you want to say, but all that comes out is a garbled, lewd moan when Peter thrusts just right, effectively clearing your head and crossing your eyes.

"Hah, shit—pussy's too fuckin' good today. So wet 'an tight, sucking me so fuckin' good... Damn, girl—you might make me bust soon." Peter drawls, big hands grasping the globes of your ass and spreading them just so, so he can watch as his cock spears into your sweet cunny.

Sharp panic slices through your fucked-out head at his filthy words.

"No, don't—! Ahh—y-you have to pull out, Peter—can't—not inside t-this time."

With your head down, you can't see the harsh scowl that mars Peter's face when you say the words 'pull out.' Peter's fingers dig ever so subtly into the flesh of your ass, almost as if he's giving you a small punishment for suggesting such a thing.

"Relax, babe, I ain't that close." Peter scoffs, though the sharp twinge in his balls tells him otherwise.

He wasn't lying when he said your pussy is too fucking good today—wetter than usual, with fluid so sticky-slick that it forms strings that connect his smooth abdomen to your thighs and ass every time he pulls his hips back.

Not to mention how hot it was inside you, metaphorically and literally. It felt like Peter was fucking into the physical form of lava, sans the literal melting. And the way you clamped around his cock? Fuck, it was enough to have his head rolling back and eyes crossing.

Peter isn't some prebuscent, acne-addled fifteen year old with sub-par sex education; he knows exactly what your current state means.

And it is so fucking hot, knowing that every thrust of his leaking cock into your depths runs the risk of impregnating you with his spawn.

You, however, don't seem to share his enthusiasm for it. Your fingers twist in his sheets, and you nearly try to crawl from him, "'m serious, Peter—y-you need to pull out, I fucking mean it—"

His thrusts turn a little rougher, more pointed, slamming into your sweet spots with the sole intention of getting you to shut up.

"I get it. I'll pull out, Jesus." Peter hisses, and it's enough. You melt back into the pillow, eyes fluttering and moans spilling into the fabric, nearly drooling from the sudden abuse to your g-spot.

It feels so fucking good that you quickly lose yourself, your fertility completely melting from your brain in favor of jumbled thoughts of fuck, he's so big, he's fucking me up, harder, faster, fucking use me, I'm gonna come—

"Fuck, do you even know how fuckin' pretty you sound—mmmm, fuuuck!—saying shit like that?" Peter suddenly cuts off your string of thoughts—no, words—cock kicking up inside your mushy walls. "I'd swear you're tryin' to make me come with that shit."

You can't even be mortified by it. You feel too good, and there's that familiar knot building inside you. Every slide of his cock into you just tightens it, his grunts and groans just adding more pressure to something that's already almost too heavy.

Fuck, you just want to come. Scratch that. You need to come; all over his glorious fucking cock that's fucking you so good.

"Then do it, baby. Yeah, c'mon, you can do it—wanna feel you, sweetheart. Jus' give it t'me, fuck—"

Peter re-positions, one hand planting itself on the bed beside your head for stability, and your muffled moans morph into something far more pornographic.

He's hitting you so impossibly deep now, like he's trying to break through to your womb—and when he slides his arm down and around your neck for the leverage to fuck you back on him, you lose it.

Your squeal of 'cooooomingg—' gets swallowed by praises from Peter when your pussy clenches around him, gushing up his cock and soaking your cum into his mattress.

"Yesyes, good girl—fuck, mhmm—keep comin', baby, c'mon—let it out, pretty girl, I've got you—fuck, y'feel so good coming around my dick like that."

Normally, Peter would fuck you nice and deep through the waves, kiss your skin and lap the sweat, pepper you with praises and hold you until the high cleared out and you stopped trembling—but right now, he didn't have the patience for it.

Feeling you come was the catalyst for his own undoing, and his hips moved on their own. Fast, short strokes that put most of the friction around his sensitive tip, and before Peter knew it, his lips were next to your ear and he was almost there—

"Gonna come," he squeezes out, and when you start to sputter he tacks on, "fuck, I'll pull out, I remember—hah, oh fuck, baby, s'good, almost—ungh—shit, okay, I don't think I can—'m'sorry, you're gonna have to take it, okay?"

Peter can't really decipher your little half hearted protests through the white static in his ears.

"Fuck, coming! Take it, baby, shhhh—no, no—s'okay, baby... yeah, fuck, milkin' me s'good... 'm fillin' up your pretty pussy, baby—yeah, it feels so good, doesn't it? Yeah, your body wants this, I know it does."

As always, Peter isn't even wrong. Your pussy is slurping up his cum gladly, practically wrenching it towards your womb; and the heat of it is enough to have your gut sparking with sharp arousal. You're really not even that concerned about the risk anymore. It feels too good to be concerned about it.

As for Peter? He wasn't even a little concerned to begin with. He was at peace with his decision—after all, there's a reason you're the only girl he's ever raw-dogged before in his life.

a/n: um, acc idk abt this one.. its my first attempt at like, putting more depth into my smut?? if that makes sense?? critiques would honestly be so so so appreciated bcs by golly i've never written smth like this and i feel outta my depth 😭

tag𝓵ist @mayhemi @triciawritesstuff @therealcap @vannyswims @fawnphile @she1983 @ynstark @emmiegirl @jaydennicole @meeemuirs @hyacinthusflowernymph @knowleeyo if i forgot to add u, or if u would like to be added/removed pls lmk! ♡

He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.

“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now. 

You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”

“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”

“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back. 

He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual. 

The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could. 

It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong. 

“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.” 

The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours. 

The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him. 

His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face. 

That had been one year ago. 

After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account. 

So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)

Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought. 

Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine. 

When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.

Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend. 

Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero. 

He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.

Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night. 

A promise was a promise. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.

He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that. 

He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully. 

“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?” 

He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable. 

“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”

You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer. 

“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.

“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused. 

“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks. 

“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes. 

“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”

“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.” 

“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”

“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully. 

You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him. 

“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement. 

The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions. 

Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday. 

Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.

Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room. 

Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins. 

And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out. 

“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…” 

The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence. 

“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”

“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”

“Message already sent.”  

He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am. 

He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you? 

Oh fuck. 

You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–

“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.

The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now. 

He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and– 

“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him. 

You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful. 

“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?” 

You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.” 

The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch. 

He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.

You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams. 

This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago. 

It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it. 

“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?” 

“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”

You nodded, turning toward the workstation. 

“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment. 

“EV?” 

The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light. 

“Online.”

“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.” 

“Beginning diagnostic.” 

You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye. 

Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe. 

This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him. 

But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head. 

There was only you. 

Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor. 

Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment. 

The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again. 

That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes. 

He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly. 

This was wrong. So wrong. 

His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.

He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you. 

What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–

“Diagnostic complete.” 

Your heads snapped toward the screen. 

“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.” 

“What biotoxin?” You frowned. 

“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.” 

Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was. 

Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.

The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead. 

He suddenly felt the need to lick it off. 

Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–

“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.” 

“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier. 

It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything. 

“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”

Mating response. He stopped breathing. 

Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants. 

That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer. 

“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”

He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.  

Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.

You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual. 

“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment. 

His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.

Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse? 

“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”

Heat rose to your face once again. 

“What does that mean?” 

Don’t say anything, don’t–

“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.” 

He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin. 

Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed. 

“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.  

You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat. 

The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.

White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth. 

“No.”

His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up. 

“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.” 

His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that. 

The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable. 

His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions. 

Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.

His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric. 

Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.

He hated it.

He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain. 

“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side. 

“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”

“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely. 

“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?” 

“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”

“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”

“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”

“You wouldn’t hurt me–”

“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles. 

The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second. 

One second enough. 

“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”

The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. 

“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”

He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be. 

Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes. 

The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.

He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.

You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs. 

His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly. 

You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals. 

He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence. 

Too hard. 

Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure. 

It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out. 

“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.” 

He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it. 

“But my offer still stands, spidey.” 

What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’

Fucking hell. 

“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”

You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.

“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…” 

He wasn’t. 

“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”

For God’s sake. 

“I think I can help.”

By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him. 

His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with. 

“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide. 

“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?” 

You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed. 

His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation. 

Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.

It wanted more.

His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you. 

“Sorry–”

“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder. 

He was burning.

The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly. 

“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm. 

“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”

“Breathe,” you reminded.

His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down. 

Just take her, man, she’s right there–

Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Please.” Was all he said. 

Leave it on. 

It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life. 

“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”

See? She wants it. She needs it so bad. 

He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.

Fuck it.

In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core. 

His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses. 

“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”

You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw. 

“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”

You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you. 

“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”

His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand. 

“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”

“What do you need? More what?” 

“More contact.”

His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I?” He whispered.

You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air. 

He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask. 

His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you. 

“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air. 

You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”

Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours. 

“Can–can I–?”

You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs. 

Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert. 

His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life. 

“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”

He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound. 

“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”

His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right. 

“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”

Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“Not stopping, baby.” 

He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts. 

“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”

“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–

“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”

The plea undid you.

You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there. 

It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him. 

You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you. 

Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up. 

He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him. 

You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact. 

The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you. 

“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.

His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger. 

You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first. 

“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”

Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.  

Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately. 

Fuck her. Fuck her right now. 

“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”

You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.

He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.

You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him. 

When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver. 

He could feel it coming. The change. 

You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away. 

His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal. 

Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.

The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.

That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out. 

“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.” 

He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”

“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”

A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–

“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused. 

“What–what happened? I was about to–”

“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”

That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face. 

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now. 

Good. 

He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room. 

His bed.

He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.

“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”

You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth. 

Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets. 

“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you? 

Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him. 

He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it. 

“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”

Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk. 

“Peter…” 

“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”

Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so. 

God. He was never going back. 

“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.” 

He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again. 

“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”

“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”

“Need what?”

“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”

He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up. 

“Yeah?” 

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him. 

He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine. 

But something made him stop. 

“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”

The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through. 

“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”

You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again. 

He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands. 

The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”

“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”

He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect. 

Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper. 

He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back. 

“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”

He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again. 

What? What is–

The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back. 

“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“

“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again. 

“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again. 

“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”

His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.

“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”

“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…” 

He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up. 

You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you. 

“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”

The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you. 

When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths. 

You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–

“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.” 

EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence. 

It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened. 

“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered. 

“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”

“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath. 

“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets. 

That was your call back to reality. 

Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.” 

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead. 

“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”

He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet. 

“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”

There it was. He said it. No turning back now. 

At least it got a chuckle from you too. 

“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you. 

“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”

“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation. 

You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again. 

Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did. 

There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth. 

So young. So earnest. So yours. 

Not spidey anymore. Just Peter. 

Your Peter. 

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.

Feedback is always appreciated 🕷️

Divider by @andromeda-graphics

You’re not late, but you hurry like you are.

The hallway to the lab is cold with recirculated air, bright with morning fluorescents; your badge pings at the reader and the door sighs open on a room that looks unchanged from yesterday—two walls of glass, one of chalk, banks of silent machines sleeping under their blue LEDs.

Reed is already there. He’s always already there.

White shirt, sleeves rolled, hair a little rough at the crown like he’s dragged a hand through it instead of sleeping. He doesn’t turn when the door shuts behind you. He doesn’t look at you when you cross to your station. He doesn’t say good morning.

But in his head it’s thunder.

She’s here.

You place your tablet on the bench and pretend to check overnight logs. The cursor blinks. Your throat does too.

Reed types. He draws a breath, slow and precise, as though respiration has instructions.

The thoughts are loud and hopelessly specific and have nothing to do with a gravity well or superconductors: your mouth under his hand, the lab tile slick and shining, the soft convulsion in your body when you came—like he’d discovered a new constant and it was you.

He’s trying to be quiet. You can feel him pushing the ideas down and covering them with math. They leak out anyway.

She tastes like—God—focus.

You swallow. “There was a sensor dropout at 03:12. I flagged it,” you say to the screen, as though it’s a person.

“Mm,” Reed answers, at a register just above silence. His voice is steady. His mind is not. I shouldn’t have—she should hate me—she’s—beautiful—no, irrelevant—no—irrelevant is the wrong word—

“I recalibrated the array,” you add, because your hands want to do something. “It held.”

“Good,” he says.

You can feel him hover at the edge of your mind like a hand near a switch. Not entering. Not quite retreating. Just there.

You let a small thought slip like a coin across a table: I’m not sorry.

Reed goes still. His keystrokes pause mid-sequence, then resume as though they never stopped. In his head: a quiet implosion—gratitude, desperate and embarrassingly soft, followed at once by guilt.

“I will not allow… lapses… to compromise the work,” he says. Carefully, as though he’s balancing metal tongs around a coal.

You turn, slow. “What a clinical word.”

His jaw tightens. He looks at the monitor, then the chalkboard, then—finally—at you. The look is brief and wrecked and entirely at odds with everything in his posture.

In his thoughts: I want to kiss her again, I cannot afford to, if she smiled at me I would—don’t. Don’t. Control—

The door hisses.

“Knock knock,” Johnny sings, which is a lie on two counts. “Still married to your chalk, big brain?”

Reed’s mind detonates with irritation and something feral when Johnny’s hand brushes your shoulder on his way past to the coffee. You don’t flinch, but Reed’s thoughts spike so violently you taste copper.

Don’t touch her.

Johnny doesn’t hear it. You do. You keep your face very neutral.

“Morning,” Johnny says around a mouthful of crumbs that appeared from nowhere. “You look tired.” He says it to you, and Reed is instantly twelve kinds of animal in the head, imagining what you look like tired and why.

You lock your mouth before your smile gets out.

“Late night with the MIT brain trust,” you say. It’s not untrue.

“Uh-huh, sure.” Johnny winks, leans a hip against the bench, too close to Reed’s console. “Reed, did you ever—what’s the word—sleep?”

Reed answers without looking. “Irregularly.”

Johnny grins. “That tracks.”

In Reed’s mind: get away from her. It’s absurd; Johnny’s not even near you. You set your tablet down with care you don’t feel.

Johnny’s gaze flicks between the two of you. He’s not a careful observer, but he’s a practiced brother. “Weird vibe in here,” he says cheerfully.

“No vibe,” you say, at the exact same time Reed says, “The vibe is normal.”

That earns a double take. Johnny points between you with his pastry. “Huh.”

You can feel Reed memorize the word huh and file it under catastrophes.

The elevator dings beyond the glass, and Sue’s quiet voice precedes her—greetings exchanged down the corridor, a calm tide moving toward the room. Reed straightens imperceptibly. Johnny downs the last of his coffee like a shot.

Sue enters, crisp as always, eyes bright and too perceptive by half. “Morning,” she says. “Reed, did you get my notes on the harmonics?”

“Yes,” Reed says at once. “Page seven is—useful.”

“Good.” She turns—and there it is, the two-second sweep of the room that is both affectionate and forensic; she notes the chalk, the console windows, the mugs, Johnny’s crumbs, your face, Reed’s throat, the way he’s standing a fraction too close to the bench like you could hide behind it. Her eyes pause on yours long enough to be kind without being obvious.

You hear Reed’s mind constrict to a pin. Sue knows. She doesn’t. She can’t. She always knows. If she—if she—

“We’re still on for the board briefing at eleven,” Sue says. “And Ben’s bringing the sample from Mayfield.” She looks at you. “You’ll want to scan it.”

“I’ll set up,” you say, relieved to be given an assignment that has atoms and not just breath.

Sue nods once. The tiniest ghost of a smile crosses her mouth—approval, maybe, or solidarity. Then she squeezes Johnny’s shoulder and leaves as quietly as she came.

Reed’s panic doesn’t leave her. It grows teeth.

What if she knows. What if she thinks I—what if I jeopardize—what if I lose—

He’s halfway to an apology you’ll hate when the lights blink in the far alcove and one of the deep-field consoles throws a yellow flag.

“Aw, c’mon,” Johnny says. “It’s too early for code gremlins.”

“I’ll get it,” you say, because your legs want motion and your brain wants anything other than the crosscurrent in his.

You start down the glass corridor toward the storage and observation suite. The door there is half-open, a sliver of a room tucked between two racks—a place people store cables and don’t look too closely at.

“Wait,” Reed says.

You do. Your hand is still on the frame when he arrives like a storm arriving. He stops a foot away, breath high in his chest, and looks up and down the corridor once as if he’s actually worried about cameras for the first time in his life.

“Reed.” You keep your voice low. “It’s just a warning. I can—”

He steps in with you and shuts the door.

It’s not that the room is dark; it’s that the light is a suggestion instead of a fact, filtered through frosted glass and the ribs of server housings. Reed’s face is all planes and shadows. The quiet isn’t quiet at all. Fans hum. Your pulse hammers in your ears.

In his head: I’m losing control.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, and the words shake.

“Why?” your mouth asks, while your hips move in the opposite direction of your question.

His hand finds your waist, unpracticed, for once not thinking six moves ahead. The other goes to the door and slides the bolt with a soft click that you feel in your spine.

You can hear Johnny’s voice, faint through glass; you can hear him talking to somebody at the elevator. Reed’s thoughts are louder: I can’t do this out there, I can’t think when she—when she looks—when I remember—

You touch his wrist, light, a hello from your skin to his. “Then don’t do it out there.”

He exhales like he’s been underwater for a day.

There’s nothing refined about it when he kisses you. Nothing of the careful first touch from yesterday, nothing of the clinical observational tone he likes to wear like armor. His mouth fumbles yours and then finds it. He shudders like you’ve shorted a circuit in his chest.

He thinks: mine, and flinches from his own possessiveness, ashamed of it even as he chases your breath.

You push into him until your hip hits a stack of sealed fiber trays. Plastic creaks. Reed groans helplessly into your mouth at the sound, at the friction, at the reckless physics of bodies in a room that has no right to hold this.

“Reed—” you whisper, not as a warning.

“—I know,” he breathes, but he doesn’t. He’s lost and he loves it and he hates it. His hands are at your waist and in your hair and on your face, clumsy like a genius forgetting tools exist.

Through the glass: Johnny’s laugh. A different voice—Ben’s rumble, you think. Reed hears it too; he goes absolutely still, every muscle in him burning with being caught.

You put your mouth to the hinge of his jaw and think, they can’t see. You let him feel the truth of it. He lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him, raw and grateful.

“Please,” he says, and the word is a torn ribbon.

You guide his hand down. Not because he doesn’t know where to put it. Because he does—too well—and he’s trying not to.

“Please what?” you ask.

His thoughts are a blur of yes and no and data and need. He swallows. “Don’t—leave,” he says, and it’s so not what you expected your lungs to forget how to be lungs.

You press your forehead to his and say out loud what you’ve been saying in your head since you swiped into the lab. “I’m here.”

Reed trembles. It’s all he needs. It’s apparently all you need, too.

He lifts your skirt like a secret, hands gentler than his mouth. Your back finds the panel seam and gratitude finds your bones. The first brush of his fingers over cotton is reverent, almost formal; the second is hungry. You arch into his hand like you were built to answer that question.

He watches your face, then stops watching because he’s not built for looking when he could be experiencing. He slides the cloth aside—breath catches, yours and his both—and the thought that slips from him is so simple it hurts.

Perfect.

Your laugh is breath, not sound. “Be quiet,” you whisper, meaning keep thinking that.

He sinks to his knees. Gravity makes the decision for him again. The angle is bad, the space is tight, and none of it matters. Your hand goes to the back of his head because you want to. Because you learned yesterday he wants you to.

When his mouth closes on you, the world narrows to one bright point and opens at the same time. He learns you faster now—builds on the data, improvises against it, abandons the model the second your body tells him a better one. He groans when you try to stay quiet and fail. The vibrations make your knees threaten mutiny.

“Reed,” you hiss, and the name is a fuse.

This should be wrong. Not morally. Logistically. Anyone could come down the corridor and look through the wrong pane, anyone could try the wrong door. You don’t care. He does. Or he should. His thoughts are almost prayerful: let me have this let me have her let me—

One light slap at the glass somewhere outside—Ben, probably, smacking the frame like it insulted him—and Reed drags his mouth up your thigh and bites the soft flesh there in a soundless mine he doesn’t voice. You answer with your hand curled in his hair and your hips rolling shamelessly into his face. Precision deserts him. Devotion takes over.

You come with both hands clapped over your own mouth, because even now you’re protecting him—his position, his quiet, his need not to be seen. He rides you through it, exultant and shaking, like tasting your release is the only proof the universe is real.

When it passes and you sag against the seam, he stands too fast, a little dizzy with oxygen, with your taste, with your body on his tongue. His mouth is slick with you. His pupils eat his irises. You reach up and drag your thumb across his lower lip and he breaks. There’s no other word for it.

