#but like... loving your dad but not Knowing him for reasons that are neither of your faults
Homemade
Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.
Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.
Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.
Part of the Waiting Game series
“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”
Joel knew you meant it, too.
The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.
Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.
It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.
“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.
“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”
Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.
You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.
“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.
You rolled your eyes.
“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.
Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.
“JOEL!”
Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:
“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.
You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.
Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.
“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”
The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.
“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”
You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.
Literally.
You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.
The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.
“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”
“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch.
Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.
He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.
“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”
“Yup.”
Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.
“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.
“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.
Then you pulled off.
“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.
“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.
It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.
As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.
“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”
Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”
You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.
Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.
“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”
Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.
He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.
“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.
You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.
“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”
He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.
“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”
With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.
“Get on the bed.”
You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.
“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.
In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.
When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.
“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”
You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.
“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”
That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.
Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.
Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ‘What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.
Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.
You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.
He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.
“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.
Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.
“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”
Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.
“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”
It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.
Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?
Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.
The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.
Or another minute, it seemed.
You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.
“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”
Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.
No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.
You shivered and started to push Joel away.
“Can we maybe just—”
“Sweetie?!”
Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.
“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.
“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.
You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.
Your dad was caring like that.
He just never knew the right times to show up.
No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.
That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.
You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.
“I thought I saw a spider.”
“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”
The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.
“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”
Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’
“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.
Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.
Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.
You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”
Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”
An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.
Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.
“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”
“Okay.”
You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.
The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.
“Thank fuck,” he breathed.
“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.
Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?
“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”
Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.
You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.
Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.
He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.
“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”
Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”
Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.
Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.
Maybe.
Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.
“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”
The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.
Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.
Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.
Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.
At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.
You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.
You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.
“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”
You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.
Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”
You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.
When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.
“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.
“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.
“Thank you, what?”
Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.
“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.
“Say it again.”
“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.
Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.
To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.
You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.
“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.
“You, daddy.”
“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”
“You, daddy.”
Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.
He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.
You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.
Water.
It wasn’t on your back anymore.
It was fanning between your legs.
Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.
“Try it one more time.”
You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.
You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.
“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”
Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.
“D-D-D—”
Damn, you sounded stupid.
“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.
In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.
“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”
Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,
“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”
“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”
But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,
“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”
Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,
“Daddy!”
Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.
You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”
In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.
“One more, sweet pea.”
“Joel—”
“And say it louder this time.”
Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.
Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:
“DADDY!”
You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.
Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.
The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.
“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.
“I—”
“Are you hurt?”
Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.
You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.
Your dad was still there.
The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.
You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.
“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”
“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”
That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.
Then he sighed.
“Alright.”
Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.
Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.
Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.
But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.
Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.
Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,
“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”
3K notes
·
View notes
A headcanon of Percy Jackson x reader daughter of Zeus, where he has been in love since the first day he saw her, and he had also recently arrived at the camp, please
˒ ⌕ SHE IS LIKE THUNDER
parings: percy jackson x zeus!reader
an:I know I disappeared, forgive me 🤧, but picture me writing this at 3 AM, dying of sleepiness after watching the last episode of PJO, AND ANNIE USED THE NICKNAME 😭 THIS EPISODE IS STILL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO PROCESS!!!!
summary: the one where you're a daughter of zeus, exploring your relationship with percy.
( my last work || my last work for riodanverse || go to main masterlist )
You and Percy crossed paths during one of your training sessions. Luke was giving Percy a tour of the camp, and when Percy laid eyes on you, he halted abruptly, as if struck by lightning. For some inexplicable reason, he felt an urgent need to know who you were, as if the gods themselves demanded it.
Percy's eyes widened as he observed you from across the training grounds. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing a finger in your direction.
Luke suppressed a chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Her? Oh, that's Y/N, daughter of Zeus."
Percy squinted, trying to decipher your actions, as you accidentally summoned a small lightning bolt that fizzled out near your feet. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Does that happen often?"
Luke grinned. "Only when she's particularly excited, which, by the way, is most of the time. You should see her during thunderstorms!"
Percy blinked, watching as you waved sheepishly, causing another faint spark to crackle in the air.
You and Percy found common ground in venting about the gods upon his arrival.
"Hey, little thunder, how's it going?" Percy grinned.
"Don't call me that," you replied, trying to keep a straight face.
"I'm good too, thanks for asking, Lightning Rod," Percy joked, emphasizing his newfound nickname for you.
Attempts at using your powers together proved futile, as water and electricity didn't exactly make for a harmonious combination.
According to Percy, Cabin 3 was way too big for just him, and assuming you felt the same way about Cabin 1, he started a tradition. At 12:00, he'd show up at your cabin, asking to share it, turning into a routine of hosting pajama parties in each other's cabins.
After you discovered that your half-sister, Thalia, had been turned into a pine tree to save her, Percy couldn't resist teasing you about it.
"Do you think your dad would turn you into, what, a fountain? Or maybe a cherry blossom tree would suit you?" Percy grinned, enjoying the opportunity to rib you.
"Jackson, shut up," you retorted, rolling your eyes at his antics.
Later, when Grover and Annabeth intervened, trying to keep you two from frying each other, Percy couldn't resist a parting shot. He had soaked you with water from a nearby forest stream during the mission, leaving you drenched and fueling your desire to electrocute him.
"Next time you want to electrocute Percy, make sure I'm not around," Annabeth teased as they separated you, noticing your soaked state.
Grover, being the peacekeeper, started singing the song of friendship, encouraging both of you to hug it out and apologize. Percy, however, observed that you were shivering from the cold as you walked. Realizing this, he handed you his jacket, concerned. "You'll catch a cold if you stay wet like this," he said, offering you warmth amidst the chilly aftermath of your water-based altercation.
Since neither you nor Percy admit to having feelings for each other, you find yourselves in constant teasing and banter.
During a mission, you two start a squabble because you want to lead everything, and he just wants to do his thing or isn't paying attention to what you're saying. Grover and Annabeth exchange glances, seeking a way to mediate.
It takes a long time before you muster the courage to admit you have feelings for the son of Poseidon. You decide to confess first because, knowing Percy, it would take ages if you waited for him.
"Percy, I need to talk in case we don't get out of here."
"Spark Plug, we're getting out of here; trust me."
"I like you, Seaweed Brain."
He stands there in shock, mouth hanging open, unable to believe that you like him back.
After Percy managed to confess that he also liked you, you enjoyed teasing him about his stunned reaction. But deep down, you were terrified that he might have said he didn't like you back.
Percy becomes incredibly protective of you.
"Touch her, and you'll be dead."
You love stormy days and spend hours on the beach with Percy because he can control the water, ensuring you both stay dry.
"Isn't it beautiful?"
"What, little storm?"
You pause, gazing out at the tumultuous sea, the waves crashing against the shore. "It's like the ocean is in harmony with this storm. It's as if they understand each other, finding peace in the chaos."
"Maybe," Percy finally responds, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Maybe storms and the sea have a way of finding peace in chaos because they understand that even in the wildest moments, there's a certain kind of order."
You appreciate the profound simplicity of his words, and in that moment, he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. For the first time in a long while, you feel at home
4K notes
·
View notes
snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror
pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution.
warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n]
word count: 12.3k
a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.
“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”
The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.
You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.
For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.
Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.
Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.
Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —
Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.
“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”
“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”
“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”
“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.
Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”
“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.
She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”
“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”
She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”
“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”
“Don’t give me hope.”
“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”
“You have such little faith in me.”
She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”
“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.
A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.
You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”
“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.
Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.
When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.
“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”
“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”
Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”
You smirk. “Sure it is.”
“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”
You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.
Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.
He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–
“What the hell are those?”
Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.
“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”
You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”
“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”
“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”
“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.
He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”
“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”
Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—
“So how’s work?” you blurt out.
Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.
“Huh?”
“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”
You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.
“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”
“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”
You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”
“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–”
“Corduroy?”
“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.
You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”
The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.
“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.
“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”
“I’m not,” he says.
“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”
“Chill it–”
“That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.
“I’m takin’ the detour.”
With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.
You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”
“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”
“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent.
Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”
“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”
Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”
It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.
His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.
Eight to six.
Six to four.
“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.
It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.
“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”
Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.
“No service?” you ask.
“No service.”
“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”
“Shit,” Joel echoes.
It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.
“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.
You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.
Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat.
You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask.
He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”
“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.
Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.
“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”
You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –
“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms.
Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.
He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”
You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”
“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”
You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.
“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.
“Dick,” you grumble.
More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.
“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.
“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.
“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”
You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”
Joel shrugs. “Tough.”
The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.
“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”
You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”
Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.
Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.
And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.
“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.
“Hm?”
Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”
A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline.
You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze.
“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.
You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.
Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.
Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.
Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.
“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”
Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”
It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.
You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.
You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”
As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.
“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.
“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”
“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”
“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”
“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”
There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.
This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.
“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”
Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it.
Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.
Fuck it.
You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained, “All good.”
“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.
He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.
Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night.
The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.
“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.
Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.
Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.
And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.
The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.
You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.
But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”
Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”
“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.
“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”
“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.
Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”
“That bad?” he chokes out.
“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”
Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”
Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.
Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–
You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.
You whine.
Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–
Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.
You’ve flustered him.
For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?
Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.
“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.
“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”
You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.
You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.
“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”
Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.
“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”
You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.
“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”
“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.
“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier.
His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.
“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”
“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”
“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”
You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there.
“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.
He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers.
“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.
“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And agai–
“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.
He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”
You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.
“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”
“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.
Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.
With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.
When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.
Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”
He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.
He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.
You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.
“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”
“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.
“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.
“Assh–”
Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest.
“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”
You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.
“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.
Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.
“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”
You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.
At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.
You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–
“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.
Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”
You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.
“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.
“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.
“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”
You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”
Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”
“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.
“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.
You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.
“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”
“Any day now,” he scoffs.
“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place.
“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”
At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.
“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension.
He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.
The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt.
“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”
“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.
All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.
“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.
“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to
“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.
You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”
“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.
You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”
Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.
Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.
“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.
You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…”
“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.
Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you.
Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.
You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.
He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”
“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.
“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.
“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”
You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.
Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.
You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.
“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”
You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.
His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.
“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.
The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”
“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.
“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”
You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.
You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn.
Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”
“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.
“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again.
Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”
“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.
The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”
He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”
Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”
“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”
The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.
And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”
“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”
“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.
You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.
You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”
Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.
You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.
There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.
You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’.
You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.
“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.
“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.
“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”
Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.
“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.
Joel starts, “Tommy–”
“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.
Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”
Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.
“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”
Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.
“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”
“God, no,” you huff out.
“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”
“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.
Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.
2K notes
·
View notes
Love On The Brain - LN
Summary: Lando pictures a future with his girlfriend and a future only with his girlfriend.
Just a short little one, a cute idea that struck me and idk I just had to write it.
Themes: Pillowtalk, suggestion of a bit of a breeding kink (like the finest nod to it)
It takes only a glimpse for people to see that Lando would be miserable if he was to lose y/n, not matter the reason. If the relationship came to an end, gradual or immediate. Lando would be devastated.
But neither y/n nor Lando have ever felt so secure in a relationship. There is just no threat to their relationship.
"One day this is going to get you pregnant." Lando states as he slides himself down the bed between her legs seeing his cum leak out of her while her chest rises and drops rapidly trying to catch her breath as she feels Lando's cheek rest on her thigh.
Looking up at her just with eyes of admiration.
These are the moments that Lando knows that this is forever, this is all going to be his life and how he wants it to be.
"Yeah, well the way you go. I think that's the intention." Y/n states while Lando kisses her tummy. "How many?"
"3..."
"Gender?"
"You already told me you want me to be a girl dad. Entirely outnumbered." Lando smiles earning a grin. "So three girls."
"Three girls." Y/n hums before she feels him drawing out shapes on her tummy. "Are we raising them in Monaco or...home?"
"Home. Or maybe somewhere new." Lando thinks out loud. "I mean we'll be travelling a lot by the time the first two come around, maybe still by the time the third is here."
"Names?"
"Aside from Norris. I think you get to choose, after all you're the one giving birth and you'll already be Norris by then anyway." Lando shrugs which makes her laugh but she knows he's not wrong. She's alright told him that she wants his name.
"Ok, give me a time line."
"I'm not telling you when we're going to get engaged because then you know when to expect it." They both know it's going to be soon. "But once we're engaged. I think married within a year unless it doesn't line up with the August wedding. So give or take a year. Obviously, keeping me off of you is impossible before marriage so after marriage...we'll be outdoing any other newly weds in existence and you'll be all gorgeous and pregnant by the time our first anniversary comes around. Hell you might've already had the baby. Depending on how you feel, I think no more than 4 years between each other the kids."
"That's a big plan...and when does your retirement come into all of this?"
"I think either...after a multi champ winning streak comes to an end. Or I think if I'm still wanted at 40. I'll go till then."
"Over 20 years in the sport." Y/n hums as her skin twitches under his gentle touches. "I can't wait to be here for so much of it."
Lando can't even stop the bashful shyness overwhelming him as he hides his face in the soft skin of her tummy while she laughs at the reaction and gently runs her hand through his curls.
"How in the world did I get so lucky to get you?" Lando mumbles into her skin.
"I ask myself that question about how lucky I am to have you every single day." Y/n whispers biting her lip as she smiles. "I love you."
"I love you too and I'm going to spend every single day showing you how it's possible that I love you more than I did the day before."
"I think you've upped the game of pillow talk."
"Good."
Lando smiles then sighing as he moves up and captures her lips, only breaking it to settle up kneel between her legs, her things spread over his own as her gaze looks at him.
"So we have two options."
"Hit me with them."
"More sex, then food and then we can go grocery shopping. Or if you want we can clean up, grocery shop and make food."
"You choose." Y/n shrugs since she genuinely would be happy with either those opens. "Plus you like being in control, so easier to let you decide."
"Well I'm not going to argue with that." Lando smiles before he kisses her softly. "I think more sex, then food and then grocery shopping."
"More sex always sounds good to me."
2K notes
·
View notes
— sleepover
pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader
contains: fluffff! jeff and rio being realistic parents, miles being stubborn per usual
summary: miles’ parents finally agreed to letting the two of you have a sleepover, on one condition. however, miles was never the best at following directions. wc: 1,630
New york. The city that never sleeps.
The faint murmuring of bustling cars and the habitual honking of horns seeped through the tight seal of the shut apartment window; ironic in the way it somehow lulled you. An imperfect melody you welcomed—also the same one deemed a nuisance by those foreign to the chaos that naturally assimilated to comfort the longer you remained in Brooklyn. It usually helped you slip into a slumber with ease—but now— was succeeding in its attempt of doing the exact opposite.
And when you heard Miles expel a weighted, disgruntled sigh; you were led to believe the two of you had more in common with each other apart from the fact that you both lived here.
After weeks and weeks of begging, and endless explanations as to why exactly he needed his girlfriend to sleep over when they wouldn’t even get to utilize the time spent together because they were supposed to be asleep, Miles had finally convinced his mom and dad to let the two of you have a sleepover.
Fun, right?