“This is—” he begins.

“—inevitable,” you finish.

He huffs a laugh that dies in your mouth when you kiss him again. You taste yourself. He takes it like absolution.

Through the glass: footsteps, closer. Voices. The scrape of a cart. A knock on the opposite door, muffled: “Reed? Are you here?” Ben.

Reed’s hands are on your hips the way hands are on religious texts. He looks at the door like it’s the end of days. You hold his face and think, no one can see. Focus on me.

He does. He does it with his whole body.

You tug his belt loose because your heart wants to live here and because your hands remember the weight of him from yesterday like they were made for it. He inhales sharply. His forehead drops to your shoulder. He’s all restraint again until you stroke him once, and the restraint is gone like a scaffold kicked out from under the sky.

“Say it,” he says raggedly. “Say you want—” He can’t finish it. He’s not built to ask.

“I want you,” you say in his ear in your calmest lab voice, and his hips jolt against your hand.

You turn without prompting, hands braced on the narrow shelf, cheek against cool metal. It’s almost a desk. It’s almost the first time. He fits behind you like the proof step in an equation he solved in his head before he ever dared write it down.

“God, Reed,” you whisper, half laugh, half worship.

“I—,” he mutters, breezily mortified, and you would tease him if you weren’t simultaneously shivering because the head of his cock is sliding against you, hot and dangerous and right.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, because he is good, because he is trying so hard not to be bad, because he doesn’t know that with you good and bad are the same thing as true.

“Don’t,” you breathe.

He pushes in.

You are soundless for a second because sound requires breath and he knocks it out of you. He stares at the place where your bodies meet like he’s looking at an eclipse and then squeezes his eyes shut because if he keeps looking, he’s going to lose the last inch of himself he calls control.

“Jesus,” he says, and then corrects himself because accuracy is a religion. “No. Not Jesus. You.”

“Reed,” you whisper, and your own accuracy fails you.

He sets a hand between your shoulder blades and the other on your hip and holds there, trembling, cataloging, ruthless with himself and tender with you. He pulls back to the edge of sanity and thrusts in again and sanity is a small, laughable country neither of you live in.

Outside, someone wheels a cart. Johnny says something about lunch plans, about tacos. Reed’s rhythm stutters; he growls low against your spine and drives into you harder, the sound of your bodies joined almost obscene in a room built for quiet things.

“Focus,” you say to him, gasping, and he laughs into your skin, a helpless broken sound, because that’s what you are to him—focus. Variable and constant both.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you whisper, because you want him to know you want it, all of it, even the parts he’s ashamed of.

He doesn’t speak, but his mind does, raw and unguarded and punishingly sincere: I want you to come again. I want to hear it. I want your thighs shaking and my name in your mouth and your mind on mine. I want to keep you. I want—

You come because he asked for it like that. Because he thought it like prayer. Because he’s never once asked for anything and the first thing he asks for is your pleasure.

It tears through you quieter this time, deeper, so deep you feel the echo in your knees and the base of your skull. He feels you clench and whimpers so softly you’d miss it if your mind weren’t jammed into his like a key.

“Look at me,” you say, and when he pulls you back by the hip and you turn your head just enough to catch his eyes, he’s done. He comes with a bitten-off groan. He keeps moving like he can write the afterglow into your muscles.

After, the world rushes back in, irritating and fluorescent and full of other people’s errands.

Reed presses his forehead to your shoulder and breathes like he’s new at it. In his head: shame, then the shadow of it; then, stronger, the bright, bewildered relief of having wanted and not died of it.

You turn and pull him into a kiss that is not frantic and not an apology. He goes very still, as if tenderness is an environment he’s only seen through glass. Then he opens to it in increments, exactly as if he were learning how, which he is.

“I can’t…” he begins.

“You can,” you say.

“I don’t know how to—want—without trying to fix it.”

“Don’t fix it,” you say, smiling. “Not with me.”

A quiet beat. His thoughts settle like snow. He looks at you like a man who’s been handed a variable he can’t solve and loves it anyway.

She’s staying, he thinks, and doesn’t try to stop himself from letting you hear it.

You smooth his collar. He smooths your skirt. He fumbles the bolt and swears under his breath, which is such a simple human thing that you want to cry.

When you step back into the corridor, the lab is loud with ordinary life. Ben waves through the glass with a bag of something greasy. Johnny is mid-story and mid-mime. Sue stands by the chalk wall, reading Reed’s equations like she could hum them.

She looks up. Her eyes flick between your face and Reed’s. She sees everything and says only, “Eleven?”

Reed’s voice is almost normal. “Eleven.”

You move to your bench and queue the scans. Reed takes his place by the board. Johnny asks if anybody wants tacos. Ben says yes twice. Sue smiles at the room like it’s misbehaving and she loves it anyway.

You put your hand on the cool edge of your console. You send Reed a thought like a ribbon tied to his wrist.

I’m here.

He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t have to. His mind answers you in that quiet, newly-familiar tone you’re starting to think might be what his voice sounds like when he’s alone.

Stay.

-

You’re not supposed to be on the manifest.

At least, that’s what Sue said—in the gentle, absolute way only she can manage—when Reed slid your name across the table like a proof he’d already solved.

“She’s an intern,” Sue reminded him. “A brilliant one. But the rift is unstable. We don’t take untested minds into a tear in space.”

“She’s indispensable,” Reed said, too calm. His voice stayed level; his thoughts did not. I can’t leave her. She’ll see what I won’t. She’s safer where I can—no. Don’t say safer.

You weren’t on the manifest for nothing. Last week, your telepathy had caught fluctuations in the rift model that every sensor missed. Reed had argued the data alone justified bringing you. Officially, that was the reason. Unofficially, you’d heard the truth in his head: safer where I can see her.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your mind brushed his: I can do this.

Sue’s gaze flicked to you. Measured. Mild. “Then you’ll stay in the pod,” she said finally. “No heroics. Reed, you keep her behind the line.”

Reed’s mouth twitched—the ruin of a smile he wouldn’t allow. Behind the line, he thought, and in the back of his head where he never looked, a softer echo: Mine.

-

The Fantasti-Pod purrs like a big cat on the climb. You sit in a jumpseat with a helmet in your lap and a heartbeat on fast-forward, the world narrowing to harness straps and the braided hiss of your own breath. Ben grumbles something about turbulence. Johnny peels an orange because of course he does. Sue is a still point in the corner of your eye, one hand braced, the other resting on the rail like the ship’s pulse moves through her bones.

Reed doesn’t look at you. He hasn’t looked at you much since the lab. Not when you kissed him first, not when you let him hear how badly you wanted him, not even after you locked yourselves away and crossed the line together. He’s tried so hard to tuck it back under equations. But his mind won’t shut up.

Her first launch. She ate. Good. Don’t fuss. She’s capable. She’s—God, she’s beautiful— A sharp correction: Irrelevant. Focus. A sharper one: Stop lying to yourself.

“I’m fine,” you say into the cabin air, so soft you could pretend you said nothing at all.

“I didn’t ask,” Reed says without looking.

You smile. The ship hums. You let his stray want curl around you like heat and pretend you’re cold.

-

The rift hangs like a crack in a black mirror. Stars should be there. They aren’t. Edges like torn silk. A low vibration you feel in your teeth.

“Perimeter field on my mark,” Sue says over comms. “Johnny, take the outer arc. Ben, with me. Reed, keep the window steady. You—” a look at you, kind and steel at once “—breathe.”

You breathe. You think of Reed’s mouth on yours in the storage room, the way he shook when he said don’t leave, and the way you promised, I’m here.

Reed floats to the central console on magnetic boots. You follow, HUD light strobing over your forearms, readings flicking past like birds. It’s a mess. Not just energy: directionless intent. A hunger that thinks the word through like a knife.

You open your mind to it. Carefully. You’ve learned care.

It is not careful back.

The voice (not a voice, a geometry that insists) presses into the space behind your eyes. Cold. Curious. So hungry.

It sees us, you think, and Reed’s mind snaps taut with attention that doesn’t reach his mouth. Brilliant, he thinks. Terrifying. Hold steady. Keep breathing for me.

“Talk to me,” he says, steady as a metronome. “What shape?”

“Spiral. But wrong. It folds into itself, and the fold looks back.” You swallow. “It wants to come through.”

The rift answers you with a lash of gravity.

The pod bucks. Tools skitter. Johnny curses; Ben swears; Sue’s voice slices clean through it: “Reed, brace the—”

A second lash hits the opposite. The hatch behind you slams down to arrest decompression and the shock throws you backward—no time to grab the rail—into Reed. He grabs you without thinking, the two of you crossing the threshold of the secondary observation module before the emergency seal slams hard and hisses.

The room goes quiet.

Not silent—nothing is, in space—but the din of the main cabin knifes away behind the bulkhead. The lights flicker. Gravity staggers, tries to stand, falters again. The air tastes thin.

Reed’s hand is still at your waist. You can feel the tremor in his fingers.

“Status?” Sue’s voice barks, distant through the channel. Reed doesn’t answer. He’s already at the auxiliary console, fingers flying, mouth moving faster than sound: “Stabilize spin. Reroute O₂. Input clamp on—”

Don’t lose her. The thought is a hit to your sternum. Don’t lose her. Not like this. Not ever.

“I’m okay,” you say. You are not sure you are. Your hands shake. You set them flat on the rail and force stillness into your bones. “What do you need?”

He’s a storm in a suit. Algorithm on the display, fix in his head, hands on the world. “I need you to—” He breaks, just for a blink, a breath, a heartbeat. You can feel him hit the memory—the lab’s tile, your mouth, his apology afterward like a razor in his throat—and see it collide with now. Fear crashes through the ruin of his restraint and brings the filth with it.

Her mouth on me. Her knees on tile. Her body when she—no. God, not now. Focus.

“Reed.” You touch his forearm.

His mind blanks like a wiped board. Then fills. Not with calculus. With you. With want stripped raw by fear. With the instinct that makes men hold fragile things too tight.

“You brought me,” you say. “Use me.”

He exhales like a drowning man breaking the surface. “Anchor us,” he says. “If anything tries to push through the edges, I want to know before the readout does.”

“Yes.”

You step into the bright humming edge of the rift with the part of your mind that can bear it, and immediately you regret the verb. You feel it push back. Probe. Taste. It wants to be where you are and take that apart. Your stomach lurches at the wrongness of it, the unfamiliar thoughts flitting like iron birds against your skull.

“Easy,” Reed says, eyes on the board, voice on you. His free hand finds your wrist under the console edge and squeezes once—sharp, grounding. In his head: With me. Please.

You send him a ribbon of thought like a hand tangled with his. With you.

Another lash hits the pod.

The floor drops away. Gravity decides it’s tired of the fight, shrugs its shoulders, and leaves. You lift an inch, two, more, your boots finding nothing. Reed’s grip tightens; the two of you float off the deck in a slow, tumbling drift. Your helmet bumps gently against your arm. Your breath fogs the inner curve of your visor where it rests against your hip.

“Reed, status,” Sue snaps. “Talk to me.”

“Secondary module sealed,” he says automatically, eyes never leaving you. “Working to restore—” The sentence frays. You feel the thought fall out of him like hunger: She’s floating. Then filth on its heels, honest and helpless. I want to fuck her weightless. I want— He clamps down hard enough to make himself flinch.

You turn your head in the drift. You look at him. He looks ruined. Hair loose. Collar askew. Pupils are too big. Mouth cut open by restraint.

“What are you thinking?” you whisper, and it’s cruel, and it’s kind.

He swallows. “Don’t ask me.”

“You don’t have to say it,” you murmur, fingertips finding the inside of his wrist where his pulse is a frantic animal. “I can hear you.”

The module shudders again, flips you both in a slow unwanted somersault, and you catch him by the front of his suit to stop the spin. The motion slams your bodies together chest to chest and your breath leaves in an oh. Reed’s hand slides to the back of your thigh instead of the console rail and his control—already a cracked glass—goes.

“Tell me to stop,” he says.

“Don’t,” you answer, and that is the end of it.

His mouth hits yours like you belong there.

It isn’t careful. It isn’t clinical. He kisses like he’s been holding a live wire between his teeth for a week and just now remembered he can drop it. Your hand fists in his shirt to keep your body from unspooling into the air; he groans into the corner of your mouth and pulls you closer, like more contact could make the ship remember how to hold you both down.

Please, his mind whispers, unguarded and bright with awe. Please. Let me. Let me have her. Let me—

Yes, you think back, opening for him, heat blooming where his tongue meets yours. Always, Reed. Always.

The gravity tries to come back and fails, a stutter of force that bumps your hip into the console and knocks a grunt out of him. He laughs against your mouth—wrecked, breathless, incredulous—and the sound makes something in your chest go soft and animal. You hook your legs around his waist just as the floor disappears again and in the lurch he rocks against you, cock hard behind the uniform, helpless, honest.

“Physics is—” he pants.

“—not your priority,” you murmur, dizzy and greedy.

He chokes on a laugh, then on a moan when you drag your palm down his chest and under the hem to hot skin and the tense pull of muscle. He’s not watching you; he’s watching your mouth. He’s not thinking in sentences; he’s thinking you, you, you threaded through filth that makes your nerves light up like a switchboard.

Want to get my mouth on her cunt while she floats. A stutter of self-loathing for the word. Cunt. A sharper stab of want. I’d hold her open with both hands and eat her until she—

You shiver so hard you spin. Reed catches you at the hip and steadies you with a hand that trembles. The ship hums around your breath. You taste metal and him.

“Reed,” you say, “use your mouth.”

He goes very still. His pupils are black holes. “Yes,” he says, like a vow.

The gravity stutters in again for the briefest of heartbeats. He uses it. One arm bands under your thighs. The other braces your back. In a single practiced motion that shouldn’t be practiced, he turns you with him until your shoulders hit the mesh of a storage cradle and your ass finds the shallow lip of a cargo rack. Not a bed. Not a bench. Enough.

The gravity wavers. He doesn’t.

He kisses you once, hard, like punctuation, then slides down your body with reverence that is at war with urgency. His palms skim your hips, your thighs, the notch of your knee. He palms your calf and pushes, opening you. Your boot magnets click—twang—as they graze the deck and miss. His jaw shakes when he looks. His thoughts go quiet in the exact way a cathedral goes quiet.

“Perfect,” he whispers aloud, and then he’s on you.

You fold over like prayer.

He licks a long stripe through you like he’s waited so long he forgot the first step and remembered it at the same time. You call his name into your fist. He moans into your heat and the vibration steals the strength from your knees. You try to brace; there is nothing to brace on. Reed hears the panic-threaded need and drops a forearm over your pelvis, pinning you to the cradle with a tenderness that keeps you whole.

“Breathe,” he says, mouth slick against you. He breathes you like oxygen. He eats you like information. He maps you like territory, checks for drift, corrects. He learns you faster than anyone ever has and does not hide that it delights him.

Outside, a thud. A voice—Ben’s—muffled by bulkhead and distance: “Hey! You gettin’ readings in there, Stretch?”

Reed freezes.

You put a hand in his hair and tug, just enough. They can’t see. Focus on me.

He exhales against you, a laugh that is mostly a groan, and opens his mouth over your clit like he’s saying amen. You arch so hard the cradle mesh bites. The ship lurches; you lift; he follows you up off the deck without breaking his seal, hand sliding behind your knee to keep you open while the two of you float in a slow, obscene ballet—you a curve against the lights, him anchored to your body like contrition and hunger could cancel gravity.

Your orgasm hits like a wave breaking under the hull. Not a firework; an undertow that turns your bones to water. You try to be quiet and fail. He moans when you do, high and fractured, and the sound pushes you over into a mess you cannot be embarrassed about because he is devouring proof of it like a man starved.

You’re still shaking when he rises, licking his mouth, looking dazed and greedy and wrecked. You’re aware in a distant way that you are whispering his name like you could put it anywhere and he would follow it.

“We are not—done,” he says, the words broken, the vow intact.

“Good,” you say, because you don’t want to be.

He kisses you again. You taste yourself. He takes it like penance and permission both.

“Status?” Sue, in your ear, sharp with focus and carefully soft with worry. “Reed, talk to me.”

“Stabilizing,” he manages, and it isn’t a lie, he is, he will, in a minute, not now, not with your hand sliding down between your bodies to the hard line of him.

He grunts, breath punching out of him. If there were gravity, he’d have buckled. There isn’t. He floats against you, braced on one hand, the other catching your wrist like he wants to stop you and absolutely does not. You drag his zipper down and free him into your palm and almost laugh from the shock of how hot he is. He watches your face go soft with it and flinches like wonder hurts.

“Say you want me,” he says. He is not a man who knows how to ask. You love him for trying.

“I want you,” you say calmly, like the lab, like a fact. You let him feel the truth of it. Not just in your mind. In your hand. In your hips. In the space where only he is allowed to look.

He fumbles a condom out of a flat pocket on his thigh. You raise an eyebrow; he goes pink in the mouth and says, “Preparation,” like an apology. You would tease him if your hunger would let you separate words from sound.

He sheathes himself with hands that shake and, for a second, just stares at your face. The lights strobe. The rift hums. You wrap a leg around his waist and pull him to you, and that is all either of you can stand.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, because he is good even when he is wretched with need.

“Don’t,” you say again, and when he pushes in you forget how to be anything but a mouth saying his name.

He makes a noise against your throat that could break glass. He holds there, buried to the hilt, shivering. You feel the tremor go through him, feel his mind lurch toward shame and then away from it at the sight of your face.

“Look at me,” you whisper.

He does. Something in him—something old and lonely and rigid—unhooks.

He fucks you like the ship might come apart and he’s decided if it does he’d like to be inside you when it happens. He braces a hand on the cradle and uses the stuttering gravity to set a rhythm you can ride, hips rocking hard when the deck finds you, floating thrusts stealing breath when it doesn’t. He mutters half-words he’d never say in a meeting—“so tight,” “so good,” “fuck, you take me so—” —and thinks the words he won’t let out loud, filth and praise braided so tight they’re the same thread. Pretty, perfect, mine, mine, mine.

“Comms are—” Johnny’s voice bleeds through with static and popcorn laughter. “—you two makin’ out in there? Stretch? Are you alive?”

You bite back a laugh and a cry. Reed snarls softly like a territorial thing and snaps his hips, the head of his cock dragging over everything inside you that wants to be worshiped and ruined. The cradle creaks. The magnets in your boots scrape desperate little music on the deck.

“Busy,” Reed grits, and kills the outbound on your channel. He never takes his eyes off you. “With the module,” he adds, and thrusts hard enough that your head tips back and the prayer that falls out of your mouth is not to physics.

“Reed,” you hiss, your hands greedy on his shoulders, his throat, his chest, “Reed, I’m—”

“I know,” he says, wild, tender, sure. He drops a hand to your clit and rubs you fast and cruel, exactly how your nervous system begged him to yesterday, exactly how you’d crave forever. “Come for me.”

You do. Not like a scream. Like a collapse, like a star imploding silently and turning into something that makes light. Your body tightens around him and he swears, ragged, never elegant, and chases you into it, fucking you through, fucking you into.

“Look at me,” you say again, and you see it all hit his face—the want, the fear, the reverence, the fact that he is allowed to have this.

He falls apart with you.

He goes very quiet when he comes. You feel it in the way his body shudders against yours, the way he pushes deep and stays there, the way his mind goes white noise and then returns like tide, reverent and terrified in equal measure. He pants against your mouth. He doesn’t look away. He can’t.

Afterwards, the ship keeps humming. The rift keeps insisting. Your heart keeps beating against your ribs like hello hello don’t forget me.

Reed kisses you once, a soft press, like sealing wax.

“We have to—” he starts.

“—fix the window,” you finish, stroking his jaw with your thumb.

“—and the O₂ feed.” He swallows. The small muscle in his throat jumps under your finger. “And I need to—”

“—be Reed Richards again,” you say, smiling. “Later.”

“Later,” he says, and the way he says it makes later feel like a country you’d emigrate to without a map.

He tidies himself with hands that try not to shake. You do too. He toggles the comms and the outside world roars back in—Johnny cracking jokes, Ben swearing affectionately at a bulkhead, Sue steady and sharp above it all.

“Reed?” Sue. Not gentle, not harsh. Present. “Status.”

“Secondary modules are stable,” he says, and it’s true now. You watch him pull the window back into shape like a magician dismantling a trick. “Bringing the field up. We can hold the perimeter.”

“Copy,” Sue says. A beat. “And our intern?”

You press your mouth against your hand to keep from laughing directly into the line. Reed’s eyes flick to you just once, wrecked and fond, like he can’t help it.

“Indispensable,” he says. Not a hint of a smile in his voice. You hear it in his mind instead. Mine.

-

They pry the hatch thirty minutes later with the brisk competence of people who do this for a living. Johnny is grinning like he knows and would die for gossip. Ben looks you over with a mechanic’s concern, nods once when he decides your head is still attached. Sue’s gaze skims the room—panels, readings, the mesh cradle, your mouth—then lands and stays on you for a breath longer than politeness requires.

“Good work,” she says to Reed, to you. To both. She doesn’t make it a question.

Reed nods. “Her readings saved us a cycle.”

Sue’s brows lift a fraction. She did not need the proof. She likes having it.

“Let’s get out of the teeth of this thing,” she says, and the ship pivots in space like a fish slipping sideways out of a net.

You move to your station. Your hands find the console like they were born there. Reed takes the board. Johnny hums an obnoxious tune and peels a second orange. Ben mutters about tacos. Sue’s voice threads through, tying all of it into something that feels like safety.

You send Reed a thought as simple as a hand to hold. I’m here.

He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t have to. His mind answers in that new quiet voice you’re starting to think is what love sounds like when he forgets to bury it under math.

Stay.

You smile down at the readout and stay.

And when the rift closes like a cut that’s decided not to scar, and the pod noses home through the soft blue above the sea, and the heat shield sings and the world remembers how to be heavy, Reed looks at you as if gravity were your idea.

Later, back on the ground, Sue will give you a file and a look and say, “If you’re going to be in the field, you’ll need proper clearance.” Johnny will waggle his eyebrows until Ben smacks the back of his head. The board will ask polite questions that smell like fear. You will answer them. Reed will stand beside you and think terrible, filthy things about your mouth while you keep your face completely composed, and when it’s over he will catch your hand in an elevator no one else uses and kiss your palm like confession.

But for now—while the hull pops softly as the ship remembers how to be cool, while the straps loosen, while your mind unthreads from the alien geometry that wanted to devour you—Reed looks at you, and thinks a thought he doesn’t try to cage.

Indispensable. Astonishing. Mine.

You tip your head against the bulkhead, shut your eyes, and let the hum of the ship settle you into your body.

“Breathe,” he murmurs without the comms.

You do.

“Again,” he says, gentler.

You do, and open your mind just enough to tell him what he already knows.

Always.

a/n: there were so many people involved in cheering me on for the fic, but i especially want to thank via, ash, anna, and shane for letting me rant and send random screenshots of dialogue and give me feedback. surprisingly, this took me less time than it did to write the javier peña fanfic! regardless, i hope you guys enjoy this- this may not be for everybody, but i did it specifically for the people who can’t relate to dbf!joel miller fics but still have those crippling daddy issues. above all? i wrote this for me.

Bonus content: Playlist

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

“You think you can go to that commerce banquet in my place tomorrow night? I don’t feel like going and I already bought a ticket.”

You looked up at your father from where you were typing hand written invoices into the merchant system- your fingers slowed to a halt. He stood over you expectantly, not even blinking as he leaned against the workbench beside your desk.

“I had planned on spending the Saturday in,” you said slowly, clearly teetering on hesitance and deliberating carefully.

He grunted, a huff of air dispelling from his nostrils. “Look here, girl- you spend so much of your time resting after work, plain wonder you ain’t disintegrated into your bed. Just do me this favor. You should count it an honor to represent Faith Family Contracting.”

Pushing back from your desk in your rolling computer chair and facing him to lessen the shadow his imposing figure drew over you, you stifled a sigh- you knew what kind of lecture that would spring you into if he heard even the slightest hint of exasperation.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“That the kinda attitude you got towards your own daddy? Your flesh and blood?” He demanded, his eyes burning into yours. The contact made mace feel like a refreshing spray of water.

Your eyes pulled from his, averting to some invisible fleck on your desk. “Yes, sir.”

His features softened, mollified as he crossed his arms with a nod. “Good. I knew you were a good girl.”

With that, he stalked off to his own office, the door slamming far too easily for your liking, but you exhaled with relief regardless.

You had to get out of here.

You didn’t feel like waiting until Saturday morning to shop for an appropriate dress, so immediately after work, you peeled out of the parking lot and over to the mall.

Really, he had done you a favor, you bargained with yourself. This was the first real event you were going to by yourself, no hint of your father around; at least not physically. Mentally, he was crammed in the corners of your brain like some sort of distorted Jiminy Cricket, telling you what he would do if it was him. You hated it, but that was your reality. You lived and worked with the man all twenty-something years of your life, what else could be expected?

You hummed to yourself as you flipped through the racks. You could hear him in your ear- “don’t get anything flashy, now- remember, you’re a representative of not only our business, but also Christ.”

You huffed derisively- you had stopped believing in Jesus a while ago, really, at least in the way your father expected of you. You saw what religion does and what it can hide, and it was hard to really and earnestly have confidence in that.

So with that thought in mind, you actually let yourself look at the dresses he would have scoffed at, the dresses he would have insisted were for women of the night- What’s the worst that could happen?

This was the thing you hated about social events.

You had gotten your hair done, something not overly stately, but definitely more refined than usual- and you had barely recognized yourself.

You skirted around the living room, where you knew your father would be laid up in his recliner. You didn’t want to risk hearing what he had to say, either about your hair, your make up, or the dress you had chosen to wear.

You could practically tell anyone word for word what he would say anyways, so what was the use?

But despite the effort you had made into looking and acting like the grown up you were, you still felt out of place. You felt like a child who had gotten into her mother’s make up box, and was pretending to be more than you were.

You adjust the emerald green strapless cocktail dress, the sweetheart neckline suddenly making you feel self aware that you didn’t show this much skin on a regular basis, as well as another thing-

You hate taking up space.

The various volumes of conversations around you overlapped into mounds of background noise as you sipped the Shirley Temple you had ordered from the bar. Your eyes darted to the business people that surrounded you- you could name a good many of them, but you knew with near certainty that none of them knew you or your name, especially without your father around. Oddly enough, that was okay with you; there was something comforting about the anonymity.

Some were sitting at tables, others were just standing around, conversing and chatting while eating the small hors d'oeuvres and the drinks provided. You were scouting for a place to sit, but almost all of the tables were taken, and the awkwardness of potentially splitting up a conversation just weighed too heavily on you.

Your eyes finally honed in on a table with two empty chairs- It was beside the morticians you knew of in town, but at least the empty chair could act as a buffer until someone else sits down.

“Anybody sitting here?” You asked the spiky silver haired mortician- Billy, you think his name is.

He shook his head, his grinning colgate white teeth shimmering as he moved. “Nobody here at all- take a seat.”

That’s how you found yourself in a conversation with one of Austin’s morticians, more so listening and nodding your head with your lips curling into smiles at the appropriate times. You were right, his name was Billy, and he was telling you all about how his sixteen year old son was getting his first Silverado with lift kits and glass packs. Did you necessarily care? No, not at all, but it was better than being alone.

Somehow, the further into the conversation you got, you noticed Billy’s eyes slip further from your eyes, and down your neck, your collarbones, then down to your-

“I wondered when I’d spot you,” a gruff but kind voice said behind you as you sensed a sizable hand settle on the back of your chair. You craned your neck to see who was possibly coming to your rescue, when your lips gaped open.

Joel Miller, half of Miller Contracting, who usually wears dingy flannels and denim jeans that had clearly seen better days, but tonight were swapped in for a dark green button down shirt and khakis, was looking down at you.

Not only that, Joel was your father’s worst enemy to date, aside from maybe himself.

And he was pulling out the chair beside you, sitting down as if you were the best of chums and the buddies of all buddies. Internally, you could hear your father’s Jiminy Cricket telling you to abort the mission, but you forced a smile on your face as you turned towards him- and more importantly, away from Billy’s wandering eyes.

“How’s your daddy’s business?” Joel asked, his eyebrow raised, and his tone lazy.

“You know who I am?” Your eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“Sure I do. Your daddy owns Faith Family Contracting- known each other for years. Don’t know you quite so well, but I’ve seen you in your daddy’s promo pictures. My brother and I own Miller Contracting, by the way. I’m Joel Miller.”

“I know who you are,” you say, your tone turning cold like a slow freeze, “you stole that bid from my dad’s company.”

If Joel’s eyebrows could have shot up any higher, it would have had to have been untangled from his hairline. His brown eyes steeled subtly, but not unkindly.

“We had bid fair and square,” he said, his tone even, “Nothing about what we did was underhanded.”

“Ain’t what Dad said.”

He studied your face carefully, and you could feel the weight of his eyes as they roved the planes of your features. You felt your face burn, but you kept yourself composed. Then to your surprise, he huffed a laugh, that dimple crescenting his cheek for just a bare second.

“I imagine not,” Joel said slowly, “but it’s been twenty years, and the details… I guess they can get a bit fuzzy in that amount of time.”

“He maintains that you’re the one who got him kicked out of the bid, making him ineligible to put one in.”

“That what he’s been sayin’? Interestin’.”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice that drove you mad, but you couldn’t help but be curious- after all, your dad wasn’t exactly above twisting a few tales to skew his way. It’s just what he’s always told you about Joel since you were old enough to comprehend anything.

Joel leaned towards you, his forearm supported by the table and his gaze still fixed on your face. “Did he tell you that he spread a rumor about me that was completely unfounded directly to my clients?”

Your eyebrows collided again- the tension in your forehead could keel over a water buffalo. “Which rumor would that be?”

Your father had talked trash and regurgitated quite a few nasty hearsays about Joel over the years in your earshot- Joel would definitely have to be more specific.

“He claims that I cheated on my wife at the time with my secretary.” His jaw tightened, the vein that traveled on the jawline popping for just a moment.

Yup, you’d heard that one from your Dad before.

“And you-?”

“Did not. I’ve never cheated on anybody, much less on my wife with my secretary- that’s a complete power imbalance, first of all. But my secretary, my ex-wife, and my brother Tommy can all attest that I never cheated. My marriage ended ‘cause I’m a consummate workaholic, not infidelity- at least on my side.”

Something about hearing him say “ex-wife” made a knot in your stomach you didn’t know you had unfurl with relief- you weren’t going to parse that any time soon. But there was something comforting about his certainty that he would never cheat on a partner. You could admire him for that much.

Joel leaned back in his chair, still observing you in your still silence. Despite you being the daughter of his rival, he was treating you… oddly well.

“Why did you come to my rescue just now?” You asked, the curiosity killing you.

He laughed lowly again. “I could see Billy’s lack of eye contact when I came in. Didn’t know it was… you until you turned around to look at me. Anyways, Billy has a terrible habit of… staring, if you will. Didn’t think that was comfortable for you.”

“It wasn’t. Um… thank you, I guess.”

“Your Daddy talk to you right?”

Your eyes widened at the unexpected question. “Excuse me?”

“Your Daddy. Does he treat you right? You’re all… skittish. You’re lovely, don’t get me wrong, but you act like someone’s gonna swat you like a bad dog.”

You bristled like a fluffed up hen, but you couldn’t deny the validity of his question. “You’re not gonna get back at my dad through me.”

“Sweetie, if I wanted to get back at your dad, I would have found a way long before you came trouncing along.” A smirk pulled at his lips, though part of it seemed to be almost… pity.

“So why haven’t you? If he actually destroyed your reputation like you say he did, you would have every right.”

“That’s the thing, really, he didn’t destroy my reputation, he only tried. But that just tells me all I need to know about him and his character. And something… something tells me he doesn’t treat those around him right, either.”

You pushed your chair back from the table. “I’m not having this conversation with you,” you stated, picking up your glass of shirley temple as you stood up.

He stood up with you, but the glance you sent him was withering and he sat back down- It wasn’t until then that you realized how puppy dog-ish his eyes were as he looked up at you. You hardened your heart against the beseeching expression.

Walking away from the table aimlessly, you replayed what had just happened in your head. Why were you so resolute to not hear him out? What was it about him that peeved you so bad? You knew damn well that everything Joel said was well within your father’s behavior. But what unnerved you the most was his last question- “Does he treat you right?” No one had ever asked that, everyone had only ever assumed you had a good relationship with your dad because you worked together. Yet Joel did. What the hell did Joel see? Your dad’s enemy of all people.

You shake it off physically, your bare shoulders shimmying subtly as a chill chased down your spine. Despite drinking the non-alcoholic drink, you feel a sudden boldness to go to the bar and request a red wine.

As you waited for the bartender to prepare your drink, you heard a gruff voice behind you. “You sure that's the best idea?”

You turned around towards the tall and broad figure behind you, your arms bracing against the bar minimally, looking up at Joel. “You again. What, you here to monitor how much I drink tonight?”

Joel shook his head, a smile on his lips. You noticed one stray curl that seemed to refuse to any sort of conformity, curling in the opposite way of the rest of his hair, and you damned yourself for noticing such a detail.

“I’m here because we need to talk.”

“What is your obsession with me, Miller?” You all but snapped at him. The bartender tapped your shoulder to hand you your wine, and you took it from him with a smile before turning to Joel again, maintaining defiant eye contact with him as you took a long sip.

“It’s not an obsession. I just think you’re decent, and your daddy… he’s dangerous in a way you can’t see, and specifically towards you. You deserve better.”

“And what? You think I need a new daddy or something, and you’d be better for me? Like I can just leave behind the one I was allotted by the universe like some sort of unnecessary baggage, no complications?” You huffed a sardonic laugh as you moved away from the bar, walking the edge of the room. As expected, Joel followed you, falling into step beside you. For a moment, his hand almost grazed yours, and another shiver ran down your back at the near-miss contact.

“I know it ain’t that easy,” he said softly, “And it ain’t about wanting to be your daddy. Hell, we may never see each other after this event- Austin’s big enough for that, after all. But just know, you and whatever your fate may be will weigh on my mind occasionally. I can see that already.”

“Why’s that?” You knew you shouldn’t have asked him that, as though you were tolerating and entertaining his presence more than you should have. Yet it almost fell out of your mouth by instinct.

“I dunno. Something special about you, I think. I don’t mean that in a pick up-y way, just…” For the first time since you’d met him tonight, Joel hesitated with his words, clearly trying to be careful, “You… You seem like you’re the saddest yet most interesting person in a room. Ain’t no accident my eyes were drawn to you immediately after I showed up ten minutes late to the banquet, honey.”

“So… what, you think it’s fate or something? Like I’m some sort of project for you? You getting into renovation projects now, Miller?” The note of resignation in your voice couldn’t be hidden, and you winced when it met your own ears.

“I don’t think it’s fate. Just not sure it’s solely a coincidence- who’s to say, though?” Joel looked down at you, your pace slowing down considerably as he detected a slight wobble in your heels. Without a further thought, he offered his arm, and you took it to stabilize yourself, your wine glass in your other hand.

“You’re not a renovation project, though,” he continued quietly, “Because that would imply some sort of destruction and rebuilding. You don’t need no more destruction than what I’m guessing you’ve endured already.”

“What has you so convinced my dad’s done me wrong somehow?”

“You’re beyond vigilant. You’re careful. You act like he’s gonna show up any moment. You want his approval so bad, but you’re already resigned to the fact you’ll probably never get it. Like I said earlier- you’re more skittery than a cat in a rocking chair factory, and you act like you’re always waiting for that other shoe to drop, or for that rolled up newspaper to come down.”

“Since when is being cautious bad?” You glanced at him, your eyebrows furrowed.

“You know you’re not just cautious. You never know how or when to let your guard down.”

“How the hell do you know all this?”

He looked at you. “I was in your place one time, believe it or not. Tommy and I had a father that wasn’t exactly winning Dad of the Year awards.”

“Not going to lie, I forget you ever had a dad. Just kind of figured you popped out of a cabbage patch or something.”

Joel stifled a laugh. “‘Fraid not.”

You glanced at the dance floor that was being set up away from the tables, the DJ preparing his deck. “I’ve never danced before.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I was hinting that I want to dance.”

“With me?” He didn’t bother hiding the surprise in his voice.

“No, Joel, with the mayor,” you retorted sarcastically, “Yes, with you. If you have more shit to say to me, I may as well get something enjoyable out of it.”

“You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

“I’m an adult, Joel.”

He chuckled warmly beside you. “No, I know. But your dad… I know he does that whole “no cussing” thing.”

“Believe it or not, I do have my own belief system.”

“I believe you.”

The silence that fell between you should have been uncomfortable, stifling even, but somehow it felt warm in a way you hadn’t experienced before with anyone else. You glanced at him and really looked, studying his profile- a well kept beard, yet it very much fed into his rough and rugged type appearance- when Joel’s face swung towards you.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Nothing. Just looking at you.”

“I see.” A smile tugged at his lips, but definitely was kept tampered down.

“Is there a reason you have a spot on your beard that won’t grow hair, or does that just… happen?”

“Just happens,” Joel’s voice was rough as he glanced towards the dance floor, which was successfully set up and attracted a singular couple as they danced to a slow song. “You wanna dance now?”

“Sure. Um… I always wanted to try, but never had anyone to dance with,” you admitted.

His eyebrows collided together at that. “Your daddy never danced with you? I dance with Sarah sometimes, when she asks.”

“I guess I just never asked.”

Joel hummed a little but he led you over to the dance floor as Kelly Clarkson’s Breakaway was playing on tinny speakers. As though it was second nature, his hand slipped around your waist, the other clasping your hand, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his large hand completely enveloped yours. Your back tensed under his hand, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“I voted for her on American Idol,” he said gruffly.

“Kelly Clarkson?” You asked, your surprise evident in your voice. He rolled his eyes but he laughed sheepishly.

“Yeah. My ex-wife was really into American Idol, and… yeah. She got me wrapped into it. In my defense, though, Kelly was undeniably good. Even I could tell that. Why they kept that goddamn show going after they found her, I don’t know.”

You genuinely laughed at that; who would think Joel Miller has intense feelings about Kelly Clarkson and American Idol?

“Alright now, laugh it up-it’s funny, ain’t it,” Joel said with a laugh that mingled with the fringe of yours, his eyes gleaming as he looked at you for a moment before it turned to studying your face.

“What you looking at?” You mimicked his question from earlier.

“You.” He wasn’t shying away from anything, it seemed.

“Just me?”

“You really undervalue yourself.”

“You know, for someone who’s blue collar, you sure do psychoanalyze people a lot. You do this to everyone, or am I just special?”

“ ‘Just me,’” Joel repeated to you, “you’re fascinating to look at, you know that? Ain’t nothing “just” about it.”

“What, are you trying to hit on me? “Come onto me,” as some of the oldies say,” you said, half incredulously, half jesting.

“Hitting on you would be crazy, wouldn’t it? You’re around twenty years younger than me. You’re the daughter of the man who hates my guts, even if he says he just dislikes my ‘sin.’ We both have baggage, I have a daughter. That would be insane, wouldn’t it?”

“And yet-?” You pressed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no game plans, I wasn’t aiming to make a play when I came in.”

“But now-?”

“You get under my skin, despite everything, despite it all. Maybe it’s because I should hate you. It's what’s expected.”

“Joel. My father would kill me.”

“I know,” he whispered gruffly, his face tilted towards you.

“He wouldn’t hesitate to kill you either.”

“I know,” Joel repeated, his hand flexing against your waist, pulling you in closer.

A tightness constricted your voice, tears threatening as they pricked your eyes. You broke away from him, untwining your hands from his shoulder and his hand. “I have to go. I need… I need fresh air.”

Your name was on his lips as you spun on your heel, moving in any direction but his. You shouldered your way through the sparse crowd of people off the floor spectating the dancing towards where you vaguely assumed the bathrooms would be.

Of course, you assumed wrong, which is how you found yourself sliding down with your back to a shelf full of toilet paper, paper towels, extra dishes, and canned heat for catering. Of course you would find yourself in the supply closet.

The tightness traveled from your throat down to your chest, leaving you breathless, grasping and reaching for any puff of breath you could, and your head began to feel light- those tears that wanted to fall earlier now were dribbling down your hot cheeks, but you didn’t have the energy to wipe them away.

You had barely registered Joel entering the closet behind you, everything around you seemed to be delayed by two seconds and hazy like you were peering through smoke, until he was crouched down beside you. You could smell his earthy and pine scented cologne and the warm heat that seemed to radiate from him constantly before you even saw him.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to an ER or something?”

“No. It’s just… Probably an anxiety attack. It’s not too bad, I’ll be okay-“

“Can you stop minimizing yourself and your goddamn pain for one minute so we can troubleshoot whatever’s wrong with you?” His tone wasn’t angry or mean, but it was concerned and frustrated in a way you’d never heard before from anyone.