Yeah, well you thought it’d be. Until his mom insisted the two of you bring your pillows and blankets and fantasies of your life as a matured couple to the living room and sleep out there. Six feet away from each other. You guys were practically social distancing like it was 2019 all over again.
The curt reasoning she offered included something about her not wanting the two of you in his room alone at night; not that she thought her son would actually be dumb enough to do anything along those lines with her in the house. You loved Mama Rio, but even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. This was her house, and that meant you had to follow her rules. The fact that you were even able to come over as much as you did was a blessing in itself, so you took everything else in stride.
Miles let you take the couch of course, and he was currently sprawled out on his back on the floor, a pillow tucked beneath his head as he studied the minuscule cracks in the ceiling as if they truly interested him. Scrolling through his instagram timeline had gotten old fairly quickly, and at 1:00AM in the morning, neither of you were really motivated enough for conversation.
You were more than grateful to spend a night with your boyfriend, but this wasn’t necessarily how you expected it to go. Whenever you guys would hang out during normal hours of the day, you’d always end up in his embrace, curled and cuddled into each other comfortably. Whatever movie or tv-show you’d put on in the background begging for the same attention you’d give each other. After growing used to such a routine, that was really the only way you could fall asleep at his house.
But alas, holding your pillow close to you instead of him would have to suffice, you decided, as you let your eyes close once again.
“Baby?” Miles called out into the darkness, lip chewed in anticipation.
Silence.
He’d said only a word but you knew better than to engage. A conversation would end up with the two of you in trouble in the morning, so you pretended to be asleep.
“I know you’re awake. I counted exactly three seconds between your last two breaths and when you’re asleep it slows down to five.”
You stifled a laugh, ultimately blowing your cover. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”
“People who are asleep don’t laugh!” he quipped.
A smile snuck onto your lips and you hadn’t the heart to reprimand it, lids peeling back open to stare up at the same ceiling he was.
“Yes, Miles?”
“Can you not fall asleep either, or have I become an insomniac all of a sudden?” The question came with a sigh, long arms spread to their full wingspan as he tried to count how many full rotations the ceiling fan made in a minute. That was how bored he was.
You sighed disappointedly, toying with the frayed tassels on your blanket. A moue on your face. “No, I can’t fall asleep either.”
“I think I know why.” he sung the last word in suggestion, hands absentmindedly drumming against his abdomen.
“Miles,” you warned, letting your head fall to the side so you could stare at the top of his head and address him directly. “Your mom gave very specific instructions, and personally, I would like to return home to mine with my head still on my shoulders.” grumbling your response, you shoved down the urge to invite him up there with you like your mind was telling you to.
He propped himself up on an elbow at that, eyes immediately making contact with yours. Your first mistake was not looking away, because those pretty pools of hazel were already starting to convince you and he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.
“But how is that fair?” he complained, sounding exasperated. “We take naps together all the time when you’re here, I just wanna cuddle with you.” he sulked, as if you were the one who’d come up with the rule. Never in a million years would you submit the both of you to this kind of torture. You loved falling asleep in his arms.
You rolled your eyes at him, “Well, yeah. But that’s during the day, when she can check on us anytime she wants to. I don’t think your mom wants us that close to each other at night for,” The last part of your sentence faded to a jumbled murmur as your gaze traveled back to the ceiling. “…obvious reasons.”
He impishly raised a brow as if he didn’t know what you were referring to, chin resting in the palm of his hand. With only the faded lights of the city to illuminate the living room, the cheeky smile on his face went unnoticed, though you could hear it in the tone of his voice, loud and clear.
“And what reasons are those?” Miles asked, feigning innocence. His long lashes blinking at you.
Hand smacking to your forehead, you recited a silent prayer, a plea for strength. It was beginning to look like you weren’t going to get yourself out of this. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
His hand gestured to the air, plainly. “Well obviously. But still, we’re not dumb. That’s why I always take you to the roof when we—“
“Miles Gonzalo Morales do not finish that sentence!”
He snorted at the squeak of your voice and you used your pillow to hide your heated face.
“This is not going to help us fall asleep.” your irritated statement was muffled from the fabric of the pillowcase.
He hummed. “Exactly, meaning there’s only one thing left to try.” Slow to catch on, you didn’t realize what he meant until you felt the couch dip from the weight of his knee.
A hand trickled up the exposed skin of your thigh and it stopped when it met your sleep-shorts clad hip, the pillow snatched from your face and tossed onto the floor where he previously resided just a second ago.
“What are you—?”
He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the cushion beside your waist to hold himself up. Your question fell short when he swiftly parted your legs with his other hand and comfortably slotted his body between your thighs. A relieved sigh escaped him, his cheek nuzzling into the soft of your chest when he laid on top of you. His favorite way to cuddle.
“Shhh, trying to sleep.” murmuring a dismissive answer to your query, he let his eyes flutter to a close and snaked his arms around your waist, forearms cradling the curve of your back.
Contrary to the fight you were putting up just a minute ago— your arm curled over the expanse of his shoulders, fingers idly twirling at the baby curls that dusted the nape of his neck, something you always did to help him fall asleep faster. He let out a low, satisfied sound and relaxed into you completely, his hold on you tightening. While a part of you wanted to protest, an even bigger part wanted to remain under him like this. His weight was comforting; made you feel secure in the way a weighted blanket did.
“Your mom is not going to be happy with us.” you reminded him, stretching your other arm down enough to grab your blanket and pull it up over the two of you.
“It’s worth it. I’ll happily take the blame,” he drawled sleepily, snuggling in closer to the kiss that grazed his forehead. “I love you…” The laggard pace to his words let you know he was already dozing off, and you smiled, fatigue finally catching up with you too.
“I love you, Miles.”
— extra scene
Jeff stood in silence, arms folded over his broad chest and lips puckered awkwardly. Rio occupied the space next to him, hands perched on her wide hips, fingers tapping against them and her jaw clenched in disapproval. Her expression was everything but amused at the scene in front of them. He stole a tactful glance at his wife every two seconds, silently trying to gauge how irritated she was without having to ask her.
Sometime during the night you and Miles had switched places, and now his lanky legs were draped over the arm of the small couch and you were on top of him, clung to his body like a wet T-shirt, face barely visible seeing as it was nestled into the crook of his neck. With his mouth hanging slack as he loftily snored, Rio felt her eye almost twitch while she stared down at her stubborn son, who seemed to have magically teleported from his assigned spot on the floor and into yours instead.
“Well, I coulda told’ya that would happen.” Jeff said quietly with a laid-back shrug, to which Rio responded with a back-handed swat to his chest.
“Ow!”
Through her aggravation she still kept her voice low as to not wake the two of you, eyes narrowed at her husband. “I am going to strangle this boy, Jeff. Dios ayudame. ¡Tu hijo nunca escucha! (God help me, your son never listens!)” she griped, gesturing towards Miles’ arm that was loosely circled around your waist. She tramped down the hall, hands tossed up in defeat while she grumbled something incoherent under her breath.
Lips downturned into an offended frown, Jeff coddled his chest with his palm and followed after her, voice kicked up an octave like a nagging child. “Why is he only my son when he does something you don’t like? We made him together!”
- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!
likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated 💗
6K notes
·
View notes
FIRE WALK - one shot
joel miller x f!reader
pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader
rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni
word count: 6.5k
summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.
content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit
a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.
New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.
That’s what the news says.
August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn.
It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.
Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.
It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.
You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.
There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.
He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.
You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink.
He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.
And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.
You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.
He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem.
You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.
If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.
You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.
But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.
And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.
“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”
Yeah fuckin’ right.
He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks.
You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.
Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.
The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.
You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!
A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck.