“Sorry.”

Joel took a deep breath. “Don’t be sorry. Just… stop putting yourself on the backburner. What’s your symptoms?”

“Um… lack of clarity. Tightness of breathing. Accelerated heart rate?”

“Crying.”

“That too.”

He sat back on his knees, those large hands settling on his thighs, fingers subtly twitching like he was holding himself back. “Your daddy has done you a doozy, you know that?”

“I know. I know, he has- god, Joel, I’m aware of that more than goddamn anyone else. You think I don’t know I’m fucked up? And that he’s the one who did it? You think the idea hasn’t crossed my mind a time or two?” The frustration that erupted involuntarily from you made you wipe at your tears angrily.

Joel watched you, that maddening studying he does like he’s watching a bird in its cage figure out the door is open. He wasn’t pulling away from you, he wasn’t even disgusted at the display of emotions. Maybe a little bit uncomfortable, but not so much that he couldn’t handle it.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” you croaked, “I don’t fucking understand. What are you aiming for?”

“You don’t deserve the shit you’re in. Maybe it’s my way of getting back at your dad. I see gold in you, and I’m panning for it, and he’ll be so mad that I found within ten minutes what has been under his nose for twenty something years.”

“You’re so confident I’m something great. You treat all the girls with daddy issues you come across like this? What if I’m not what you think?”

“Chances are that you’re more than you think.”

That familiar silence settled between you again.

“And no,” Joel said suddenly.

“‘No’ what?”

“No, I don’t treat every woman with daddy issues I’ve met like I have you tonight.”

The words hung in the air like a mist that hadn’t met the earth yet. You felt your heart rate slow down, and the tension ease from your chest.

“You know why your daddy was struck out from the bid?” Joel asked quietly.

“Other than what he’s told me? No.”

He took a deep breath. “He was bribing other contractors to withdraw their bids, or not bid at all. He never approached me about it, but a friend of mine got approached, and he told me about it. I advised him to tell the auctioneer, and the auctioneer decided to strike your daddy and his company as being ineligible to bid.”

“Dad did that?”

“I’m afraid so. And if you don’t believe me, my brother can attest to it, and you can even ask the auctioneer.”

“And that’s what made Dad hate you all these years?”

“Yup,” he said simply.

His eyes met yours, searching for any trace of disbelief- a small puff of breath left his lips when he detected none.

“And that’s what caused him to almost destroy your marriage.”

Joel laughed a little, a hint of bitterness surfacing. “Like I said earlier- that wasn’t what did it, I promise.”

“I see.” You exhaled deeply, a small soft sound that he could barely hear catching the tail end of the sigh.

“You believe me now? I don’t just go around trying to defame businessmen, sweetheart.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the usage of the pet name, but you nodded at him. Your hand moved to rest on his thigh, tentatively and calculating, and, though for a split second he eyed it, he said nothing.

Like someone trying to lure a feral cat, he was almost scared to move, lest it disturb the creature.

“Joel-“

“Don’t,” Joel said gently, “We’re not doing anything in this supply closet.”

“Why not? That’s not what I was going to suggest, but why not?”

“Because you’ve just had a panic attack, that’s why. I’m not going to do anything with you while you’re still recovering from that.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I have them all the time.”

He looked at you like you were insane, with his eyebrows furrowed, and that frown of his deepening more than you thought physically possible. “That’s gotta change.”

“You’re not about to be my sugar daddy.”

“No, of course not- Jesus!”

You shrugged, a smile tugging on your lips, though it still felt leaden somehow. “It’s the only other solution for my problems, dude.”

“I have connections, resources- we can get you out. You could work for me, lord knows you have the experience. Or you could do something you always wanted to do. And no- I’m not your sugar daddy.”

Your hand was still on his thigh, and you finally used it to hoist yourself up off the ground, then using the shelf to balance yourself.

Joel stood up with you, his gaze appraising you as he did. He huffed a laugh when one of his knees creaked.

“You feel okay?” He asked, his hand hovering over your shoulder, though never landing.

“A little light headed.”

“You eat much today? Or tonight, even?”

“I had a sandwich at lunch. Um… then I had that Shirley Temple, and wine…”

“C’mon, we’re getting you something to eat.”

“There’s only hor d'oeuvres-“

“No, we’re going to a fast food restaurant. We’re getting you some food in you, even if it’s greasy and bad for you- it’ll be better than nothing, especially after drinking even a little alcohol.”

“Did you not hear that part earlier where I said my dad would kill you?”

He hummed. “I’m ignoring it. Now c’mon.”

“You’ve barely had time to rub elbows with anyone. You’ve been too obsessed with me.” A smile cracked wider now.

“I hate to tell you, but I barely rub elbows with anyone at these functions anyways. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a social butterfly.” Joel cracked the door open, glancing around. “You exit first, I’ll be out in a minute.”

You found yourself in the cab of Joel’s truck, eating Taco Bell. You were surprised at how clean he kept it, but not in an excessive “truck guy” way. Just… neat.

The truck itself was newish, though not the newest, and a dark blue color. When he opened the door, a running board popped out from beneath the truck for you to step onto. Regardless, Joel held your hand while you climbed into the truck, steadying you. The little bit of contact made another shiver chase down your spine, and you weren’t surprised at all at how touch starved you are.

“Sarah just vacuumed it for me,” he said, a tad bit tenderly, “I’ve told her I can get it, but she likes vacuuming, she said.”

Your eyes fell on the “I love you, Dad- Love, Sarah” note that rested in the corner of his speedometer, and it made something in you clench a little- This man wasn’t just some sort of hot piece of meat, he was a dad too, with a daughter who was barely twelve years younger than you, and an ex wife. He had a whole life.

“She sounds like a good kid.”

“She is. I was worried how the divorce would affect her but… she adjusted so well.”

“I imagine it would have been more toxic for her, in a way, for you guys to stay together if it was irreconcilable.” You were cautious, clearly unsure how to talk about this topic with him. Joel seemed to sense it, turning towards you and the soft shell taco you were still eating.

“That good? Filling you up okay?”

“Definitely. Nothing beats a good taco, you know? You sure you don’t want a bite?”

He hesitated. “Sure, gimme a bite,” he relented.

Leaning forward, you offered your taco to him, expecting him to take it from your hand. Instead, Joel leans forward to nibble on it, and you were acutely aware his lips were just mere inches from your finger tips.

If that wasn’t enough, while he was nibbling, he looked up at you with those eyes- those big brown eyes, once again. Your breath hitched for a moment, and you felt so stupid for it. He was eating a goddamn taco, for pete’s sake.

He pulled back, still chewing on his bite, but his eyes were on you, an eyebrow cocked up and a dimple in his cheek doing an appearing and disappearing act as he ate. You had to pinch yourself to keep from giggling- that is a forty something year old man. Joel does not need to be objectified-

“What you starin’ at?”

“You’ve got lettuce on your mouth.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Not really. He did have a small piece of lettuce on the corner of his lip.

Joel wiped the lettuce off with his thumb, but his gaze remained on you, though now the corner of his eyes were crinkling at the corners, the wrinkles popping out like a dear friend. “You sure that was all you were looking at?”

“I wouldn’t swear my life on it, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said softly.

You looked down at yourself- you were oddly conscious of the fact you were wearing this fancy dress, eating a taco, and sitting beside Joel in his truck, alone. You subtly adjusted your neckline. No one was there to witness anything but the moon that overlooked you all, and he was looking at you like you hung it yourself.

So really, it was only natural that you leaned forward infinitesimally, and of course Joel noticed.

“What are you doing,” he murmured.

Your cheeks stung with heat but you said nothing, choosing to fall into silence instead.

“You didn’t do nothing wrong,” Joel says gently, “I don’t want you to think you did. I just… I just want to know where your head is right now.”

“I wanna kiss you. Am I… Am I reading things wrong?” You damned yourself for the small quiver that entered your voice.

Joel gently reached for your chin, cupping your face as he tilted your face towards his.

“First of all, I didn’t ask if it was right or wrong, I asked what you’re doing. I know it’s a habit, but you don’t have to weigh everything out, not with me,” His eyes eased into gentleness, “and second of all… you weren’t reading a damn thing wrong, I promise you.”

Joel pushed the cup holder that separated them up into the seat, tossing aside the taco bell bag and setting them on the floor board before dragging you closer to himself on that leather bench seat, your thigh hitting his. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into himself, his lips finding your forehead first, then moving to the tip of your nose. While it would seem to be tender, patient even, to casual onlookers, Joel felt as though someone lit a fire beneath his ass, his movement jerky as he moved his kisses to your neck.

“Why don’t you kiss me already?” You say impatiently. You felt the vibration of his chuckle against the skin of your collarbone.

“Because I know you might freak out if we just jump right in, no warm up. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Of course not.”

“Trust in me, okay? I think I can make you feel real good.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

His lips continued kissing a trail down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, and to the center of the slight cleavage that peeked out from the sweetheart neckline.

“Can I leave a hickey?” He asked, slightly muffled by your skin, “Do you have anything to cover it with so your daddy doesn’t see?”

“I can put some foundation on it.”

Wordlessly, his mouth continued their ministrations, seeking but softly, and from your perspective, you could see the meat of his nose gently bending against the flesh of your breast. Your breathing hitched again when you felt him suck a little more intensely right above the neckline of your dress.

With a small pop, Joel released your skin from his mouth, a small proud grin on his face as he studied the hickey he left behind.

“Did you know,” he said with dramatic pauses, “you smell exactly what I think Heaven smells like?“

That’s what began the escapades where you snuck around with your dad’s enemy.

Finding times and places that your father wouldn’t or couldn’t find you and Joel together slowly became your new favorite challenge.

That night in the Taco Bell parking lot had sealed your fate; Joel was right when he said he would make you feel good, and what woman didn’t love a man who makes good on his promises?

He had yet to propose a homerun, and stayed comfortably at second base. You had asked him why, and all he did was say exactly what he said before- he didn’t want to freak you out by going too fast.

You weren’t sure if you were frustrated by it, or if you admired his patience and mindfulness of what you needed- maybe a little bit of both.

So you often found yourself on the couch in his office when you’d tell your dad you were eating at a cafe, Joel’s hand never wandering below your belt, or in the bed of his truck in a field, your shirt off but your bra still on, messily making out with him, his knee notched between your legs.

You had met Tommy, Joel’s younger brother and business partner, by now, most often passing him while tripping in and out of Joel’s office, and he only gave you amused looks and friendly smiles. He was handsome, perhaps even more handsome than Joel to the strict eye, but for a reason you couldn’t put your finger on, Joel just simply… was it for you.

“How long are we gonna be a secret?” You murmured to Joel one day while his forehead rested against yours, cuddling on his office couch. How it supported you and Joel, who was no petite sized man, with those broad shoulders, you had no idea.

Joel’s eyes softened with fondness as they roved over your face, kissing your cheek. “Until you’re ready to face your dad. Or we get caught.”

“Both of those sound scary to think about.”

“We’ll handle it together, sweetheart.”

You rewarded his answer with a gentle kiss on the lips, which quickly turned into him settling on top of you, growling softly against your lips.

Reckoning day, much like an inexperienced lover, comes quickly.

You were sitting in Joel’s office again, by yourself on the couch, while he worked at his desk, his reading glasses pushed down the bridge of his nose as he compared invoices to what was on the merchant program and find any discrepancies. You didn’t want to admit it (actually, you already had on multiple occasions) but those reading glasses had no business being that attractive on Joel.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“C’mere.”

You got off the couch and moved towards him, and he turned his computer chair out from his desk, his hands patting his thighs.

“You want me to sit.”

“Is this a surprise to you?”

“No, but…”

An amused huff of breath escaped Joel’s mouth. “Turn that pretty little head of yours off for a minute, will you? Sit. I want your weight on me. I need a break from these damn numbers.”

You stifled a chuckle as you relented, moving to sit on his lap. You had barely eased your ass down on his thighs when he pulled you in with those large hands that keep you mesmerized, sweeping you to the side so that your legs hung over the side of the arm rests.

“You know, every time I see something red, I think of you. Ever since we talked about favorite colors and you got all excited about the different hues, now all I can think about is you when I see red. Sometimes I even put red paint chips in my pocket when I’m at the paint store- feels like I’m carrying a little bit of you around.” His lips brushed your cheek reverently.

Your smile was almost small, almost polite, but the thud of your heart was sure to be heard. “You remember my favorite color?”

“Of course I do. Red, but you also specifically like the cherry red shade, and the shade of red wine. Knowing you means more and more things remind me of you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said softly.

About thirty minutes before, Tommy had left for the day, only a tad bit early, which had left you and Joel alone in the building. Impishly, he had thrown over his shoulder, “Don’t have too much fun, you two.”

But maybe if Tommy was there, he could have stopped any rude interruptions.

For instance, your father hurtling through the business building and bursting through Joel’s office door.

When your father stepped through that door, instead of moving away from Joel like you would have expected to have done by instinct, you pressed into him, like he was safety itself. Joel’s hand on your waist flexed, as though comforting himself you were right where you needed to be.

“I didn’t think I’d believe it ‘till I saw it with my own eyes,” your father said, growly as he stalked closer to you and Joel, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Can I help you?” Joel asked evenly.

“That’s my daughter you got there in your lap. I don’t know if she bothered to tell you.”

“I know who she is.”

“Me too, now. A fornicator, a liar, a cheater. No sense of loyalty or morality.”

Joel glanced at you, gauging your emotion, before he swung his gaze back to your father, his jaw working and tensing. “Say that again.”

Your father opened his mouth, clearly to do exactly that, but he stopped when he saw Joel get up from the chair, setting you down first before approaching him, those hands clenching and unclenching.

“You would talk about your own daughter like that?” Joel asked in a dark tone, “you would reduce her to values and characteristics you yourself do not live up to but preach about till you’re blue in the face?”

“I ain’t a fornicator. I don’t lie to sleep around with people I ain’t got no business being around, who hate my family.“

“When did honesty become an installed policy for your company? Certainly wasn’t the case… some twenty years ago. Spreading rumors like a damn busybody.”

“I was only telling people what I heard.”

A puff of air expelled from Joel’s nostrils. “That’s your problem, man. You twist and fabricate shit as you go. You hold staunchly to rules for other people, but somehow the rules tend to bend and give a little for you. Funny how that works, ain’t it?”

Your dad finally looked at you. “Let’s go.”

A lump was stuck in your throat, all you could do was shake your head.

“I said let’s go- I don’t know what lies this man’s said to you to manipulate and beguile you to this state of sin, but it ain’t true. You know better than this. He’s just using you.”

Joel stepped even closer, his hands moving rapidly, and at first you thought he was about to land a punch, and clearly so did your father because he blanched a little at the movement, but Joel’s hands landed on your dad’s shoulders, redness of anger creeping up his neck as he started shaking him.

“I’m not using her. We haven’t slept together. And you… you’ve completely broken that woman, you know that? Do you know how many layers of walls she’s built because you’re immature and don’t know how to deal with having a daughter who’s smarter than you, more intelligent than you, and instead of celebrating her, you break her down so you won’t be so intimidated by her potential? You little man.”

“You’re using her because she’s so much younger than you, and she’s naive.”

Joel glanced at you for a moment before looking back at your dad, his face hardening again.

“She is younger than me. We’re both aware of that. But naive… that’s a term I wouldn’t use for her. Definitely for you, though.” He gave your dad another shake. “You really thought you were going to walk into my place of work and… what, threaten me? Haul the woman I’ve grown to care for in the back of your truck like another piece of two by four wood, and let you berate her? Unlike you, I’m a man of honor and conscience.”

Your dad sputtered. “Maybe my daughter isn’t the one who’s beguiled and manipulated. You’ve been sneaking around with my daughter, doing who knows what foolishness and evil with her, and you’re old enough to be her daddy. You call yourself a man of honor? Do you even go to church?”

“So going to church magically makes you a man of honor now? I’m not manipulated, man- there’s not a manipulative bone in her body.”

“And I’ll bet you checked around for it,” your dad scoffed.

If Joel was red before, his face was scarlet as anything now as he moved into the other man’s face. “How dare you speak about your daughter that way. How dare you? Is she nothing to you except a sack of bones and meat that contain a little bit of your genes?”

You stood up from the computer chair, your hands trembling, your knees shaky, before Joel could rip him a new one.

“Daddy,” Your dad and Joel’s head both swiveled towards you, “Daddy, Joel’s right,” you said quietly, “You… you don’t talk to me well. And… he’s made me realize that. He treats me so well. I’ve always known I’m worth more than you ever treated me, but I didn’t know how uncomfortable I’d be when I would be treated like someone who’s worth something. That’s when I realized how much damage you’ve done.”

“I put food on your table and a roof over your head, girl. Watch your mouth, and mind how you speak of me.”

“She’s not just worth something,” Joel said quietly, “she’s worth everything.”

Your eyes pricked with tears as they met Joel’s over your dad’s shoulder.

“I’m moving out, Dad,” you said resolutely, your jaw set and your shoulders squared. “I’m quitting.”

“You’re my only secretary.”

“That’s your problem now.” Your tone was soft, much softer than you had intended.

Joel released his hold on the man, not quite with a shove, though clearly he would have if he didn’t think it would upset you.

Your dad turned to you, his eyes, once blazing and fiery, now smoldering and dark like burnt coal.

“What has he done to you?” He asked, his one last hope of pulling you back in veiled concern.

“Nothing I didn’t ask for. So much can’t be said for you. I’ll be by the house later to pack my stuff.”

“Just like that? You’re gone?”

“I’ve been leaving for years, Dad. You didn’t notice. You know what you noticed? Every fault. Every slip up. Do you even know my favorite color?”

He physically hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed in nervousness. He looked at your shirt. “It’s pink, ain’t it?”

“No, Dad. You know who knows, though? Joel. Joel knows more about me in the month and a half we’ve been together” - Your dad sputtered again at the revealed timeline- “Than you know about me from the twenty something years that we’ve spent together as daughter and father. What does that say about you?”

“That I’ve been busy.”

“You know what? Yes, you have been. That’s why you shouldn’t be surprised our relationship deteriorated. Now, leave.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“You are. You will. You know as well as anybody that Joel reserves the right to remove anybody from his business’s premises. And wouldn’t that catch wind in the grapevines if someone sees you being forcibly removed by either the police or Joel?”

“You’re threatening me. Your own father,” he growled.

“You have a choice in the matter.”

Nobody said anything for a moment, the air thickened with tension and indecision. Joel was stone faced as he studied your father skeptically, and your father was watching you for any leeway, any sign of relenting to him, and you… you looked at the ceiling to stop the tears that burned your eyes. When he found nothing to his liking, he turned on his heel, storming out of the office, and out of the building, slamming doors as he went.

By pure instinct, you looked towards Joel, and the moment his eyes met yours, the tears that were held at bay flooded, and you collapsed as he reached for you, folding you into his arms.

“You did so good, honey,” he whispered, “you did so well. I’m proud of you, I’m proud of you.”

Something about his praise did you in, and you buried your face into his chest, your hands fisting into his green flannel, sob after sob wracking your frame.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” Joel promised, his lips slightly muffled by your hair, “You won’t need for nothin’. I swear it, darlin’.”

He hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his torso and one hand bracing your waist while the other supported your thigh, and carried you to his truck, sitting you in the passenger seat.

“I’m gonna lock up the office, you stay here. I’m gonna drive you to my house.”

Your eyebrows raised at that. You hadn’t met Sarah yet, and you and Joel had been deliberating on when you should meet her. Sarah knew about you, having sniffed it out the first morning Joel made pancakes while whistling, but… you weren’t sure how she was going to react to a new woman in her life, especially one that wasn’t terribly much older than herself.

“Guess you’ll finally get to meet Sarah,” Joel said with a small smile as if he had read your mind, “It’ll be okay. You can stay until we can find you a more permanent place to stay. Unless…?”

“I’m not moving in with you yet,” you said gently, “I want… I want my own place before I become someone else’s. Plus… we’ve only been together for… what, a month and a half now?”

He huffed a small laugh, his hand still on the edge of the truck door, holding it open. “Guess that’s right, isn’t it?”

“You still haven’t officially asked for me to be your girlfriend,” you teased.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to have that conversation now?”

“I’ll be merciful and save it for later. Too tired for that conversation anyways.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he took in your tired eyes and the puffy bags underneath. “Yeah I bet,” He kissed your forehead, “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

You had saved up money from the little bit you made working for your dad, and then you began working for Joel doing the same tasks at a slightly higher wage, so you and Joel went used RV shopping together, hoping to find something that you can live in temporarily until you can get your feet on the ground again, determined to live independently. When you did find something, Joel had it hauled to a piece of property that he owned that had a hookup for it, and you began living there.