There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.
“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”
“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”
“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.
That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.
“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.
Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.
Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!
You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.
You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.
You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.
But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.
“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
So you don’t.
You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that.
The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.
Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.
Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.
You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.
It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.
When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.
“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”
You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.
His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.
The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.
It irritates you, and you can’t say why.
The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.
“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.
He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”
You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.
“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.
—
Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.
Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.
You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.
Your breath hitches on a soft swear.
When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.
It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water.
“Um… thanks?”
“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.
“Listen, uh —”
He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.
Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.
You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.
“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”
This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.
“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.
“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”
You smile. Typically, yes.
“Joel.”
His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash.
And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.
—
You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.
You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.
Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.
Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.
Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.
Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.
You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.
You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no.
Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.
You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.
He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.
You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.
He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.
“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.
You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.
It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.
But you’re so tired.
“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”
“You got enough time for that?”
And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.
You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.
You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.
He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.
When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.
He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.
You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.
Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.
“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.
There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.
He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.
Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you.
Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?
Isn’t there a catch?
He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.
His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.
He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.
Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven.
You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.
“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”
He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.
Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.
You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.
You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.
He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.
“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.
You feel that little pull at your navel.
And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.
When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.
It’s fucking filthy.
Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.
Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you.
There was always a little gold for contorting your body.
He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.
You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it.
When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control.
It’s new, different.
But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.
“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”
Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.
“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”
Oh.
He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.
He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.
Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.
He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.
“This alright?”
You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.
“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”
You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.
“Yes. Fuck.”
That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.
He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.
It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove.
You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.
It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.
The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.
Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.
He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.
When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.
“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.
At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.
It’s all too much, too pure to be real.
Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.
You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see.
He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.
You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.
If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.
And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.
—
The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.
Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.
“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.
More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.
You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.
Fuck.
You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.
But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.
Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.
“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.
Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.
There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.
The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.
“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”
Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.
He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.
Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.
It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.
Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.
“The hell’s the matter with you?”
It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.
He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.
There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.
“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.”
He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.
A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.
Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.
He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.
You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.
You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.
Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.
You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.
But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.
He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.
“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”
He tells you to never say sorry to him again.
—
Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.
You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.
You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.
Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.
You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.
He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.
He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.
Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.
There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.
At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.
Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.
You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.
Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.
Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit.
The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust.
Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.
But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you.
They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.
And they’ll stay through every season.
1K notes
·
View notes
Really Drives Me Mad | Bfs Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+
Master List | Next Part
My best friend tells me that he's a keeper
I really like Dylan a lot
But Dylan's dad
He really drives me mad
With his faded tats
Sings in a cover band
Yeah he's super hot with his ripped dad bod
Oh my, oh my god
I like Dylan a lot
But oh god
I love Dylan's dad
I know y'all weren't expecting this... Well neither was I. It like invaded my mind and begged me to write it. (this is the dirtiest thing ive ever written.)
Word Count: 7.5k
Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)
Warnings: masturbation (both), voyeurism (both), lot of perv!Eddie, reader ends up cheating, just some dirty stuff. MINORS DNI.
As you sit cross legged on your best friend’s garage couch mindlessly watching some Netflix while she took another hit, your phone dings, a text message you’ve been waiting on.
“Ooh, speak of the devil.” She teases you, putting the bong aside to peek at what Dylan texted you. You roll your eyes at her, answering him to pick you up in the morning. “What did he say?”
Her eyebrows were wagging over-exaggeratingly, and you narrow your eyes. “Just asked when I wanted to get picked up for our trip to the beach tomorrow.”
“Are you excited?” She asks, her voice suggestive and you can hear more excitement in her voice alone than you felt about the trip.
“Yes.” You lie to her, because if you told the truth, you knew you’d hear about it.
Dylan was a good guy. You met him through a singles mixer you went to for shits and giggles and ended up meeting him. He had no business being there, his league was not the type of girl to go to a Fajita style mixer even for laughs. He was so overwhelmingly better looking than every other guy in that mixer that scooping him up before anyone dug their claws in was the logical thing to do.
It wasn’t that you didn’t find him hot.
Dylan ended up being almost everything you said you were looking for. Stable. Ready for commitment. Willing to go the extra mile.
He was stable in every way it takes most men into their 30s to figure out.
You knew he was a rare find as someone dating in your 20s. Yet, there was just something missing.
It wasn’t anything you could describe, and each time you had expressed the feeling people seem to dismiss it, claiming it stemmed from every failed relationship you’ve had. Logically, you should be head over heels over this man who is so sweet and willing to do the most.
But the feeling just nagged at your skull.
For the sake of not feeling guilty and seeing that same bug-eyed expression on your best friend you lie. It felt weird to have to lie to her just to seem grateful for what life has provided to you on a silver platter. So, until an actual reason for this hesitancy presents itself, the dates and the heavy make out sessions and whatnot will continue.
The ego boost he provides when he sends you drooling emojis when you send a bikini selfie for what you’re wearing the next day certainly doesn’t help your case.
“I’m so glad you found him, he’s so sweet.” She mentions off-hand.
You nod, gritting your teeth.
-
Dylan is on time, as always, prompt and proper to pick you up from your apartment. He texts to let you know he was outside, and you grab your beach bag of snacks and your towel and do a final assessment in the mirror.
Cute pink bikini that hung by a string sitting high on your hips, barely hidden by the long cut out dress you wore. Your bag matched the bikini, and you wore some tiny sunnies to put the whole look together. If you’re gonna date someone as good looking might as well look the part.
As you approached his chevy truck he was animatedly bug eyed while looking at you, his brown eyes popping out of their socket while he drummed his steering wheel. His zest and energy for life was always so contagious. You smiled at him, your cheeks burning as you climbed into the passenger seat.
“Hi baby.” He greets you, kissing you softly. You find yourself grinning into it.
He pulls out onto the main road for the forty-five-minute trip to the lake most people go for a weekend getaway. About five minutes down the road, Dylan pats his cargo shorts down real quick and grunts in disappointment.
“What?”
“Forgot the parking pass for the beach lot. I literally got that for fifteen dollars so I wouldn’t have to pay twenty at the till.” He explains, making a sudden left turn.
You’ve been to his house before, and he usually takes you there when his dad is either at work or just not home. You weren’t sure why, his dad seemed like a decent dude.
(From what you’ve heard anyway)
Maybe, like you, he wasn’t ready for meeting the parents yet.
“Oh, I think my dad will be home around now. Hope that’s okay.” He says, as if you had just spoken aloud. “I think it was time for you to meet him, anyways.”
Shit. Nope. He was ready. You were no where ready for him to meet your mom, who already loved him just from your best friend’s descriptions.
“Oh. Sure.” You glance down to your outfit, something worn not knowing you were about to meet parents. “Are you sure I’m dressed for that though?”
“My dad has met girlfriends in worse positions.” Dylan laughs. “Trust me. This is a better meeting.”
This helps you very little.
Five minutes down the road he pulls into the starter home he and his dad have been living in his whole life, a sweet little bungalow with three rooms and two bathrooms. It was by no means anything to cough at, certainly impressive for a mechanic, but Dylan seemed to behave incredibly sheepishly every time.
Dylan pulls in, and your heart races as you see his dad’s truck in the driveway. As Dylan gets out to open your door, he can feel your nervousness. “Can I just stay here?” You ask him, unsure why he needed you to go in for a pass in the first place.
“Oh I promise he doesn’t bite.” He jokes.
You give him a weak smile, holding his hand as you walked to the front door. The door doesn’t need a key, swinging open and the bright sunlight giving you both a shadow against the hardwood flooring. Dylan walks in, calling for his dad’s name. You squeeze his hand tighter out of nervousness. Eventually the sounds of his creaky steps are heard from the kitchen where Dylan is scanning for his pass, signalling his father coming down the steps.