However, that stint of living with Joel gave you time with Sarah, who was… surprisingly cool about the situation. She was sweet, and it had become a tradition to pile on the couch with Sarah and Joel to watch some cheesy movie. Sarah would often make little snack foods like Jalapeño poppers, different chips and dip, or smores, and they would be devoured by Joel, who was no picky eater.

Seeing Joel interact with Sarah, and vice versa, healed something in you. You should be a little resentful, but you can’t find it in yourself- it’s just who Joel is, and he treats the ones he loves, or cares for, the best that he knows how. He’s involved with Sarah, mindful of who her friends are, and makes sure she’s keeping up with school, yet he’s not a helicopter parent, he gives her room to make her own decisions and to find out consequences for herself. Even though Joel wasn’t a very touchy-feeling person, it was clear she trusted him enough that she could hug or cuddle with him any time.

While you lived with Joel, you had your own guest room, and for the most part, shenanigans were exclusive to making out, showering together, literally sleeping together in his bed or your bed, and dry humping. You wondered why he was waiting so long to have sex- not freaking you out couldn’t be it anymore.

But now, you were in your own RV, room enough for you, but not much else. You lit some candles on the small kitchen counter, and melted into the small recliner you’d found at a thrift store, watching a Peanuts movie, trying so hard to relax, but nothing seemed to be working.

Finally, you gave up. You pulled out your phone and called Joel.

“Y’ello?”

“Joel?”

“Hi sweetheart. You okay?”

You huffed a small laugh which somehow turned into a choked sob. “Yeah, I’m fine, just lonely.”

“I imagine so,” he said softly, “You need anything?”

“You.”

“You want me to come over?”

You were quiet. You were torn- you should be able to be by yourself, you’re not a child. But Joel made you feel safe, and that’s what you needed right now.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“I’ll be over in a little. Sarah’s away at a slumber party.”

You heard the implication- he would probably end up sleeping over too.

“Okay. Knock when you get here, I keep the door locked.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you, sweetheart.”

Twenty minutes later, you hear his knock on the door, and you let him in, greeting him with a kiss.

“You’ve decorated it since I was last here,” he commented, his chin resting on your head while your arms were wrapped around his middle.

“Dollar Tree comes in clutch,” you said with a smile, “it’s been fun.”

Joel glanced at the Peanuts special still playing on the small TV, a smile tugging on his lips. “It’s very you.”

He tugged you to sit on his lap on the small love seat, pushing aside the throw pillows. ”Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just… Like I said, I’m lonely, and the silence is driving me crazy. I miss you. I miss Sarah too.”

Joel brushed a kiss on your cheek, his beard bristling against your skin. “I miss you too. One day we’ll wake up together every day and never have to be apart.”

“You sure you want that?”

“Mmhm.”

His grip tightened on you, his hand rubbing your arm soothingly, scribbling against your skin with his finger. The silence with Joel was always comfortable, and never once did he ever make you feel like his silences were to be used as a weapon.

“Is tonight the night?” you whispered.

“I don’t wanna rush you, darlin’. You know that.”

You had to stifle a laugh. “I’ve been waiting awhile to go beyond just heavy petting and your hand under my underwear. I… I want to do this, Joel, with you. I’m ready, and… and I won’t freak out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His breathing became shallow, and you watched the quickness of how the skin of his chest beneath the V of the unbuttoned flannel shirt rose and fell. His eyes darkened, and you swore you saw his pupils dilate with arousal. At least you assumed it was arousal, based on the tent that was being pitched under your ass.

“Okay. But we’re not doing this halfway. We’re doing this on the bed, and we’re doing this slowly. I’m not gonna jump, pump, then dump.”

Your cheeks flushed at his blunt and crude avowal, but you nodded anyway. “Okay.”

In a single swift motion, Joel scooped you up to carry you to the small bedroom of the RV, and he set you on the queen sized bed that monopolized your living space. For a moment, you saw him take in your bedroom decorating- the solid white bedspread, the colorful blankets you had on the end of the bed, the decorative pillows haphazardly thrown onto your bed, and the little trinkets of stones, acorns, and pebbles that sat on the small bedside table along with your digital clock and your water bottle. He laid you down, his arms bracing on either side of you and caging you in.

“You know I find you hot,” Joel said, almost questioning.

“Yeah of course,” you said breathlessly, the proximity of his face to yours driving you crazy.

“Do you know I find you insanely cute too? Sometimes… sometimes I just want to stick you in my pocket.” He pressed a tender kiss to your hairline, his large warm hand settling on your hip, his thumb tracing your hip bone through the soft thin pants of your loungewear. “It’s strange. You’re such a capable woman, and I find that attractive about you, and I find you insanely hot. But something about you, sweetheart… You’re cute. I ain’t said that since damn high school.”

“Is it because I’m younger than you?”

“No. No, it’s just… despite everything you’ve been through, you want to be good. You had every right to turn into a villain, or to follow in your dad’s footsteps ‘cause it’s what you’re familiar with. But you didn’t. And… I guess I find that endearing. I find that… cute.”

“Cute. Okay.”

He chucked, and his warm breath tickled your under jaw. His hand began to move under your shirt to cup your breast, pressing kisses to your cheek, your nose, your lip, under your jaw, then trailing and dribbling the kisses down to the hollow of your throat. “I meant that in a positive way. Not in a demeaning or a condescending way.”

“I know, Joel.”

“Just making sure.” Joel began lifting the hem of your shirt with one hand, the fingertips of his other hand ghosting along the skin of your stomach, the callouses contrasting with your softness.

He dropped your shirt off the side of bed carelessly, his eyes observing your newly exposed skin, your nipples instantly taut to the slight chill of the RV’s AC. Curiously, one hand began to tweak at your nipple while his other hand moved to the waistband of your pants, teasing it.

He dipped down to take a nipple into his mouth while his hand worked on the other, sucking and licking as you fought to stifle a moan at the overstimulation. He released your nipple from his lips with a pop.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart,” Joel said gruffly, “I want to hear you. No one’ll hear you except me. You ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

You nodded, and he huffed a laugh.

“Good girl. There’s more to come, I promise.”

He continued his mission, except he pursued your nipple like it owed him money, nipping at you with his teeth gently. The mix of a moan and a yelp left your lips, and Joel chuckled again against your skin.

That other hand of his on your waist band quickly began to tug your pants down, and you helped him out by shimmying a little bit and lifting your hips for him, the motion moving the pants further. With a grunt and a little aggression, Joel flung them off, hurling them in some direction- neither of you cared where, he was too busy multitasking as he began to move your panties to the side.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so wet,” Joel groaned as one of his digits dipped between your weeping lips experimentally, “Is this all for me, sweetheart?”

“All for you, Joel,” you gasped as he added another finger.

He continued pinching your nipples with one hand as the other hand thrust and curled into you- you leaned into the friction with a whimper, barely realizing it had left your lips until it met your ears.

“I want to be gentle with you, baby, but my god, you make me crazy sometimes.”

Joel’s hands leave your breast and exit your pussy to pull your panties totally off. He drops them to the side with your shirt, andhe leans back on his knees, the mattress squeaking at the shifting weight of him, to look at you below him appraisingly. You whined at the loss of his fingers, and his eyes softened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with crows feet.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that? I would take a picture of you like this if I could, stick it in my wallet to look at when I’m on job sites.” Joel moved down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hands lingering on your jaw before cupping your chin.

“You could, you know,” you say saucily, a smile curving your lips as you look up at him.

“I could, couldn’t I?” Joel grunted as he fished his phone out of his back pocket. He

aimed the camera down below where you were at his eye level, and the flash nearly blinded you as you laughed.

“You gonna take that to Walmart and get it printed out?” you teased as he stared at the picture on the display of his phone.

“God, sweetheart, you really want to be with me? Of all people?” Joel asked gently as he finally put his phone back in his back pocket. “Do you know how much better you could do than an old man?”

You saw the hint of insecurity peek through his voice, even for just a moment, and you beckoned him down towards you with your hand. “C’mere,” you said softly.

He moved between your legs, gingerly lowering himself until his head was on your chest, as you directed him. Your fingers weaved through his hair for a moment, stroking the curls tenderly.

“I don’t want better, Joel. You’re so good to me. You treat me like a goddamn princess, a queen even, and I cannot even imagine better. I don’t want to imagine better.” You paused, your fingers still carding through his hair, “Because I love you.”

Joel stilled. You felt his throat shift against your breast as he swallowed. “Darlin.’ Are you sure? You absolutely sure you mean that?”

“I mean that, Joel. You’ve… god, you’ve more than proven that you’re someone I can trust.”

“I don’t want you saying something you don’t completely mean, sweetheart. Not… not when it comes to that.”

“I completely mean it. I can’t imagine a life, a future without you. This isn’t just messing around for me.”

Joel looked up at you, his brown eyes glistening like pools of black tea, the warm lights from above the alcove your bed was in illuminating them just right. You tried deciphering his expression- those eyebrows that were raised, as though in hope, but his plush lips that were carved in a straight line, taut and stern. It puzzled you.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you pleaded, “you don’t have to tell me you love me too. I know you too well to expect you to lie for my sake.”

He raised himself off of you, and climbed off the bed.

You panicked for a moment, wondering if you’d done the wrong thing. Maybe you should have waited. God, there’s no way-

Joel began to unbutton his flannel shirt slowly before dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. Soon, he began working at his belt, undoing the buckle and pulling it through the loops as it made that soft sound of leather sliding against denim. Then came the button of his jeans. The zipper as it hitched open. He stepped out of his jeans, kicking them to the side before running his thumb on the inside of the waistband of his boxers, toying with them as he maintained his eyes on his hands.

As for your eyes? They were glued on him. You’d seen him naked before, of course, but each time filled you with butterflies like it was the very first time.

Joel wasn’t ripped, per say, but he wasn’t out of shape either. You could see strength in those arms, corded in the way that was formed by hard work and repetition of carrying material, not jacked and gym muscle. But there was softness there, you’d felt it before when you’d lay in his arms before, and you were talking to him about something that was bothering you.

He had a little bit of a belly on him that simply came with age, but deterred no admiration from you. To you, Joel Miller was one of the most beautiful men you could imagine. He was comfortable, he was powerful, he was competent- he was all these things, and somehow you were the one lucky enough to spend time with him.

Joel finally dragged his boxers down, stepping out of them before climbing on the bed again, crawling to you.

He was glorious.

You’d seen his cock before, obviously- it wasn’t absurdly long, but it was thick, and somehow shapely. But this time, it was seeping with precum on the head, angry and red.

You’d done this to him. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine- having that much of an affect on someone was far more empowering than you’d really imagined.

“Here’s how we’re going to do this, darlin’,” Joel said gently, his hand absently fondling his cock, “I’m gonna loosen you up again. We’re gonna get at least one orgasm out of you before I give you my cock. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

He moved to lay between your legs, spreading them further apart. Though he’d seen your pussy earlier, a devious smile was on his face as he admired it, one hand on your thigh keeping you open.

“You can’t see her, but she’s red, and drippin’, and glistenin’, and… I don’t know if I believe in a god, but I’ll say that whoever created the pussy as a general concept was a genius. But whoever was creating your pussy? They were creating a masterpiece.”

Your face heated at his dirty praise. “Joel-“

He chuckled at you as he hooked your legs over his shoulder, the facial hair on his jaw bristling against the inside of your thighs. “My girl loves praise, and as long as I’m around? She’s gonna get it.”

His breath against your core made you shudder, but his mouth against you caused you to jolt, and your hands flew to his hair, your fingers grasping and tugging the strands.

Joel’s tongue worked in and out of you expertly, as though he was cleaning out the last bite of his favorite dessert. He sucked your clit in his mouth, and the amount and sheer volume of expletives that left your lips was enough to make you wonder if your father could hear them from his house if he tried. He swirled that sensitive bud, and you thought your eyes might roll to the back of your head.

“J-Joel- Oh my god-“

“C’mon, sweetheart, I got ya,” Joel reassured against your pussy, “Let go f’me”

He continued licking and kissing, and you wondered how much longer you could resist- you wanted to save this feeling as long as you could, you didn’t want to rush it, but… good lord, Joel wasn’t making it easy for you.

His large hands clutched the outsides of your thighs, guiding them so your hips would stay in place, and you freed a sigh as he began to pick up the pace. You could be strong, you had this, you’ve got this.

He nibbled at your clit, his teeth barely brushing it.

Nope. That did it, you tilted your head back, and you gripped the bed spread as you felt yourself cum, the hybrid of a whimper and gasp leaving you. You expected him to move away but… he merely began to lap up your release greedily.

This fucking man.

You caught your breath as you watched him emerge from between your legs, his beard shimmering with your juice and a grin in place on his face.

“You look like the cat who got the milk,” you said hazily.

Joel chuckled as he moved up, grabbing your hips so you faced each other. “I think I did, sweetheart. Maybe even better than milk, if we’re honest.”

He began to kiss you, his tongue touching yours immediately, and you could taste the slight salty taste of your pussy. But his hand moved between you, and found your core.

Two fingers slipped in, moving in and out methodically and rhythmically, the juice squelching from the movement of his hand. Between his touches and his insistent and desperate kisses, you felt overwhelmed and overstimulated by your senses in the best ways.

Your hips sought the friction of his hand, grinding against it, and you gasped as you felt him insert a third finger, thrusting doggedly and faster, certainly sloppier.

“Joel, what are you-“

“Does it feel good, baby?” Joel asked against your lips.

“Yes… god, yes, it does, yes, right there, right there-“

“You’re stretching so well for me. You’re doing so good, I’m so proud of you- I’m so proud of you.”

Tears wet your eyes as you felt that tell-tale tremor down your spine. “Joel, please-“

“Please what?”

“I want your cock now, Joel, please, please.”

“You think you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“I am-“ Joel curled his fingers inside of you, brushing your clit deliciously, “I’m so ready, Joel, please.”

“You on the pill? IUD?”

“I’m on the pill, and you can check my nightstand for proof.”

“You gotta condom?”

“You told me you’re clean, right? I am too. I think… I think we should be fine.”

“I am clean, yeah.”

“I’m so ready for your cock, Joel, please.”

Before you could process anything, anything at all- you felt him replace his hand with the head of his cock, and you gasped as it sat at your entrance, ready to thrust in.

“Baby, I’ve got something to say.”

“Say it, Joel.”

“I love you.”

He thrust in, the double impact of his words and the way he filled you up made you gasp- whether out of surprise or for air, you weren’t sure.

Slowly, inch by inch, Joel moved inside, until he bottomed out.

“I. Love. You.”

He moved inside of you, and your hand meandered down to where you were joined at, but he swatted your hand away, instead replacing it with his, using his thumb to make slow and small circular motions against your clit.

“I love you so much, you don’t know- sweetheart, I couldn’t tell you when exactly I started loving you because it could have been anywhere between the supply closet at that damned chamber of commerce banquet, or the Taco Bell parking lot.”

“That first night, huh?”

“I was gone for. I wasn’t kidding when I said if I never saw you again, I’d always wonder about you. You’re remarkable, you leave an impression, and… and I was so angry at your dad that he didn’t let you see it. That he beat you down till the only thing you recognized in the mirror is what he told you you had.”

“My dad’s worst enemy, huh?” A smile filled your face.

Joel kissed your forehead tenderly with a chuckle that seemed to reverberate deep from his chest as he pulled you closer to him. “Yeah, I guess I am your Dad’s worst enemy,” He paused thoughtfully, “not nearly as much as he is his own, though.”

He focused on your pleasure again, thrusting until all you felt was him pistoning between your legs, as though it was the only anchor keeping you from floating from the bed straight to the sky.

Your yelps gave way to satisfied sighs and soft whimpers, clenching and gripping the sheets until you both found your releases- you were surprised at how long he had managed to keep himself, but when he released, spilling his seed inside of you… he wasn’t noisy, he wasn’t grunting, but his face was that of peace, his eyes fluttered closed, and his thick eyelashes fanned out on his cheek.

You clung to each other as you both descended from your highs. His arm was wrapped under your arm pit, the other clutching your shoulders, and you had both arms around his neck, your face buried against him.

“You did so good, darlin,” Joel murmured.

“You say that again, and you’re about to have round two on your hands, cowboy.”

“What a threat,” he laughed as he pulled himself out of you. You whined at the loss, the emptiness in you now, but your heart felt so full.

He loved you. Joel Miller, your dad’s enemy, loved you. It was laughable, really, a joke in itself.

But there it was.

You watched him as he untwined himself from you and got up, that immaculate bare ass facing you as though that was your gift from God himself, and went to the kitchen and began filling up water glasses for you guys, and then moving back towards you and the bedroom. Every foot step reverberated through the RV, but it comforted you somehow, knowing you could feel him and his echoes from where you were.

“Drink this,” Joel handed you the glass carefully, “I’ll go get us some rags.”

You watched him leave again, but you had to stifle that giggle to yourself again.

It really was your father’s worst enemy, wasn’t it?

thank you so much for reading, i hope you guys enjoyed this, and be sure to leave a like and a reblog! maybe a comment if you’re feeling generous ;)

tag list:

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

Another night of disrupted sleep. 2:00am shines red from the alarm clock and from across the hall Cass can hear the sounds of muffled cries, the creak of aged bedsprings. Another nightmare, or exhaustion from the insomnia. Her heart aches as she lies in silence— her previous attempts to go in and offer comfort had not been accepted well. He’s a teenager after all, a mess of hormones and confusion, and she is little more than a stranger to him. 

When he’s not making himself small and haunting the house with his barely traceable presence, he dons a mask of blank indifference. When she brings up the nightmares in the morning he lies— blames the sounds she hears on the wind, or her own imagination. They had decided against therapy at first, wanting to see if Keiren could bounce back with their help. Or, that’s what they tell the doctors and social services.

  In reality, they simply cannot afford that kind of expense; taking in her estranged brother’s newly orphaned thirteen year old hadn’t been in the budget as it is, and they’d only just closed on the cafe a couple months ago. Keiren’d seemed fine— distant, grieving, prone to random flares… But fine. Or so showed the act he put on for them, which fell away each night. The sun set and the caricature of a moody, disinterested teenager dissolved to reveal a child who couldn’t sleep more than a couple hours at a time, and cried out for comfort he didn’t believe he deserved.

Now, Cass makes plans to use the local library’s computer to look for some sort of support group in their new neighborhood for the kid. The circles under his dark eyes border on black these days, and he’s having trouble staying awake throughout the day, if his tutor is to be believed. If something doesn’t change soon, he’s going to end up in the hospital, the last thing he needed. 

Another cry, this one much louder, quickly followed by a thud! Has her jumping out of bed and tiptoeing across the hall, pushing open her new housemate’s bedroom door. The bed is empty of both teenager and bedding, and when she looks down to find the aforementioned teen tangled within the blankets on the floor, she heaves a sigh. Orange light like that of a dying fire glows within the thin quilt, but there’s no heat. Moving slowly, because she hasn’t been sensed yet by the normally vigilant boy, Cass takes one edge of the blanket, pulling it away to reveal a flushed, teary face and a senseless fluff of dark curls. 

His eyes are still clenched shut, but he stiffens when she brushes against him, flaring to feverish temps and pulling away to sit more fully against the side of the bed. Her heart constricts in response, because this— this is the most unexpected part of taking in her nephew. 

They had foreseen the nightmares, the moodiness, the grief, the shaky grasp of control he held over his still developing abilities. 

They hadn’t foreseen the flinching, the fear of raised voices, the rejection of physical contact. Her brother hadn’t been a kind man or a good man when she knew him, and apparently he hadn’t changed that for his child. The bruises the doctors found hadn’t been caused by the fire, and they hadn’t been the result of rough treatment by the rescue team, but remnants of the loveless man laying in the morgue. 

Retracting her hands, Cass sits across from him and lets him wake fully. Red rimmed eyes blink open and meet her soft gaze fleetingly, before falling to examine the faded bedspread covering his lap. 

The orange glow fades; slow, almost tentative.

“S-sorry…” he croaks, a word she’s heard more in the last 3 weeks than she has in her entire life, she’s sure. He apologizes for everything— a knee jerk reaction the moment he seems to think he’s upset her. “I just fell but I’m fine, you can go back to bed.” That had been his explanation for the bruises, too. With that, he tries to stand, attempting to unwind the bedspread with minimal success and nearly tumbling to the ground a second time.

“Oh, baby…” She can’t help but murmur, climbing to her feet so she can help him free his tangled limbs, laying the blanket back on the bed. 

Standing face to face in the smallish room, with none of the distance they usually maintain during the day, she looks over the boy she’s taken in— all gangly limbs and awkward posture. Thirteen years old and he’s taller than her already, and yet again she is struck by the fact that she has missed her nephew’s entire childhood. A month ago she hadn’t even been aware of his existence. 

“You know the doctor said nightmares were normal, and we have those pills for the insomnia. You don’t have to hide these things from me.” But he’s already shaking his head, panic blooming in his eyes. “No please, I don’t want the pills, I can’t control it when I'm taking them.” 

And there was the elephant in the room. Not her nephew’s abilities, but his belief that his abilities had killed his parents. He refused to even acknowledge them point blank, and she’d only seen him really use his powers once; at the hospital when he’d been informed of his parents’ deaths. The flames had burned intensely but hadn’t struck out once; instead swirling together to form a cocoon around him. No one had been able to get through them and they’d had to resort to calling in a hydra working in the cafeteria to douse the flames so they could sedate him. 

Now, Keiren avoids heat like the plague; windows flung open despite the still chilly spring temps, electric fan going full speed. All he had salvaged from his old house was armfuls of eclectic sweaters, and yet he lived in the plain tank tops and t-shirts the temporary foster family provided him. He doesn’t even seem to like being in the kitchen when the stove is on. 

He cautiously climbs back into bed when she gestures for him to do so, going along without complaint when she drapes the blanket back over him— he could do it himself of course, and he’ll likely kick it off as soon as she leaves, but he’s just so heartbreaking with his shaking hands and nervous glances, and if he’s not going to sleep Cass at least wants him comfortable.

“Are you sure? We have a long day tomorrow, if you don’t get at least a little sleep…” She hesitates to give in— she’s a mother now, shouldn’t she put her foot down here? He truly does need the sleep— meeting the others is going to be rough enough for him without the added stress of a sleepless night. Her own parents would never have entertained giving her a choice to take medication or not, but her parents hadn’t been in a situation like this. 

“I’ll sleep, I promise; you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t ruin tomorrow for you.” He says it so earnestly, and paired with such big wet eyes that any thought of standing her ground vanishes. He’s had enough of people poking and prodding at him to do as they bid and she wouldn’t become one of them. 

She can’t let that last comment go though, and her hand makes an aborted motion to run through his hair before she reconsiders and settles it instead on her hip. 

“You could never ruin anything, baby.” she exhales, nodding. “You promise you’ll sleep? No books, no music?” More than once she had noticed him curled up with a flashlight  and a novel, headphones firmly in place and blasting whatever the kids were listening to these days deep into the night. Keiren shakes his head again, and the exhaustion in his eyes makes her believe that he will at least try. 

“Okay then. Sleep tight.” she offers as he’s rolling over to face the wall; a dismissal. She studies his tense form a moment longer, rubbing absently at her chilled arms before leaving. 

It’s the best a night like this has gone, Cass muses as she climbs back into bed. He’s the most talkative at night, when the need for sleep has lowered his walls some, but he’s still nearly nonverbal. The conversation tonight is the most he’s said in one sitting since being discharged from the hospital. She lies still, waiting for a sign that the teenager is being assuaged by nightmares once again. 

The night stays still and silent. 

Hoping it is a sign of better things to come, she turns out the light and succumbs to sleep.

They arrive at the house first; the movers’ trucks pull away just as they crunch over the gravel driveway. 

Keiren silently refuses her offer to help take his few belongings out of the car and hefts the battered book bag over his shoulder before dragging the garbage bag that contains his clothes out of the passenger side door to land by his feet. Cass grabs her own bag of last minute essentials and heads for the front door left partially ajar, hissing when her elbow catches on the knob. She sets her bag on the white kitchen counter before taking in her surroundings.

  The house is… bright. Late morning sunlight pours through windows accented with cheery yellow curtains, illuminating the tiny dust particles in the air— no doubt kicked up by the movers unloading. Outside the window a flock of sprites flitter around, chasing a squirrel. Towers of meticulously labeled boxes fill each room, with newly assembled furniture standing out like islands in the sea. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating. 

Rubbing her hands on her jeans, Cass walks back to the front door, where Keiren stands. He looks painfully out of place; trash bag slumped by his feet, oversized t-shirt pulled off one shoulder from the weight of his bookbag, gaze focused on the yellowed smoke detector above the door. She makes a note to have them all checked and replace any faulty ones. 

She’s about to show him to his room when another car crunches over the gravel; Peter. 

Keiren’s reaction is expected, given the little she knows of him— he freezes, panicked, eyes finding hers before he looks away, and then he just… vanishes. His shoulders pull inward, he steps away and turns so his back is to the wall, and drops his gaze to the ground. His hands clutch tightly at the strap of his bag, and the temperature of the room raises a bit. 

She’s torn between telling him to go upstairs in order to give him a reprieve and just getting the initial first meeting out of the way, when heavy footsteps take the choice from her and the door flies open. 

A large hand grappling for the handle stops it from making contact with the wall, and an equally large man passes through.

“Shit, sorry! What kind of hinges did they put on this thing?” She can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“You’re late.” Cass scolds, hands on hips. 

“Ah, come on babe! Not that late, and I hardly think the kid cares that much about punctuality. What teenager does?” he mutters good naturedly as he toes off his boots and drops them by the door. She clears her throat, gaining his attention and nodding towards Keiren. 

“Oh. OH! Fuck, sorry kid, I didn’t even see you there. Kieren, right?” He steps forward to shake his hand, apparently deciding not to heed any of the warnings she had given him beforehand. To his credit, he doesn’t just grab the kid’s hand like he usually would, instead leaves it extended for the teenager to either take or reject. 

She’s prepared to intervene before any feelings can be hurt (he’s a sensitive sort of man, no matter the trucker hat and stature) but to her pleased surprise, a smaller hand slowly reaches out and takes his, shaking it once before making a hasty retreat to twist and worry the hem of his shirt. 

Keiren doesn’t speak, not that she had expected him to, but he does nod, eyes flicking up to meet Peter’s for a split second before edging carefully away and to the doorway, making his escape. Peter turns towards her with a confused yet proud expression, pointing up the stairs.

“Did you see that? I think he likes me!” And this is why, despite his gruff personality and rough appearance, he was the one she wanted Keiren to meet first. “Kid was shaking like a leaf though, hope I didn’t startle ‘im too bad.” 

“That’s the warmest greeting anyone’s gotten out of him yet,” She admits, reaching up to tug the brim of his ‘entirely ironic’ Madonna ballcap affectionately. “Come on, let’s go see if we can get the coffee machine unpacked. I’m not touching these boxes without caffeine.” 

They do finally find the coffee machine, but the mugs are nowhere to be found. They sit on the back porch, sipping out of a ceramic measuring cup and a short vase, respectively. Keiren doesn’t make another appearance but she can hear him in his room, his music —something guitar heavy and angry— filtering through the screen of his open window. He’s avoiding them, Cass knows. One backpack and a few clothes simply did not take an hour to unpack. 

But the clock is creeping towards noon, and they haven’t eaten. He’s slight enough as it is— teetering just on the edge of malnutrition, according to the doctor, and he can’t afford to be missing meals. Finishing her last swig of black coffee (and making a note to add creamer to the shopping list), Cass stands and nudges the screen door open enough to slip through, pausing to give Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, snorting when he can’t be bothered to pull his nose from his book.

Cooking meals Keiren would eat was another one of those unexpected challenges. 

She’d cooked a huge meal to celebrate the adoption going through— roast chicken, green beans, baked potatoes, rolls. Admittedly, a meal more suited to her partners, but a good meal nonetheless. The teen had balked at the sight of the food laden table though, sitting stiffly the entire time and fiddling with a roll, nervously picking it to shreds.  She’d heard him later that night in the kitchen, digging through the cupboard like a little mouse and scarfing down handfuls of cornflakes. 

He held such an aversion towards casserole that he’d not even come down to eat, the one time she’d tried. He didn’t like chicken or beef. She’d ended up creating a mental list of the teenager’s ‘safe foods’: soup but not stew, plain turkey sandwiches with mustard, not mayo and never miracle whip, any and every kind of dry cereal… and little else. Even typical teen fare held no appeal. Pizza had gotten a few disinterested nibbles, and fast food had gotten a deluge of rejections and apologies before she’d even pulled into the drive-thru. 

The pantry was still empty, but luckily she found the nonperishable food box, and dug out a couple cans of chili and a bag of corn chips for herself and Peter, and a can of vegetable soup for Keiren. She quickly gets the two meals heating up on the stove, fully immersed in the task of lunch. 

So fully immersed that she doesn’t notice a second person in the kitchen until she turns to grab bowls and sees Keiren standing by the sink, filling a glass with water. He’s changed his clothes, succumbing to the chilly temperatures and donning a faded sweater with an uncharacteristic image of a smiling sun plastered across the front. She notes his bare feet curled a little against the cold hardwood, and adds socks to that ever growing list. 

“Lunch is going to be ready in a couple minutes, sweetheart. I hope soup is okay? It’s veggie.” A short nod, and a flash of relief that confirms her instinct that chili would be a no-go with him. He turns, presumably to go back upstairs, but seems to hesitate before turning back around. 

“Need help?” he asks so quickly that it takes a second for it to register. She nods belatedly, eyes wide and trying to stifle a smile, lest her excitement scare him off.

“Yeah. Yeah! Here, you can set the table. Bowls are above the sink, silverware is… to the right —no, the left— of the fridge. And can you also grab a soda from the fridge for Peter?” She almost asks him to grab a beer on instinct, but he’ll have to make do with pop until Keiren is settled. 

He sets his water on the counter and goes about setting the table while she turns off the stove and gives the counter a cursory wipedown, tossing the empty cans as she does. It’s ridiculously mundane; they don’t even talk, and it's awkward maneuvering the new kitchen while also avoiding getting in each other’s way— and yet it’s the happiest she’d felt in months. 

Between the funeral arrangements, the doctors’ visits, the nightmares, the social services appointments, the moving… It’d been impossible to find a second to breathe, and happiness has taken a backseat to surviving. 

She hadn’t even set foot in the cafe since they’d closed; her partners had taken care of all of that down to hiring the staff and preparing for opening day. Hopefully by then Keiren would be settled enough to want to go with them. He hadn’t mentioned missing any friends, and he didn’t look particularly bothered to have spent so much of these months either alone or with adults, but a little social interaction would be good for him. Their neighbors had a daughter who looked around his age— her partners said to leave it alone, but she thought they would get along well. A housewarming party, just a casual backyard barbeque kind of thing, maybe… 

A soft throat clear brings her out of her musing, and she takes in Keiren’s work. He’s sat her and Peter together at one end of the picnic style table and placed himself a fair distance away, just close enough to not look blatantly avoidant. 

“You did great, Keiren,” She decides to test this new bravery of his. “Can you go and let Peter know that it’s time to eat? I just have to dish this all up,” she adds, turning a little to indicate the food. 

He nods slowly but not hesitantly, from what she can tell, and slips away, silently as he came. 

She doesn’t try to eavesdrop, because that would be silly. She just stands by the already open window, diligently drying a tiny wet spot on the counter. If she leans herself out the window a little to really take in the scenery and happens to also give herself a passable view of the porch, that’s no one’s business but her own. 

Keiren doesn’t get the jump on Peter like he had Cass; the creaky screen door prevents it. Peter looks up from his book, turning in his rocker to see the teenager, who seems to stiffen a little bit, but again, doesn’t flee like she’s seen him do with other men. 

Keiren talks with his hands, just like his father. 

She can't make out their words from this distance, but even so, she can tell they’re not just talking about lunch. Peter holds up his book, apparently in answer to a question Keiren must have asked. The teen smiles. Cass nearly tumbles out the window in shock, barely righting herself and finishing filling their bowls just as the two walk in, joining her at the table. Lunch is a silent affair but for the clanking of spoons and the fizz of Peter’s soda can. 

Keiren eats the entire bowl of vegetable soup.

Outside the sprites flutter and a distant dog barks.

He chuckles and takes the blunt from me. “Oh, baby. Of course I fucking am. Why would you even ask me that?” he shoots back with an eyebrow raised.

Frowning, I pick at my cuticles out of nervousness. “Because we go on dates, we kiss, but we’ve never had sex. I just don’t know what you want any more,” I confess, standing from the couch in a huff. 

Of course, I want to take things further. But I’m not sure if he wants me anymore when he barely touches me.

He stops me from moving any further, tugging my hand. I grudgingly turn around, looking down at him. “Because, doll. We haven’t had the sex talk yet,” he discloses, rubbing his free hand up and down my thigh.

I roll my eyes and scoff, snatching the blunt out of his hands to take a hit. He places his hands on my hips, watching me intensely. “What do you mean by ‘sex talk’? I’m not 5,” I ask after blowing out a toke.

He stands until he’s staggering high towers over me. “I mean…” he pushes lightly, backing me into the wall so I’m trapped between his body and the drywall. “I want to know what you like, what you don’t like, and what you’ll beg for before I feel you cumming on my cock,” he whispers in my ear, licking a stripe up my neck afterward. 

My head tips back in a moan, which makes him as hard as a rock. “Fuck, baby. Do you see what you do to me? I want nothing more than to make you feel good, in the best way that I can, for the rest of my life.” he presses his body into mine, slowly kissing up my neck.

One of the partiers comes up behind Vinnie and taps him on the shoulder. He ignores them, waving them off with the rest of the blunt. His hand moves to the inside of my thigh and he rubs me so close that I know he can feel the inside of my legs shake. “Should I take care of you right here?” he bites my neck, and I whimper, pulling his hair.

Vinnie pulls back from me, piercing a hole into my eyes. “Please?” I beg, gnawing on my lip.

He uses the other hand and wraps it around my throat, effectively restricting my breathing. He tilts my head to the side. “Do you think you deserve it?” he whispers against my lips with his eyebrow raised. 

Struggling, I lightly nod my head in his firm grip. “Yes, Vinnie,” I squeak out, and he gives me one last squeeze on the throat before grabbing my wrist and yanking me through the crowd.

Bodies brush past me as Vinnie drags me up the steps to his room. “Wait, where are we going?” I ask, confused. He just asked if I needed to be taken care of right there and then... I did say yes.

“You think I’m gonna let everyone watch me fuck you?” he scoffs.

Once we got the sex talk out of the way, Vinnie makes quick work to get me undressed. I moan into the darkness of the room as Vinnie leaves love bites down my neck, only breaking the contact to lift my tank top over my head. He pauses his movements to take in the black lacy bralette I'm wearing. “Fuck, baby. You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans, then smashes his lips back onto mine. 

He slams me against his closed bedroom door before slowly dropping down onto his knees. Watching him sink to the ground has an involuntary giggle leaving my lips. “Vinnie, I didn’t think you were going to actually-” he cuts me off, spinning me around so my ass is facing him.

Suddenly, an echoing smack verberates off the walls and my ass cheeks are on fire. Yelping, I sink my teeth into my bottom lips, trying to muffle the noise I’m making.

He slowly inches his hands up my legs until my skirt is fully pushed up to my stomach. His fingers meet my panties, and he runs my fingers over them, seemingly savoring every last moment. “Did you wear these for me, sunshine?” He hooks one finger under one side, pulling it back and making the elastic snap around my hips.

I reach out to support myself on anything to keep my knees from buckling. “No,” I joke, and he bends my knees a bit.

He rubs calming circles into the back of my thighs with his thumbs. “Don’t need you collapsing on my baby,” he informs me.

Taking both sides in his hands, he rips the fabric in half and shreds it off my body like paper. “Shame. I would’ve let you keep them.” 

Gasping, I look down and watch them fall to the ground. He palms my ass, spreading my cheeks further apart. “Bend over just a little bit more, baby,” he instruct, kissing my ass on both sides. 

Slowly shifting in his grasp, I whine as I bend over. I’m desperate for him, all over me. Filling every hole over and over again until I’m screaming for help.

He hovers his mouth over my pussy. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he praises me, running his pointer finger up and down my folds to collect my wetness.

“Let me tell you something, sunshine,” he grumbles, rubbing his fingers in circles on my puffy, swollen nub. “There's absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Do you understand?” he looks up at me, awaiting my response.

Unable to focus, I just nod my head.

“You have to use your words, baby.” he instantly retracts his fingers from my clit bringing them into his mouth. With a pop, he pulls them out, moaning at the taste of my arousal.

I groan, throwing my head back in frustration. “Yes, I know. Just please take care of me, Vinnie,” I practically beg for the second time tonight.

He returns his fingers to my pussy, slowly rubbing around my entrance. “If you asked me to shoot myself, I would,” he growls, slowly sinking his fingers into me. Curling them downwards on every thrust, his fingers search for that spongy spot. He pulls out and thrusts into me again, and my breath quickens. “If you asked me to slit my wrists, I would.” Quickening his pace, my moans echo through the large bedroom. “You gotta stay quiet, baby. I wanna be the only one to hear those pretty moans.” 

He uses his free hand, bringing it up to my clit, rubbing fast circles on my sensitive bud. His fingers are thrusting into me at such an intense rate that I feel the world collapsing beneath me. My pussy contracts around his fingers and he groans deeply, sending a shiver up my spine. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, sunshine,” he commands, hitting my sweet spot. 

I mewl, obeying his commands, and begin rocking back into him. My orgasm starts approaching rapidly, his fingers drive into me at an unrelenting pace. When my walls flutter, he instantly slows his pace. “Not yet, baby. You can’t cum until you’re quiet.”  

Crying again, I bring my hand up to muffle the sound successfully. He applies more pressure on the quick circles he’s drawing on my clit. I arch my back again until I’m moving with his fingers just as he requested. I moan loudly, the coil in my stomach about to snap. 

He blows a quick shot of air onto my exposed clit, the chill making the coil snap. My vision turns white as I quietly moan out, "Fuck, Vinn.”

“That’s it, sunshine. Cum for me, let go,” he murmurs underneath me, and I can feel the lust dripping off his tongue as my orgasm rocks through me. The pace of his fingers doesn’t slow as he works me through my orgasm, and I hear my nails scratch against the drywall. My legs quake and my back arches slightly, my mouth opening in a silent moan. 

He slows his thrusting and pulls out of me, rising to his feet. He turns me around to face him, his eyes taking in the fucked out expression on my face. “You wanna know how good you taste, baby?” Grabbing my chin, he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip.

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath and lean back into the wall. “Yes,” I whisper, and as soon as the words leave my lips, his fingers sink into my mouth. Deciding to tease him, I swirl my tongue around his digits, imagining my tongue on his cock. His fingers push back further into my throat until I gag a little, then he pulls them out. Fucking hope he’s impressed that I can take them that far without coughing.

Without another thought, I smash my lips against his, savoring the taste of my orgasm on his tongue. “God, you taste so fucking good. I could eat you forever,” he growls, moving my body back onto the bed.

He crawls on top of me and his bulge is pressed into me once again. “Vinnie, please. I need you.” I whimper into his mouth as my shaky fingers move to slowly unbutton his shirt. 

But he grabs my wrists, stopping me. “I got it, sunshine,” he laughs, then makes quick work to remove his shirt. 

I shamelessly watch as he slowly strips out of his pants and his boxers. Even though I’ve seen him naked in front of me before, he’s never fully been hard. His dick is beautiful. His swollen head is already dripping with precum, making him look good enough to deep throat. 

Vinnie slowly climbs back onto the bed and my eyes widen, realizing what’s about to happen. My breathing quickens in anticipation as he comes down to kiss me hard and deep. 

I moan into him, but my hands move to his chest to push him back as I look down, suddenly scared. “It’s too big, I don’t think it’ll fit,” I insist, crawling away from him.

He grabs my ankles, pulling me back down. “We’re gonna make it fit, baby,” he retorts, his eyes dark. 

The tip of his dick moves back and forth in between my folds, collecting wetness. I whimper, squeezing his shoulders. 

“Hey, sunshine. Look at me.” He grabs my chin until I make eye contact with him. “We can stop if you want to stop. I won't go any further,” he reassures, resting his forehead on mine.

I immediately shake my head, inhaling a sharp breath. “No, I want this–I want you. Just be careful, please.” I pull him into me for a heated kiss and tug his hair, making him groan and deepen the kiss. 

Finally, he pulls back and lines himself up near my entrance, spitting and letting the dribble collect on his base. “This is gonna hurt, so just relax for me, baby.” My legs are pushed open a little wider. 