You were facing towards the stove across the island counter, watching Dylan go through the drawers for it.
“Woah, thought you’d be halfway to the beach by now, you were so damn excited.” You hear his dad’s voice, and there’s something about it, his tone leaning towards a tease that enticed you to turn your head towards him.
Your jaw dropped. Or it didn’t. Certainly felt like a moment for your mouth to open in amazement. In a split second you knew where Dylan got his good looks, and it was only a fraction of how mouth watering his dad was.
He wonders in with sweatpants low on his hips wearing a band t-shirt and his long curly hair was wet from a shower. As he shuffled by to the fridge, the scent of aftershave invaded your nose and somehow it just went straight to your core. He was certainly fit even for a dad, slight dad bod but nothing to poke at, you could tell he worked with his hands.
“Forgot my pass.” He mutters, looking through another drawer.
“I saw it this morning, so I put it in your bag as you were heading out.” His dad mentions off hand, getting the ingredients for a bowl of cereal out. As he lifted his hands over his head revealing a tattoo on his tummy and the treasure trail saliva entered your mouth like water bursting through a man-made dam.
“Seriously?” Dylan dead pans. He turns to you, and you switch your glance to seem innocent like you haven’t been eye-fucking his dad. “I’m gonna go double check it’s in there. Just stay here be right back.” He kisses you on the forehead and leaves without giving you a chance to protest.
“Nice, to meet you, by the way.” He says in a gruff voice as he pours the sugary cereal into the bowl.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Munson.” Your voice sounded strained; you were hoping you were just imagining it.
He lets out a noise in disgust, his face scrunching up comically. “Oh god. Don’t call me that. Call me Eddie. Never Mr. Munson. Gross.”
You smile closed mouthed at his genuine disgust for it, and Eddie presents a smile as if your laughter was the long-term goal. “Nice to meet you, Eddie.”
“Much better.” He praises you, and it might be the closest thing you’ll ever get to the kind of praise you wanted from him, the kind where you find yourself on your knees in the kitchen, but you happily accepted it. Any crumbs you would happily take.
He could spit on you, and you would thank him.
Oh. That’s…new.
That wasn’t something you felt with Dylan at all. If Dylan had decided to spit on your face during sex, you would call the police. It would turn you off so fast you would kick him off you.
“Going to Lake Maureen?” He asks you, supposedly making small talk.
“Nope.” You tell him. “Museum.”
Eddie tilted his head, and from his shoulder’s shaking and the slow smile you could tell he was laughing.
“Yes.” You affirm.
“Where did you meet again?” Eddie asks as he puts away the milk, his voice seeming to extend from a thought he doesn’t share.
“Oh, a mixer.”
“Not the church mixer.” Eddie tilts his head, seeming genuinely fearful it was the truth.
You confirm that yes, it was the church mixer.
Eddie grabs a mug to pour the coffee you hadn’t noticed had he put on. As his hands cup a graphic mug you couldn’t see the comic for, you see the silver rings on his fingers and if your core wasn’t heated up before, it certainly was now. He leans forward, taking a sip of straight black coffee for a minute. “Sweetheart. You’re far too pretty to be going to a goddamn mixer. No wonder he was so fucking enthralled when he got home that day.”
You feel your face heat up at the nickname followed by him calling you pretty. Your thighs squeeze together as you attempt to force your heart back into your chest where it belonged. Somehow your extremities were freezing, and all the heat was centered in your pussy, just soaked from his presence alone.
He could tell you weren’t taking the compliment seriously. “Seriously. If he fucks it up and you end up single again no more fucking mixers for you.”
“Not like I had any more choices.” You defend yourself, not knowing why his insistence turned you on so much.
Eddie rolls his eyes as if he didn’t believe you. His mouth opens to tell you something, and the sound of Dylan bursting through the front door seems to cut him off. “Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”
The door slams, and you guessed you were supposed to follow him. “Um, you were gonna say something?” and the mystery is just too much for you.
“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie shrugs, putting his coffee mug down, having chugged that entire cup within the conversation. “Have fun.”
He scoops another spoonful of sugary cereal in his mouth, the dimples on his face prominent but the smile devious.
That smile would haunt you for the next twelve hours.
-
The trip with Dylan was alright, he swore up and down it was the best trip and it just brought you both closer as a couple. You probably would’ve agreed. A trip to the beach with Dylan Munson sounded enticing and sexy and adventurous for the most part until you met his dad.
Now thoughts of his flexed forearms has he gripped the counter while talking to you, wet hair smelling beautifully of the musk shampoo he used invaded your mind. Dylan fingering you on the beach under your skirt was yes, smoking hot, but as you imagined a certain someone else doing the same it brought you to your orgasm much quicker and much harder. Dylan figured he must be doing something right.
Guilt evaded you as you knew what the hell you were doing was wrong. You now had an excuse to get rid of him, you were far more into his dad than you ever were into him, and it should’ve been a sign.
But if you broke up with him now, you wouldn’t be able to see his dad. Yet as you took a walk down the shoreline into a cave and your eyes close picturing certain ringed fingers gripping your hips as Dylan did it made the sneaking off and the public sex that much hotter.
Seems you were sluttier than your initial sex life led you to believe. Turns out, you just haven’t met a man you wanted to be slutty for. Public sex seemed fun in theory, always so nerve wrecking in practice.
Public sex with Eddie felt like you wanted to get caught with him, fully enjoying his cock and letting people see. Voyeurism mixed with public embarrassment was suddenly hot and you got so into it that Dylan expressed how excited he was to fuck you on the next hike you took together, something he has expressed much interest in, but you denied bashfully every time.
Because with Dylan sex wasn’t all encaptivating. Sure he could make you cum, but you were never ready to rip off his clothes in a heartbeat. The moment you saw Eddie your fingers started to itch for that damn low sitting sweatpants for them to droop just a little…bit…more.
Dylan drops you off with a romantic wet kiss, and you walk into the door of your apartment in a daze. Before you can even think about it, you find yourself on your bed, your skirt around your ankles and two of your fingers down your bikini bottoms.
You start to take them off but there’s a voice you picture saying, “No, no. Keep them on like the whore you are.” It was not Dylan’s.
You listened to it, pretending to rub your clit in front of him watching. You could see a wild eye on his face, picturing him not being able to touch you driving him mad. The heat that expands into your pussy from that thought alone drives your hips for more friction. “Oh so fucking needy, yeah?” You imagine him saying to you, and fuck, you couldn’t not think of him being good at dirty talk. “Need this cock, don’t ya?”
The image of him slowly working the elastic waist-band of his sweatpants made you moan aloud, needily grinding on your own fingers.
“Too damn bad. You’re just gonna have to make yourself cum, like the slut you are.”
The slight foreplay you were accidentally given all day through your own imagination mixed with how fucking wet you were brought you to a quick orgasm, fluttering in your extremities as you continued imagining the wild eyes on Eddie’s face or the firm voice as he didn’t give you a choice on your dating pool.
This was the first truly earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever felt in your life. One that you truly had to recover from…and it was from just picturing this man.
Something in you wanted the real thing, and you were terrified of how willing you were to go through with it, and equally as terrified of going through life wondering what it could’ve been like
If sex with Eddie Munson was as good as the orgasm you gave yourself, you might have to be Dylan’s stepmom, because you just found what was missing.
-
“Hey baby.” Dylan says, welcoming you as he opens the door.
You hold your pillow and a duffle bag sits on your shoulder for a sleepover, and the shorter shorts with a tank top you wear signalling you were ready for a night in. As you pass by him, Dylan gives out a low whistle to how well your ass is shown off in the pair of shorts you wore. They were so well fitting he could see you were either wearing a thong or nothing, but you could tell it turned him on. While this gave you a confidence boost, he wasn’t the target audience.
When you requested the sleepover Dylan warned you his dad would be there. Good. You assured him that would be fine. That was the goal.
“Hi, sweetheart!” Eddie calls down to you, and the smile invades your face before you could stop it.
“Hi, Mr. Munson!” You call out, and the sound of gagging is heard. “I meant Eddie!”
“Oh, I forgot he gets everyone to call him by his first name, like a lame youth pastor.” Dylan rolls his eyes, tugging on your hand to bring you to the couch in the living room. “Movie?”
You nod jerkily. Dylan works around you, getting a blanket, popcorn, and the movie all set up. He turns down the lights, winking at you suggestively as he does so.
Less than five minutes into the movie, the beginning credits still lingering on to the actors he leans in with an open mouth, his hand making its way to your hip. With the smell of him still fresh, being able to smell him on the couch you were on, it was easy to get eagerly into the kissing. This encouraged Dylan, of course confusing your eagerness for him. He reaches down, placing two of his fingers over your clothed pussy.
You moan lightly, and he shushes you softly. Mentally you roll your eyes, because he was telling you to be quiet because his dad was home.
You were hooking up with him on his couch because his dad was home. You listen to him anyway, and he starts to rub in small circles, you moan even higher, imagining he could hear you and getting off to it. “Shh, baby.” Dylan whispers. “Oh, you’re wet. Fuck.”
He slips his hands into your shorts, leaning you down to rub your pussy and attack your neck at the same time. “Pussy feels…mazing.” Dylan mutters between the slobbery neck kisses he gives you. It was enough for you to picture him, but suddenly Eddie coming downstairs right now without knowing what you were doing got you off even more.
“Eat me out?” You ask him, and ever the gentleman he smiles devilishly at you as he crawls down. He goes to place the blanket over his head, and you stop him. “Wanna see your face.”
Okay, you wanted to see Eddie see your pussy as his son went down on you, but it made Dylan eager enough to dig in in a way you haven’t seen from him yet.
You whine from the hot pleasure it gave you, you grind on his face, the heat focused on your pussy in a way that has never happened before. The idea of Eddie accidentally walking in on you but watching instead of saying anything gets you off so easily Dylan is feeling your juices wet his chin and your ass like it never has before.
“Greedy baby.” He mumbles, placing two fingers into you and giving kisses to your thighs as he pumps them.
“Gonna cum soon, Dyl.” You warn him.
Luckily, Dylan knows it means to keep doing what he’s doing. You were close, but the sound of footsteps upstairs followed by a door closing pushed you over the edge, knowing he could very well be going to his room from elsewhere, but hoping he was at the top of the stairs.
Just the possibility of him being at the top pushed you over. “Holy shit.” Dylan mutters, crawling up to you. “Must’ve been riled up, huh.”
“Yeah.” You tell him, suddenly feeling Dylan’s boner poking the inside of your knee. “Mere, I wanna help you.”
“No, I wanna fuck you, let’s go to my room.”
His room…down the hall…where there’s a better chance he could hear you. “Sure!”
-
Eddie Munson was sure there was something out to get him. The moment your pretty fucking face greeted him in his kitchen when he wondered down fresh from a shower he was sure there was something laughing at this pure misery.
The smile on your face, the smell of your sweet perfume, the way your skirt hugged your hips all melted him into one pot. When you told him you met Dylan at a fucking mixer, he wanted to shoot the person who made you feel like you were worthy of being ogled at by a bunch of singles at an awkward church mixer.
A church mixer.
He hated that Dylan liked them, always said only weirdos go there and was sure Dylan as exaggerating when he expressed how gorgeous and out of his league you were.
His heart freezing at the sight of you sit perched on one of his stools, shyly watching your boyfriend, even only from the back made him wonder if angels were real. Fuck, he didn’t ask for any proof of your beauty when offered to show your Instagram, but he wouldn’t have believed it.
He spent that entire first conversation doing everything he could to be a fucking father figure and remind himself you were dating his son. He was not hitting on you at a bar, he was your boyfriend’s dad.
Somehow that just made the forbidden part about it that much hotter.
He felt like a pervert as the scent of your shampoo jumped out at him when he passed by you for the milk, and he had wanted to stop in place and take a big inhale. Felt like an even bigger pervert as he saw the string of your bikini bottom sitting high on your hip peaking out of your skirt and he just wanted to get a shot of that underskirt.
Every thought he had about you as your wit came through the conversation, he wondered what the hell you were doing with Dylan. He loved his kid, but you deserved better than what he knew his kid would provide.
He knew about Dylan that he’d be a great husband one day. Someone reliable and trustworthy enough to build a life with.
He didn’t want that for you. He wanted you to have something mind-blowing and earth shattering, something intoxicating. Something that made you feel the way he felt just by smelling your goddamn shampoo. Your teeny tiny bikini with your hair up in a messy bun with cute little sunglasses all somehow went to his cock, and he was glad you were called over before he said something even more stupid.
Eddie rolled his eyes at your claim there wasn’t a bigger dating pool, opening his mouth to retort--“Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”
The door slams, and that concluded the end of that conversation. “Um, you were gonna say something?” you ask him, and he wondered if the intrigue on your face was something he just imagined.
“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie lies. I was gonna say I am proof there is a bigger dating pool than you would believe, sweetheart… but he knew it would’ve said something he couldn’t unsay.
Dylan told him you were coming over for a sleepover, and he and Dylan’s room were only separated by the bathroom. Eddie might use the basement for the night because he didn’t trust his perverted mind not to seek you out and look at what little pjs you have chosen to wear. He gave you space out of respect when you arrived, wondering if it was flirting when you called him Mr. Munson.
Suddenly a noise that Eddie could only describe as the doorbell to heaven (or hell with what his mind was thinking) reached the door he had kept open for this very reason.
He kept his tv playing and sneaked off to the top of the stairs, hoping to catch his kid getting you off while you moaned under the covers. The treat he was given was far better, the hand over your tight ass shorts feeling you up as you leaned back and whined all high pitched. Eddie’s cock was so hard at the moment not touching it would be like self-neglect.
He backed up against the wall by the stairs, listening to your moans as he got you off, desperately wishing it was his fingers in your wet heat. He imagined your scrunched up face as you made those stunning noises, starting to stroke himself. A pause occurs, your blissed out voice asking him to eat you out. He bites back a moan at wanting to taste you, wanting to get all up in those juices and to show him how much you turned him on. He leans over the wall into the stair entry, expecting the blanket to be covering you but instead being met with your pussy on full display.
A low guttural moan escapes his throat, fucking into his fist and pretending it was you bent over for him instead, whining the same exact way. He knew you would have a pretty pussy, but this was just un-fucking fair.
You warn Dylan you were about to cum, and that pushes him over his own edge, and he suddenly has a mess he needs to clean up all over his fist. God he wanted you to clean it, to suck it all up. He was making himself hard again and he had to flee to his fucking bedroom to wash up.
Suddenly the creak of the stairs erupts as he is cleaning himself up, and Dylan’s door closes. Oh. They’re…continuing.
Your moans are suddenly loud, and Eddie finds himself hard again as he realizes he’s hearing you being fucked. Oh, he knew you were a fucking dirty slut.