I nod, trying to calm myself, and he laces his fingers in mine before he moves. The tip of his shaft pushes in, and I gasp at the stretch. “Shit, Vinnie,” I cry out, squeezing his hands until my knuckles turn white. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, the burn from his girth sends fire into my core. 

Immediately, he stops moving, looking into my eyes. “Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop,” he groans out. 

I bite my lip, shaking my head no. 

He kisses the corner of my eyes and whispers, “Okay, just relax for me, sunshine. I’ll try to make this quick.” He continues to sink slowly into me, bottoming out, and I wince again. To allow me to adjust to his length, he pauses his movements. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he breathes, bending down to kiss my neck. And then, he slowly starts rocking into me and the burn is replaced with a familiar warmth. 

“Oh, god. Vinnie,” I moan, releasing his hands to claw at his back for support. 

He’s hitting the perfect spot already, and he just got inside me. He continues to slowly push in and out of me, allowing me to savor the feeling of him inside me. I moan, biting on his shoulder. 

“More.” My legs are already shaking. “Give me more,” I demand, kissing up to his ear.

Pulling back, he looks at me. “Are you sure?” His hand strokes my curls.

I pull him down into a kiss, allowing my tongue to explore his mouth once more. “Yes, please. Use me, fuck me,” I beg, squirming underneath him.

Vinnie fists the sheets below my head and adjusts his position. I brace myself. “The safe word is ‘moon’, Sunshine. Use it if you need it.” He kisses my neck once more and begins driving into me at a steady, even rate. The tip of his length kisses my g-spot with each stroke. “Fuccckkkk,” he growls into my ear, and I feel myself squeezing him when the words hit my eardrums. 

“Vinnie,” I moan. 

The only sound outside of our pants and moans is the sound of his skin slapping against mine as he fucks me. He wraps his tattooed hand around my throat, leaning in for a kiss. And as if I wasn't already in heaven, he brings his fingers down to rub quick circles on my clit. 

“I’m gonna cum, doll. But I need to feel you squeezing me before I do,” he commands, and I cry as I arch into him. 

He pounds into me steadily, rocking my body into the bed. Each stroke pushes me closer and closer over the edge until I feel myself contracting around him. 

“Cum with me, sunshine,” he whispers against my lips, and it sends me over the edge. 

Arching my back and screaming, I claw at his back and bite his shoulder as my orgasm hits me like a train. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any deeper, he lifts my hips slightly. 

“Where do you want me to cum, love?” His dick kisses my cervix, and I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow. But I can’t bring myself to give a shit right now. 

He twitches inside me, and I lick a stripe up his neck. “Cum in me, Vinnie,” I whimper, and he growls into my neck. 

His seed spills inside me, his strokes becoming uneven. I moan at the feeling, and squeeze around him, milking out every drop of his cum as he paints my walls. It fills me up and I’ve never felt better after sex. 

He stills inside me, kissing me breathlessly, and takes a few moments to catch his breath. Before he pulls out, I wrap my arms around him, causing him to bury further inside me. “Stay,” I plead, tears threatening to spill over in my eyes.

He softly strokes my hair, wrapping his arm around me and slowly flipping us over so I’m on top. “Okay, sunshine. I got you. Fuck, that was the fastest I’ve ever cum before in my life,” 

Like I requested, he doesn’t pull out. Just pulls me closer into his body until I’m melting into the beautiful tattoos on his chest. His fingers begin tracing light patterns across my back. 

I sniffle, looking up at him with a small smile on my face, and he looks at me. “You okay, sunshine?” he asks, and I shift on his length a little bit. 

Sitting up to put my hands on his chest, I feel his dick twitching and growing inside me. “Yeah. Let's go again,” I giggle, bending down to kiss him. It surprises me how he’s already ready for round two, but I don’t complain. 

He groans into my mouth, wrapping his decorated arms around my waist. Slowly, I lift myself until I feel his tip threatening to slip out. I slide back down onto him, filling myself completely and moaning at the change of position. 

His hands tighten around my waist, helping me swirl my hips around. “I want you to know you’re mine, sunshine,” he groans, reaching up to play with my nipples as I moan at the feeling of him stretching me from this angle. 

I pick up my pace, bouncing on his dick until he’s hitting my perfect spot over and over again. My legs shake, and I feel my third orgasm approaching rapidly. My hand moves to his neck, squeezing it hard. I feel so fucking powerful, making myself cum with his length. 

Vinnie looks up at me with amazement in his eyes and slides his thumb in between us to apply pressure on my clit. I throw my head back and moan, still choking him. “God. You look so pretty when you moan.” 

The pace of his thumb quickens, and I topple over the edge, crashing into my third orgasm with a loud cry. I release my hand on his neck, falling forward. Vinnie removes his hand from my clit to catch me and keep from coming down on his body. He allows me to rest on his chest as he starts to fuck up into me, elongating my orgasm. 

“Vinnie,” I choke out, and my voice bounces off his walls. 

He picks up his pace, driving into me from below. “That’s it, doll. Scream my name. Let the world know who fucking owns you.” 

He pounds my body into his, and I grip his shoulders when I feel a tingling sensation on my clit. Wetness suddenly shoots out from between my legs, running down my thighs and covering his stomach. My whole body quakes, but he doesn’t slow down. 

“Fuck, sunshine. Look at the mess you made, cumming all over me.” 

My brain is on a different planet as he slows down, allowing me to glance down at the soaked sheets. He slowly pulls me off him and I wince, falling backward onto the bed. Then, Vinnie moves me so I’m laying on my side, out of the wet spot, before slowly pushing back into me, spooning me, and caressing my hair. “No one will ever fuck you ever again, for the rest of your life but me. Do you understand?” 

Slamming into me at an unrelenting pace, he bites my neck. His hand wraps around my throat, applying a bit of pressure. Every thrust sends me closer to the edge, and the only thing I register is him kissing the back of my neck. I’m so fucked, I can’t speak. I can’t think. 

“Yes,” I babble out, arching my back into him. 

All I feel is pure bliss. The room is spinning, and I feel another orgasm rapidly approaching. He nibbles a love bite into my neck, hitting my G-spot over and over again. My thighs are lifted a little higher until I see white. “Cum for me again, Sunshine. You feel so good when you squeeze me,” he mumbles into my neck.

I shake my head, and gripping his forearm that chokes me. “I can’t,” I cry, looking at the view from his room— everything is spinning. 

Vinnie increases his pace, slamming into me. “You can, and you will,” he snarls in my ear. 

I feel the tears spilling over in my eyes as he applies more pressure on my throat. The overstimulation of his dick drilling into me repeatedly sends me toppling over another edge, and I wail his name, feeling my soul leave my body. Everything feels fuzzy as his thrusts become sloppy before he lets out an animalistic grunt. I feel his dick twitch, then, shooting hot ropes into me. The heat of it makes me feel like I’m going to pass out, and I moan at the sensation. He continues to slowly thrust into me, riding out both of our orgasms. 

After we’re both spent, he buries himself deep inside me, stroking my hair and peppering kisses on my shoulder as I come down from my high. “You did so well for me, Sunshine. Fucking fantastic,” he praises.

He slowly caresses my hips as my body shakes against his. I wince as he slowly pulls out and scoots down to the bottom of the bed. Spreading my legs wide open, he watches our cum leak out of me. My swollen pussy contracts around nothing, pushing his seed out, and I hear him groan. 

He brings his fingers up to my entrance and I wince. “Shhh, Sunshine, I’m just making sure we don’t waste a drop,” he coos, stuffing his fingers into me and massaging my g-spot. 

An inevitable moan leaves my lips I arch my back to get closer to him. “You want to cum again?” He asks before leaning over to flick his tongue over her my. Crying out at the overstimulation, I shake my head. 

“Too bad, baby.” he quickly thrusts into me with his fingers, moaning at the taste of our orgasms mixing. His tongue flicks over my swollen, puffy clit. I haven’t used our safe word, and I know he’s going to keep pushing me until I say it.

Vinnie removes his tongue from my clit and he uses his other hand to collect our orgasms on his finger. The pace of his fingers slows and he begins rubbing a circle around my tight hole. He slowly pushes his finger into my ass, fucking me with both hands. 

I’m unable to control my movements as I thrash underneath him. His finders drive in and out, reaching the most delicious spot. 

“Give me one last one, Sunshine. I promise I’ll let you stop after,” he orders, and I move my hands to his hair to tug on it.

He pushes his finger further into my ass, curling it a bit more, and I snap. Neglecting his noise warning, my screams and my moans erupt through the room. He moans as he works both of my holes through what I assume is my last orgasm. 

As finally comes down, I whimper, “Moon,” and he stops and slowly pulls his fingers out, satisfied with my overstimulation. 

He crawls up my body, grabbing my face so I'm forced to look at him. “You're everything to me–perfect and mine,” he mumbles into my mouth and I wipe away the tears in my eyes. 

My brain buzzes with post-sex high. “Only for you,” I whisper into the night.

I did so well, and I am his.

He chuckles and takes the blunt from me. “Oh, baby. Of course I fucking am. Why would you even ask me that?” he shoots back with an eyebrow raised.

Frowning, I pick at my cuticles out of nervousness. “Because we go on dates, we kiss, but we’ve never had sex. I just don’t know what you want any more,” I confess, standing from the couch in a huff. 

Of course, I want to take things further. But I’m not sure if he wants me anymore when he barely touches me.

He stops me from moving any further, tugging my hand. I grudgingly turn around, looking down at him. “Because, doll. We haven’t had the sex talk yet,” he discloses, rubbing his free hand up and down my thigh.

I roll my eyes and scoff, snatching the blunt out of his hands to take a hit. He places his hands on my hips, watching me intensely. “What do you mean by ‘sex talk’? I’m not 5,” I ask after blowing out a toke.

He stands until he’s staggering high towers over me. “I mean…” he pushes lightly, backing me into the wall so I’m trapped between his body and the drywall. “I want to know what you like, what you don’t like, and what you’ll beg for before I feel you cumming on my cock,” he whispers in my ear, licking a stripe up my neck afterward. 

My head tips back in a moan, which makes him as hard as a rock. “Fuck, baby. Do you see what you do to me? I want nothing more than to make you feel good, in the best way that I can, for the rest of my life.” he presses his body into mine, slowly kissing up my neck.

One of the partiers comes up behind Vinnie and taps him on the shoulder. He ignores them, waving them off with the rest of the blunt. His hand moves to the inside of my thigh and he rubs me so close that I know he can feel the inside of my legs shake. “Should I take care of you right here?” he bites my neck, and I whimper, pulling his hair.

Vinnie pulls back from me, piercing a hole into my eyes. “Please?” I beg, gnawing on my lip.

He uses the other hand and wraps it around my throat, effectively restricting my breathing. He tilts my head to the side. “Do you think you deserve it?” he whispers against my lips with his eyebrow raised. 

Struggling, I lightly nod my head in his firm grip. “Yes, Vinnie,” I squeak out, and he gives me one last squeeze on the throat before grabbing my wrist and yanking me through the crowd.

Bodies brush past me as Vinnie drags me up the steps to his room. “Wait, where are we going?” I ask, confused. He just asked if I needed to be taken care of right there and then... I did say yes.

“You think I’m gonna let everyone watch me fuck you?” he scoffs.

Once we got the sex talk out of the way, Vinnie makes quick work to get me undressed. I moan into the darkness of the room as Vinnie leaves love bites down my neck, only breaking the contact to lift my tank top over my head. He pauses his movements to take in the black lacy bralette I'm wearing. “Fuck, baby. You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans, then smashes his lips back onto mine. 

He slams me against his closed bedroom door before slowly dropping down onto his knees. Watching him sink to the ground has an involuntary giggle leaving my lips. “Vinnie, I didn’t think you were going to actually-” he cuts me off, spinning me around so my ass is facing him.

Suddenly, an echoing smack verberates off the walls and my ass cheeks are on fire. Yelping, I sink my teeth into my bottom lips, trying to muffle the noise I’m making.

He slowly inches his hands up my legs until my skirt is fully pushed up to my stomach. His fingers meet my panties, and he runs my fingers over them, seemingly savoring every last moment. “Did you wear these for me, sunshine?” He hooks one finger under one side, pulling it back and making the elastic snap around my hips.

I reach out to support myself on anything to keep my knees from buckling. “No,” I joke, and he bends my knees a bit.

He rubs calming circles into the back of my thighs with his thumbs. “Don’t need you collapsing on my baby,” he informs me.

Taking both sides in his hands, he rips the fabric in half and shreds it off my body like paper. “Shame. I would’ve let you keep them.” 

Gasping, I look down and watch them fall to the ground. He palms my ass, spreading my cheeks further apart. “Bend over just a little bit more, baby,” he instruct, kissing my ass on both sides. 

Slowly shifting in his grasp, I whine as I bend over. I’m desperate for him, all over me. Filling every hole over and over again until I’m screaming for help.

He hovers his mouth over my pussy. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he praises me, running his pointer finger up and down my folds to collect my wetness.

“Let me tell you something, sunshine,” he grumbles, rubbing his fingers in circles on my puffy, swollen nub. “There's absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Do you understand?” he looks up at me, awaiting my response.

Unable to focus, I just nod my head.

“You have to use your words, baby.” he instantly retracts his fingers from my clit bringing them into his mouth. With a pop, he pulls them out, moaning at the taste of my arousal.

I groan, throwing my head back in frustration. “Yes, I know. Just please take care of me, Vinnie,” I practically beg for the second time tonight.

He returns his fingers to my pussy, slowly rubbing around my entrance. “If you asked me to shoot myself, I would,” he growls, slowly sinking his fingers into me. Curling them downwards on every thrust, his fingers search for that spongy spot. He pulls out and thrusts into me again, and my breath quickens. “If you asked me to slit my wrists, I would.” Quickening his pace, my moans echo through the large bedroom. “You gotta stay quiet, baby. I wanna be the only one to hear those pretty moans.” 

He uses his free hand, bringing it up to my clit, rubbing fast circles on my sensitive bud. His fingers are thrusting into me at such an intense rate that I feel the world collapsing beneath me. My pussy contracts around his fingers and he groans deeply, sending a shiver up my spine. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, sunshine,” he commands, hitting my sweet spot. 

I mewl, obeying his commands, and begin rocking back into him. My orgasm starts approaching rapidly, his fingers drive into me at an unrelenting pace. When my walls flutter, he instantly slows his pace. “Not yet, baby. You can’t cum until you’re quiet.”  

Crying again, I bring my hand up to muffle the sound successfully. He applies more pressure on the quick circles he’s drawing on my clit. I arch my back again until I’m moving with his fingers just as he requested. I moan loudly, the coil in my stomach about to snap. 

He blows a quick shot of air onto my exposed clit, the chill making the coil snap. My vision turns white as I quietly moan out, "Fuck, Vinn.”

“That’s it, sunshine. Cum for me, let go,” he murmurs underneath me, and I can feel the lust dripping off his tongue as my orgasm rocks through me. The pace of his fingers doesn’t slow as he works me through my orgasm, and I hear my nails scratch against the drywall. My legs quake and my back arches slightly, my mouth opening in a silent moan. 

He slows his thrusting and pulls out of me, rising to his feet. He turns me around to face him, his eyes taking in the fucked out expression on my face. “You wanna know how good you taste, baby?” Grabbing my chin, he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip.

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath and lean back into the wall. “Yes,” I whisper, and as soon as the words leave my lips, his fingers sink into my mouth. Deciding to tease him, I swirl my tongue around his digits, imagining my tongue on his cock. His fingers push back further into my throat until I gag a little, then he pulls them out. Fucking hope he’s impressed that I can take them that far without coughing.

Without another thought, I smash my lips against his, savoring the taste of my orgasm on his tongue. “God, you taste so fucking good. I could eat you forever,” he growls, moving my body back onto the bed.

He crawls on top of me and his bulge is pressed into me once again. “Vinnie, please. I need you.” I whimper into his mouth as my shaky fingers move to slowly unbutton his shirt. 

But he grabs my wrists, stopping me. “I got it, sunshine,” he laughs, then makes quick work to remove his shirt. 

I shamelessly watch as he slowly strips out of his pants and his boxers. Even though I’ve seen him naked in front of me before, he’s never fully been hard. His dick is beautiful. His swollen head is already dripping with precum, making him look good enough to deep throat. 

Vinnie slowly climbs back onto the bed and my eyes widen, realizing what’s about to happen. My breathing quickens in anticipation as he comes down to kiss me hard and deep. 

I moan into him, but my hands move to his chest to push him back as I look down, suddenly scared. “It’s too big, I don’t think it’ll fit,” I insist, crawling away from him.

He grabs my ankles, pulling me back down. “We’re gonna make it fit, baby,” he retorts, his eyes dark. 

The tip of his dick moves back and forth in between my folds, collecting wetness. I whimper, squeezing his shoulders. 

“Hey, sunshine. Look at me.” He grabs my chin until I make eye contact with him. “We can stop if you want to stop. I won't go any further,” he reassures, resting his forehead on mine.

I immediately shake my head, inhaling a sharp breath. “No, I want this–I want you. Just be careful, please.” I pull him into me for a heated kiss and tug his hair, making him groan and deepen the kiss. 

Finally, he pulls back and lines himself up near my entrance, spitting and letting the dribble collect on his base. “This is gonna hurt, so just relax for me, baby.” My legs are pushed open a little wider. 

I nod, trying to calm myself, and he laces his fingers in mine before he moves. The tip of his shaft pushes in, and I gasp at the stretch. “Shit, Vinnie,” I cry out, squeezing his hands until my knuckles turn white. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, the burn from his girth sends fire into my core. 

Immediately, he stops moving, looking into my eyes. “Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop,” he groans out. 

I bite my lip, shaking my head no. 

He kisses the corner of my eyes and whispers, “Okay, just relax for me, sunshine. I’ll try to make this quick.” He continues to sink slowly into me, bottoming out, and I wince again. To allow me to adjust to his length, he pauses his movements. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he breathes, bending down to kiss my neck. And then, he slowly starts rocking into me and the burn is replaced with a familiar warmth. 

“Oh, god. Vinnie,” I moan, releasing his hands to claw at his back for support. 

He’s hitting the perfect spot already, and he just got inside me. He continues to slowly push in and out of me, allowing me to savor the feeling of him inside me. I moan, biting on his shoulder. 

“More.” My legs are already shaking. “Give me more,” I demand, kissing up to his ear.

Pulling back, he looks at me. “Are you sure?” His hand strokes my curls.

I pull him down into a kiss, allowing my tongue to explore his mouth once more. “Yes, please. Use me, fuck me,” I beg, squirming underneath him.

Vinnie fists the sheets below my head and adjusts his position. I brace myself. “The safe word is ‘moon’, Sunshine. Use it if you need it.” He kisses my neck once more and begins driving into me at a steady, even rate. The tip of his length kisses my g-spot with each stroke. “Fuccckkkk,” he growls into my ear, and I feel myself squeezing him when the words hit my eardrums. 

“Vinnie,” I moan. 

The only sound outside of our pants and moans is the sound of his skin slapping against mine as he fucks me. He wraps his tattooed hand around my throat, leaning in for a kiss. And as if I wasn't already in heaven, he brings his fingers down to rub quick circles on my clit. 

“I’m gonna cum, doll. But I need to feel you squeezing me before I do,” he commands, and I cry as I arch into him. 

He pounds into me steadily, rocking my body into the bed. Each stroke pushes me closer and closer over the edge until I feel myself contracting around him. 

“Cum with me, sunshine,” he whispers against my lips, and it sends me over the edge. 

Arching my back and screaming, I claw at his back and bite his shoulder as my orgasm hits me like a train. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any deeper, he lifts my hips slightly. 

“Where do you want me to cum, love?” His dick kisses my cervix, and I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow. But I can’t bring myself to give a shit right now. 

He twitches inside me, and I lick a stripe up his neck. “Cum in me, Vinnie,” I whimper, and he growls into my neck. 

His seed spills inside me, his strokes becoming uneven. I moan at the feeling, and squeeze around him, milking out every drop of his cum as he paints my walls. It fills me up and I’ve never felt better after sex. 

He stills inside me, kissing me breathlessly, and takes a few moments to catch his breath. Before he pulls out, I wrap my arms around him, causing him to bury further inside me. “Stay,” I plead, tears threatening to spill over in my eyes.

He softly strokes my hair, wrapping his arm around me and slowly flipping us over so I’m on top. “Okay, sunshine. I got you. Fuck, that was the fastest I’ve ever cum before in my life,” 

Like I requested, he doesn’t pull out. Just pulls me closer into his body until I’m melting into the beautiful tattoos on his chest. His fingers begin tracing light patterns across my back. 