Just fucking knew it. Something that hasn’t happened since he was in his 20s, but he’s ready to jerk himself off within minutes of just cumming. “Yeah, my whore being fucked open, letting everyone hear how good she feels, oh shit.” Eddie mutters to himself, right next to his door.
He ends up finishing at the same time you did, which didn’t take either one of you very long.
-
The next morning you wake next to Dylan sleeping with a big smile on his face. To him, that was the best sex you’ve ever had together. Mixed with your adventure at the beach last week, you guys were doing better than ever.
To you, it was only amazing because you kept thinking of Eddie fucking you and it did everything for your core. You get up in the tiny pair of pajamas you had packed, something that barely covered your ass and headed downstairs for some breakfast.
As you were leant down to assess the cereals, you heard the stride of someone come in behind you.
Eddie walks in behind you, holding back a swear as he sees your pussy peaking out of your pajama bottoms. A gentleman, and not knowing you fully reciprocated every horny thought, he ignores it and hopes you sit up.
You don’t, leaning even more forward and making a show of wondering what to eat. Eddie inhales, allowing himself to watch you. You turn around to him jerking his head away, and you felt some pride in getting his attention. “Morning.” You greet him, offering a bowl for him.
He rejects it. “Not hungry.”
“Oh.” You pour cereal, and Eddie focuses on not staring at your beaded nipples peaking through the tiny silk top you wore.
“Fuck.” He whispered, the boner growing.
“Something wrong?” You ask him innocently, and knowing this was working to your benefit made you nervous but eager.
“Lots to do today.” Like jerk off another three times.
“Like what?” You asked, taking a spoonful of cereal even though you had no appetite from the butterflies in your stomach.
“Oh not much.” Eddie wonders to you, and by reaching over you to grab the cereal he wonder if he could sneak a smell from your shampoo.
You sit up as he leans away, and you are so close you can see just how gorgeous he is. God, those brown eyes. “Do you have any…one to do?” You ask, glancing back and forth between his pretty lips and his even prettier eyes. You didn’t even know which ones to focus on.
Eddie leans in a bit to you, just ghosting over your lips. “Are you sure…that you want this?”
You nod, your eyes glazing over in want as the arousal in your gut suddenly exploded into a need.
“Cause…cause if we do this there is no going back. If your pussy…” he inhales sharply, taking a breath of your hair. “is as good as I imagine, there’s no way I’m giving you back.”
This sentence turns you into gelatin, and you lean forward to finally kiss him, his lips rough as he seemingly forgets how to act for a moment.
His brain finally catches up and he grabs onto you, inhaling and messy kisses, and grabby hands all at once as he tries to do everything he’s wanted to. Your hands make their way into his hair, and it was as soft as you pictured it. His lips messily kiss down your jaw onto your neck and you let out a whine. He smiles widely at that. “Good. One I made. Needed that.”
“You heard me…yesterday?” You asked, wetter from the idea of it.
“Heard you? Fucking came to it.” He swears, as he continues an assault on your neck. You moan in response, your hips involuntarily grinding up. “Come on, upstairs.”
You almost wanted to get caught by Dylan, but to keep it going longer you follow Eddie giddily upstairs as he trips over himself and you felt like a goddamn teenager. You follow him into his room, and the curtains were blackout curtains, the lights turned off giving the illusion of everything being dark. “Can we turn on the lights?” You ask, delicately. “I wanna see you.”
Eddie turns on his dimmer switch light so it was low, and the look in his eye as he approaches you sat on his bed had a level of lust in them that drove you wild. He leans in to give you a kiss after sitting right by you, and it wasn’t enough touching for you. You crawl forward as you eagerly kissed him back, straddling his lap. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are fucking gorgeous.” He mutters, the silk pajamas you wore bunching up in his hands as he grabbed at it. “The little strap that peaked out of your skirt tied together was just tempting me to unwrap you like a present.” He huffs, still kissing your neck. You find yourself impatient, wanting his lips back on yours.
“Fuck, been thinkin’ about you on my cock ever…” he inhales your perfume with a deep grunting sigh of content. “ever since.”
You mewl to his confessions, and he’s a much better talker than you could’ve imagined. Your hips start to grind on their own accord and with the little fabric they have between your silk shorts and his thin pajama pants you felt his hard cock fairly easily. You let out a high moan of contentment, and Eddie watches as you grind on his cock and get yourself off so easily. “Oh shit, she’s a dirty slut, hey.” Eddie comments leaning back and watching you grind yourself. “Doesn’t even need a cock inside her, will just take anything I give her with a smile on her face.”
“I would—” you gasp, the material scratching your clit in the best way, “I would take any crumbs, fuck.”
You start to moan higher and grind faster, and Eddie wanted to make you cum by his hands or his mouth the first time but you making yourself cum against his pants meant he was now using this as a fucking cum rag to smell you when you weren’t near. “Take off those shorts, doll. Wanna see your pussy.”
“Ok.” They are yanked off without a second thought.
“Oh, good listener. What a good girl.” He comments petting your hair gently as you continued to grind again with your heat now directly against his pj pants, he could feel it against his cock. “Oh, fuck, you are soaked. My fucking horny slut.”
“Horny for you.” You whimper the edge just right there.
“Whoring herself out for the Munsons.” He comments, sort of bitter he had to hear you fuck his son before he could claim you.
“Pictured it was you.” You admit, your voice in a whisper as you confessed but the high you wanted almost there.
“Fuck, did you?” He asks, the idea you only enjoying it so much because you pictured him.
“Mmhmm. Pictured you watching me, too.”
“Fucking little voyeur.” He whispers, and you nodded. He rewarded you by grabbing your hips and rutting against you and hitting your clit even harder and your orgasm snuck up on you, and the extra attention Eddie pays you as he watches it wash through you only helps the high take longer to recover from.
“Oh my god.” You whisper, a last of the intense orgasm still running through you.
“Not done.” Eddie whispers, a big smirk on his face. He lightly pushes you down and grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulder. You watch him carefully, his face looking at your pussy at a way that would usually resolve in embarrassment. Instead, it only turned you on more because it meant he wanted you just as much.
He dives into your pussy with a level of expertise that only came from years of pleasuring women. You don’t know why but you knew he got off to pleasuring others from the moment you saw him and every moan you let out he absorbed it, getting better and better as your verbal ques direct him. The heat in your pussy intensifies as he continues, fucking two of his fingers into you.
You place your hands in his hair, grinding up when the feeling of wanting to be fucked takes over you. “No, patience baby. I need to see what you look like when you squirt.”
“I-I can’t—”
“Every woman can, sweetheart. Just means you’ve had no one show you yet. Feel that?” He asks you, the heat in your pussy expanding as he continued to attack your clit and finger fuck you.
You nod, the feeling in your gut like a tidal wave of pleasure.
“Focus on it.” You do, and as you do you look up at his eyes, already staring into yours as he assesses your reactions. The heat intensifies by a thousand, and the feeling of wanting to…pee…takes over.
“Fuck—” you start to protest.
“Let it happen. Let go. It’ll feel so fucking good…baby let go. Gonna feel so fucking good.” You trust him so you let go and a gush invades your ear as a red-hot pleasure makes home in your pussy. “One more?” Eddie asks you, his thumb now messaging your clit.
You twitch under him, your bud being so sensitive. “Oh fuck, Ed. Too much.”
“No, I think you can cum again. Wanna see that beautiful face all scrunched up. Wanna take a photo.” He holds out his phone casually, and your face heats up. “Not feeling all the sudden shy, are ya? You whored your little pussy for me how is this different?”
“Its…” you manage out, already close again. “Its hot.”
“She gonna cum again, all over my fingers?”