I sniffle, looking up at him with a small smile on my face, and he looks at me. “You okay, sunshine?” he asks, and I shift on his length a little bit. 

Sitting up to put my hands on his chest, I feel his dick twitching and growing inside me. “Yeah. Let's go again,” I giggle, bending down to kiss him. It surprises me how he’s already ready for round two, but I don’t complain. 

He groans into my mouth, wrapping his decorated arms around my waist. Slowly, I lift myself until I feel his tip threatening to slip out. I slide back down onto him, filling myself completely and moaning at the change of position. 

His hands tighten around my waist, helping me swirl my hips around. “I want you to know you’re mine, sunshine,” he groans, reaching up to play with my nipples as I moan at the feeling of him stretching me from this angle. 

I pick up my pace, bouncing on his dick until he’s hitting my perfect spot over and over again. My legs shake, and I feel my third orgasm approaching rapidly. My hand moves to his neck, squeezing it hard. I feel so fucking powerful, making myself cum with his length. 

Vinnie looks up at me with amazement in his eyes and slides his thumb in between us to apply pressure on my clit. I throw my head back and moan, still choking him. “God. You look so pretty when you moan.” 

The pace of his thumb quickens, and I topple over the edge, crashing into my third orgasm with a loud cry. I release my hand on his neck, falling forward. Vinnie removes his hand from my clit to catch me and keep from coming down on his body. He allows me to rest on his chest as he starts to fuck up into me, elongating my orgasm. 

“Vinnie,” I choke out, and my voice bounces off his walls. 

He picks up his pace, driving into me from below. “That’s it, doll. Scream my name. Let the world know who fucking owns you.” 

He pounds my body into his, and I grip his shoulders when I feel a tingling sensation on my clit. Wetness suddenly shoots out from between my legs, running down my thighs and covering his stomach. My whole body quakes, but he doesn’t slow down. 

“Fuck, sunshine. Look at the mess you made, cumming all over me.” 

My brain is on a different planet as he slows down, allowing me to glance down at the soaked sheets. He slowly pulls me off him and I wince, falling backward onto the bed. Then, Vinnie moves me so I’m laying on my side, out of the wet spot, before slowly pushing back into me, spooning me, and caressing my hair. “No one will ever fuck you ever again, for the rest of your life but me. Do you understand?” 

Slamming into me at an unrelenting pace, he bites my neck. His hand wraps around my throat, applying a bit of pressure. Every thrust sends me closer to the edge, and the only thing I register is him kissing the back of my neck. I’m so fucked, I can’t speak. I can’t think. 

“Yes,” I babble out, arching my back into him. 

All I feel is pure bliss. The room is spinning, and I feel another orgasm rapidly approaching. He nibbles a love bite into my neck, hitting my G-spot over and over again. My thighs are lifted a little higher until I see white. “Cum for me again, Sunshine. You feel so good when you squeeze me,” he mumbles into my neck.

I shake my head, and gripping his forearm that chokes me. “I can’t,” I cry, looking at the view from his room— everything is spinning. 

Vinnie increases his pace, slamming into me. “You can, and you will,” he snarls in my ear. 

I feel the tears spilling over in my eyes as he applies more pressure on my throat. The overstimulation of his dick drilling into me repeatedly sends me toppling over another edge, and I wail his name, feeling my soul leave my body. Everything feels fuzzy as his thrusts become sloppy before he lets out an animalistic grunt. I feel his dick twitch, then, shooting hot ropes into me. The heat of it makes me feel like I’m going to pass out, and I moan at the sensation. He continues to slowly thrust into me, riding out both of our orgasms. 

After we’re both spent, he buries himself deep inside me, stroking my hair and peppering kisses on my shoulder as I come down from my high. “You did so well for me, Sunshine. Fucking fantastic,” he praises.

He slowly caresses my hips as my body shakes against his. I wince as he slowly pulls out and scoots down to the bottom of the bed. Spreading my legs wide open, he watches our cum leak out of me. My swollen pussy contracts around nothing, pushing his seed out, and I hear him groan. 

He brings his fingers up to my entrance and I wince. “Shhh, Sunshine, I’m just making sure we don’t waste a drop,” he coos, stuffing his fingers into me and massaging my g-spot. 

An inevitable moan leaves my lips I arch my back to get closer to him. “You want to cum again?” He asks before leaning over to flick his tongue over her my. Crying out at the overstimulation, I shake my head. 

“Too bad, baby.” he quickly thrusts into me with his fingers, moaning at the taste of our orgasms mixing. His tongue flicks over my swollen, puffy clit. I haven’t used our safe word, and I know he’s going to keep pushing me until I say it.

Vinnie removes his tongue from my clit and he uses his other hand to collect our orgasms on his finger. The pace of his fingers slows and he begins rubbing a circle around my tight hole. He slowly pushes his finger into my ass, fucking me with both hands. 

I’m unable to control my movements as I thrash underneath him. His finders drive in and out, reaching the most delicious spot. 

“Give me one last one, Sunshine. I promise I’ll let you stop after,” he orders, and I move my hands to his hair to tug on it.

He pushes his finger further into my ass, curling it a bit more, and I snap. Neglecting his noise warning, my screams and my moans erupt through the room. He moans as he works both of my holes through what I assume is my last orgasm. 

As finally comes down, I whimper, “Moon,” and he stops and slowly pulls his fingers out, satisfied with my overstimulation. 

He crawls up my body, grabbing my face so I'm forced to look at him. “You're everything to me–perfect and mine,” he mumbles into my mouth and I wipe away the tears in my eyes. 

My brain buzzes with post-sex high. “Only for you,” I whisper into the night.

I did so well, and I am his.

She notices me freezing and looks behind me. “It’s just Joe,” she reassures before taking the second shot.

Setting my still-full glass down, I slowly turn around until Joe’s seafoam irises meet mine. “Hey, baby. You want to take a shot with us?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He shakes his head in response, squeezing my ass slightly. “If I drink, who’s going to make sure you get home?”

Bobbing to the music, I close my eyes feeling the tequila coursing through my veins. Turning around, I push my back into his crotch, lazily grinding on him. “I’m just trying to make sure you have fun. Besides, you never get drunk with me.”

He bends down, pressing a kiss on my neck. “And there’s a reason for that,” he murmurs against my skin.

He pushes me forward until I'm bending over the bar counter. “Whatever you say. You know you can't deny my persuasive ways.” 

I turn my head as he watches me grind on his growing bulge. After a few moments, I become eager to chat with Joe again. “Come dance with me,” I demand.

His hand snakes up the side of my body until it’s wrapped around my throat. “I don’t dance,” he growls in my ear.

I smile at his teasing, meeting his blazing dark eyes. After all, he always knew just what made me tick. “Well come be creepy and stand behind me while I twerk on you. Protect me from weird men,” I retort but he doesn’t budge.

My eyes flicker back and forth between his and when I realize he’s dead serious, I roll my eyes. Fed up with his bullshit, I dart into onto the crowded dance floor. My focus goes to a tall man who has been eyeing me the entire night. My finger curls, beckoning him over to me and he stalks over with a smirk on his face. “You’re cute. Dance with me,” I demand and he smiles, wrapping his hands around my body.

He practically humps me like a dog as we move through the crowd towards the dance floor. I flash one more mischievous smile at Joe before locking hands with the stranger and dancing with enough respectful space between us.

I’m surprised to find that he’s a surprisingly good dancer. He’s able to keep up with every step, seemingly anticipating my movements. I smile at him and he slides his hand up my waist, pulling me into his body. “You’re really hot,” he bends down and shouts over the music in my ear.

“I know,” I yell back in his ear. “I have a boyfriend,” I break the news to him.

He shrugs, seemingly not caring about my relationship status. “I don’t see him,” he counters, looking around.

My eyes survey the room after him, finding Joe cutting through the shadows to get over to me. When he stands in the spotlight, I see a clear detailed outline of his clenched jaw. “I’ll take it from here,” he grits.

The man looks up at my ridiculously huge boyfriend, scurrying away like a pussy in a heartbeat. My eyes squint at Joe and I put my hand on my hip. “Jealous?” I ask him.

Joe forcefully wraps his hand around my throat, pulling me closer to his face. “Nothing to be jealous of,” he seethes.

I lick my bottom lip, feeling an electric buzz in my brain from his grip on me. He seemingly notices how tight his hold is, releasing me and rubbing my neck. “Good. I know where home is,” I joke before pulling him towards another spot in the club.

I see his head fall back when he laughs, but the closer we get to the music, the more I’m unable to hear the sweet sound leave his lips. Turning around, I put his arm over my shoulder. Once we’re closer to the DJ stand, Joe grabs my hips and pulls me back into his chest. My hair goes wild in front of the big fan, and I push it out of my face. Liquid courage fills me, and I slowly start moving my hips to the music. Once I find my rhythm, I notice Joe moving in sync with me. 

“I thought you said you can’t dance,” I tilt my head and shout up to him. 

He bends down, licking a stripe up my neck. “I said I don’t dance. Never said I couldn’t,” he challenges, pushing me over until I put my hands on my knees.

My ass moves around in a circle over his bulge. Suddenly, he grabs my hips, pressing into me. I gasp as he ghosts my entrance with his clothed dick. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to have to give me an orgasm.” 

He smacks my ass as I continue dancing on him. “You don’t deserve one after that stunt you pulled. But maybe you can earn it back,” he growls, and my eyes go wide. So this is jealous Joe. He’s basically normal Joe, but his obsession with me has turned up to level 10.

We continue dancing in this position for a couple more songs, and I enjoy the feeling of his hands on me. This is the first time I’ve been in the club with him since his off-season is rare. It feels oddly freeing to know he’d hurt someone for me–to know I’m protected no matter what. 

The sound of him rapping behind me reaches my ears. “What do you know about this song, white boy?” I giggle. 

The song starts to change, and I turn around to face him. He presses me back until I’m trapped in between the wall and him. “I’m six years older than you, angel. I’ve had 6 years to go to clubs without you. I practically own this place. I know the music,” he states, running a thumb over my lips. 

His lips attack mine, and I moan into his mouth. The taste of alcohol lingers on his tongue as it wrestles with mine for dominance. My cunt is practically sizzling like an Applebee’s fajita, and I’m left breathless from the kiss. 

“Well, excuse me,” I stammer, trying to pull his lips back down to mine.

He pauses just before our lips touch, leaving me dizzy and ready to beg for him. “We’re going somewhere,” he breathes, turning around to drag me through the crowd.

I’m practically bouncing like an energizer bunny when we pass my best friend dancing with a random man. They watch us curiously and I shrug, trying not to trip on my own two feet as Joe swiftly leads us into the hall towards the bathroom. 

He forcefully pushes the girls' bathroom door open, making it slam into the wall. “Everybody get the fuck out,” he demands of the women standing at the mirror. 

They all scowl, but ultimately tuck their makeup back into their purses and scurry out of the room. As the bathroom empties out, he checks the stalls to make sure no one is still in there, then locks the main door. 

“You can’t just take away a girl's ability to pee for this,” I giggle as he stalks over to me.

“I can and I am,” he responds, not giving me time to respond again before his lips crush mine. 

His cold fingers trail up the inside of my thighs, sending shivers up my spine. A finger ghosts over my underwear and he puts pressure on my clit. “Fuck,” I moan into his mouth, and he bites my bottom lip. Suddenly, I remember this is the only girls' bathroom in the club and the guilt hits me. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Our lips disconnect, and he swiftly lifts me on the counter, smirking. “I’m going to have what’s mine before you walk back out those doors.”

He drops to his knees in between my legs, gripping the underside of my thighs, and pulls me towards the edge of the counter. 

I’m spread out perfectly for him, and his breath ghosts over my clothed pussy. “Relax, angel. I’m gonna take care of you,” he hushes.

He stands, pushing my shoulders back so my upper body is vulnerable to him. He slowly unbuttons my shirt before diving in; kissing my chest and pulling my nipple into his mouth. He uses his tongue to swirl around my nipple, nipping at it slightly. I squirm and his grip around my waist tightens. His kisses slowly start trailing lower and lower, my anticipation increasing with each one. 

“Shit, Joey,” I whine, feeling his kisses finally reach the bottom of my stomach. He bunches up my skirt, hooking my panties around his fingers and pulling them down. 

I moan as he trails to the inside of my thighs at an agonizingly slow pace. “You like it, angel? Making me mad?” Joe looks up at me, his lips leaving sparks in his wake. He grips my legs again, bringing me out of my haze. 

“Fuck yes. Please, Joey.” I squirm under his grip.

He resumes kissing the inside of my thighs. “Please what, Angel? Use your words.” He hovers over my pussy, blowing hot air onto my clit, sending shivers through my body. Oh my god.

I’m so close to crying at the teasing that I cover my face with my hands. “Please eat me out,” I whisper, so low that I barely hear myself. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

Joe grabs my hands, removing them from my face, threading them through his hair. I look at him, shocked. “You will look at me when I devour you, angel,” he orders. Then his hands return to the underside of my thighs, hooking my legs around his neck. 

He takes two fingers, rubbing circles on my clit, spreading my wetness around. “Already so fucking ready for me, angel.” His fingers disappear, and I gasp when I feel him lick a long strip from my opening to my clit. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans into my pussy.

Finally, he wraps his lips around my clit, sucking as he pushes two fingers inside me. His fingers curl, hitting that spot that makes me see stars. I grind onto them as he pumps them in and out of me. “Joey,” I groan into the empty void of the night.

His pace doesn’t relent as I arch my back, taking his fingers deeper. “That’s it, angel. Take what you need from me, sweet girl,” he coaxes, hovering over my pussy and looking up at me with lustful eyes. I feel him spit on my pussy, letting the wetness drip down to his fingers as he quickens his pace. 

The pleasure builds in my core, and I feel my whole body tightening as he brings me closer and closer to an orgasm. My legs start shaking and my fingers tangle in his hair, pushing his head down to grind against his tongue.

He moans and curls his fingers at the same time, and that tips me over the edge. My toes curl, and I see white as I let a loud cry leave my lips. I grip his hair so hard, I’m scared I’m going to pull it out. He doesn’t remove his fingers, continuing to slowly work me through my orgasm until I float back down to earth. 

I moan as he slowly retracts his fingers from my pussy. “Fuck, Joey,” I hiss, slightly sitting up to look down at his face. 

His smug smile appears as he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking off my juices. “You taste so fucking sweet,” He sits up for a second, and lightly pushes my shoulder, making me fall back onto the mirror.

Lifting my legs again, he moves them so my thighs rest over his shoulders. His fingers return to my pussy, spreading my release around. “Again,” he demands, pushing three fingers into me this time with no warning. 

Groaning, my fingers lace into his hair again. My eyes roll into the back of my head at the sensation of his quick tongue flicking over my swollen and overstimulated bud.  “Joey, I can’t.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I can come again,” I plead, hoping he’ll release his grip on me.

His fingers increase their pace, in and out of me, curling to hit that spongy spot again. “Yes, you can. And you will,” he orders, returning his lips to my pussy and sucking my clit. 

I hear the squelching sound of his fingers fucking me, and my back arches off the mirror. The pleasure builds in my stomach for the second time, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. 

Joey lifts his lips from my pussy for a moment, not slowing the pace of his fingers. “Come for me, angel. I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Fuck. I got you, I promise,” he whispers, then dives back in, lapping me up like I’m his last meal.

My second orgasm hits me like a truck as my vision goes blurry. My body feels like it’s floating off this planet and into a different space-time continuum. I hear him moaning into my pussy underneath me, and I grip his shoulder as he slows the pace of his thrusting. After I come back down to earth, he retracts his fingers again, licking another long strip up my pussy to gather my release on his tongue. He slowly rises from the ground, and I sit up, gripping for his body. Leaning down, he kisses me, and I can taste myself on his tongue. 

Wanting to return the favor, I reach for his belt buckle. But he grips my wrist, stopping me. “You better bend over and lift that skirt,” he growls.

I become giddy again, the guilt of occupying the bathroom dissipating. Quickly turning, I bend over the counter and pull up my skirt so he has a perfect view of my ass. 

“Fuck,” he groans, and I yip when his hand connects with my skin in a spank. My eyes watch as he pulls his zipper down, fumbling over himself. He’s absolutely enamored and practically drooling in the mirror when he takes his dick out.

His finger hooks under my thong and he pulls it to the side, while his other hand lets go of his dick and puts it under my lips. “Spit, angel,” he demands. 

Letting the spit dribble from my lips into his hand, I close my eyes and wait.

He rubs his tip through my fold and I bite my lips to keep a groan from slipping my lips. “Open your eyes and watch if you want me to keep going,” he rasps, and my eyes snap open. 

My jaw drops, and my breathing becomes erratic as he forcefully sinks into me. He pulls out slowly, before grabbing the bottom of his jersey and pulling it up so I can see his perfectly chiseled chest. Fuck. 

“You’re going to want to hold on to something, angel.” 

A smirk takes from his face as he puts the shirt in between his teeth to keep it up. Then, he roughly slams back into me, filling me to the brim and finding his rhythm. Immediately, his pace is relentless, and I grip the edge of the counter to keep from screaming. Damn. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would make this quick. 

My legs begin to shake as he drags his cock over my g-spot in the most delicious way. Incoherent babbles begin leaving my lips and his speed increases. 

“Show me whose dick you want, angel. Show me who you want to fuck you stupid,” he snarls, and I feel like I'm drowning in pleasure. My back arches, allowing him to get deeper, and my mouth opens in a silent moan. His roughness brings tears to my eyes, but I’ve never felt better.

A strained groan leaves my lips as he grabs my hips tighter and starts pulling me back until my ass slams into his hips as he drives into me. Not wanting him to do all the work, I begin moving my hips at the same pace as him. “That’s it. Show me what you can do,” he husks. 

My eyes roll into the back of my head when his tip kisses my cervix, and the sound of our skin slapping fills the room. 

Suddenly, someone begins pounding on the door and I gasp. Joe seemingly hears them too and increases his speed. I watch him in the mirror as his hands wrap around my purple curls, creating a makeshift ponytail. 

Another bang on the door rings through the bathroom, and he pulls my head back by my hair, slamming into me. “You better fucking cum, angel. Someone has to use the restroom,” he thunders in my ear.

My breathing becomes erratic, and I start to clench around him as he brings a thumb up to my lips. He sinks it into my mouth, collecting spit on his thumb, before slowly sinking it into my tight hole. My mouth falls open and I scream at the pressure. Oh my fucking god. 

The sound of my voice reverberates off the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch; just bites my shoulder, groaning as he works his thumb in and out of me. “Give it to me, angel. Give me what he can't give you,” he encourages. 

With his words and the feeling of his thumb and his cock driving into me, I topple over the edge. My knees buckle, and I swear I see a constellation of stars. My whole body quakes with fire as Joe fucks me through my orgasm, and his dark eyes meet mine in the mirror. He smiles at me unraveling for him.

Continuing to stroke me, he fills me up every time until I feel him twitching inside me. “Your turn,” I huff, smirking at him in the mirror. 

He shakes his head before his pace becomes unsteady. Thrusting into me one last time, he buries into me to the hilt, and I moan at the feeling of his hot ropes shooting inside me as he swirls his hips to brush over my g-spot. “You’re milking me so good, angel. God, you’re so good. I don’t deserve you,” he slurs, slowly pulling his thumb out. We take a second to catch our breaths, both of us panting and coming down. 

The sound of banging on the door brings me back to the present. “No. You don’t deserve me,” I giggle, and he slowly pulls his softening cock out of me. 

He stuffs his cock back into his underwear before pulling his jeans up and zipping his fly. Then, his attention turns to me. He readjusts my underwear, pulling my skirt back down over my ass. “You’re gonna walk around all night with my cum dripping out of you. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to control myself,” he mutters. 

I try my best to fix myself, looking in the mirror to adjust anything out of place. When I turn to face him, he’s already standing by the door, waiting to unlock it. 

“No more of that jealousy shit. Keep it in your pants until we get home. Okay?” I scold, pointing at his face.

The beginning of a smirk starts to form on his face as he unlocks the door and pulls it open. The noise of the club fills my ears again, and he puts his hands on the small of my back, pushing me out of the bathroom and into the hallway. 

Turning my head to the left, there are about 20 girls in line for the bathroom. “Finally,” they groan before filing in.

When I look at Joe, his signature smirk is covering the entirety of his face. My eyes narrow at him, daring him to protest my orders. “Scouts honor,” he promises, ushering me up to the VIP section.

any feedback is good feedback