“All over your fingers.”
“You gonna lick em clean?”
“Can we share?”
Eddie groans audibly, titling his head back. “Of course, doll. Of fucking course, now cum all over them, please.”
The third orgasm takes over your body, and it’s so goddamn good you stop responding for a minute which causes Eddie to panic. “Oh shit, you okay?”
Giggles burst out of you, the kind of post orgasm giggles you’ve only read about in spicy novels. You thought they were fake. “Can I suck you off now?”
Eddie’s eyes bulge, and he realizes his hand is still on your pussy. He taps it lightly, causing you to whine. He lifts the finger first, inserting it into your mouth. “Suck this first.” You wrap your tongue around it, keeping eye contact as you taste yourself, and this is the only time it’s ever been truly hot to be able to taste yourself. Other times it was just perplexing.
Eddie takes the other finger when you let go and starts sucking on it, he closes his eye, enjoying the taste of your pussy on his tongue. Eddie crawls onto his bed and you basically pounce him, yanking his pj pants down as fast as they go, wanting to see his cock. His eyes watch you, blown and enwrapped in lust as he watches your eagerness.
As his cock pops out of his pants, an involuntary smile spreads across your face. The head to his cock was so pink, he must’ve been horny. “Oh, pretty cock.” You mutter, and he wasn’t even sure if you were saying to him or just saying it out loud. “Oh my god, look how pink your head is. Mmm..sure seem like you need some attention.”
You take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking on it alone but getting used to his girth. Holy he was gonna hurt even with how wet you were. You start sucking on it, taking bit by bit more into your mouth each time, eagerly making sloppy spit sounds as you did so. It wasn’t hard to generate the spit you needed, the sight of his dick made your mouth water.
Your head bobbed up and down on it, illicit sounds being drawn out of him, only encouraging you more as the feeling of his rings harsh against your scalp making you wet. You pop off him, spit connected from your mouth to his dick. You lean forward to his treasure trail, licking the hair and biting at it, something you’ve wanted to do since you saw him. You find your way back down and passed his cock and he’s about to ask when take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking loudly.
“Oh fuck, do you know how to use that pretty little mouth. Holy shit.” You roam over it with your tongue, sucking it in and out repeatedly. Then you move on to the next one, giving it its own show as well. Your mouth moves back to suck on his cock but he tugs on your hair to bring him up to you.
“Want you to face fuck me.” You say to him, still not done sucking on his cock.
“Nother time. Lemme fuck you.” He mutters, tugging on the shirt you still wore. You crawl back up to straddle him, nothing between his cock and your pussy now, but he places his cock on it so the shaft slides in-between your folds, teasing you, and causing you to whine. “Oh shit.” He works on the buttons holding your silky pink shirt, the skilled hands working fast through each one. As each one reveals another inch of skin, he feels more intoxicated by you, especially how you’re begging him to put his cock in. Your tits fall out of the shirt, and he rips the back off you, and you let it fall to the floor. You grab onto his band shirt, attempting to move it off him. You barely do it, the feeling of his cock so close inside you causing your focus to fall apart in seconds. He laughs, nearly cruel, yanking the shirt off, revealing more tattoos you’ve never seen. Your hands flutter to his chest, moving to each tattoo and touching every inch you can.
Your mission to focus and analyze each tattoo is interrupted by him maneuvering you onto your back. You lay there, open and ready for him. “Holy shit, fucking smoking hot.” He mutters, like he couldn’t believe you were here with him.
It was you who was the lucky one, he was crazy.
“You’re hotter.” You mutter, as he starts to align his cock with your entrance. “Thought of you last night, made myself cum so hard.”
“Oh fuck. What was I doing?” He asks, still teasing you with it.
“Just watching me finger myself. Talking me through it. Calling me a whore.” He groans, tapping his cock on it. “Please, Ed need your cock.”
“Beg for it, you fucking slut.” He whispers, something taking over him.
“Please, daddy. Want your cock. Want you to fuck me like a ragdoll. Please, pretty please fuck me until I’m a puddle. I just want your cock in me, so fucking bad.”
“Gonna be a good slut for me?”
“Yes..I will I promise.”
He chuckles darkly and finally…finally moves into you. Your eyes cross and a moan so erotic leaves your body and you had barely a single ounce of control over that left your mouth at that point.
Eddie puts his head into your neck, feeling your head tighten around him in pleasure as you got used to his girth and length.
“Move…please?”
“Thought you were gonna take the crumbs I gave you, slut.” He mutters.
“Fuck. Sorry.”
He smiles and your fingers fidgeting at your sides were a dead giveaway you were just needy for him to move. It made him feel fucking powerful just his cock could make you feel like this. He starts rocking, slowly and you whine from this resolve alone. “Oh what a fucking whore, just needed a good fucking.” He mutters into your ear, his hand finding its way to your neck. “Putting her pussy on display for me, showing she just needed someone to know how to fuck her.”
You say nothing in response, and his hips are starting to rock against yours harder. Your eyes reach the back of your head as you lose air, but you revel in the feeling of nearly passing out as he takes his hand off. “Holy shit, you really are just a whore.”
You nod, eyes half lidded as you looked up at his pussy drunk eyes. “Little…cockdrunk…slut…” he inhales sharply and a wad of spit hits your face and you find yourself opening your mouth for more. “Fuck—” his hips stutter at the sight of your smile when his saliva hits your mouth. He spits right into it as you open for more and you act like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, cause it was.
Your tongue pokes out, gasping in more need. His hips are against yours so harshly you would’ve been afraid of bruising if it didn’t fucking turn you on so bad.
“Fucking slut, you want me to cum in you? Wanna be filled with my fucking cum?” You nod, too cocked out to speak, you’ve never felt this good from penetration alone before. “Cum with me, doll.” He mutters using his two fingers against your clit as he leans in to kiss you. Within moments you flutter around him, moaning into his mouth and he lets go of your kiss, stuttering his hips and letting out a loud moan as you feel him fill you up.
His body weight collapses ontop of you, and his hands are suddenly gentle as they sweep at your bangs sticking to your sweaty forehead. “Fuck.” He mutters, giving you a dazed-out look of pure adoration. “That was much better than anything I came up with.”
You nod in agreement, words still not coming to your mouth.
“You were such a good girl, yeah?” You smile, a heat coming up to your cheeks. “You listened to me so well. C’mere.” He wraps your lips in a kiss, his cock still in you, still hard and keeping all his cum in you.
“C-can we stay like this?” You ask timidly, not wanting his cock to leave yet.
“Ooh, baby wants to cock-warm? Sure. Wanna turn on a movie until 9, when Dylan usually wakes?” Eddie asks, already leaning towards the channel changer on his beside table.
Having to tell Dylan it was pretty much over the moment Eddie kissed you hadn’t even crossed your mind, and it would eventually twenty minutes into the movie when you got back to earth. Eddie knew the realization would kick in eventually so he let you watch a movie of your choice, sitting up on his bed with you straddled on his lap after a bit of maneuvering so you could both see the movie on his screen adjacent to his bed.
Eventually, Dylan was gonna wake.
Eventually, a storm would hit.
But for now, Eddie stayed inside you to pretend like it wasn’t over yet.
-
As always i Love reading comments, replies, reblogs <3 remember reblogging is the best way to support on Tumblr
Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you
2K notes
·
View notes
Han, bestie, I am obsessed with Your Summer Dream. It is seriously the best DBF!Joel fic I have come across. Because I am such a sap can I ask how they spent their first Valentine’s Say together since it’s tomorrow? Like what did they do? What did they get each other? Did they try anything kinky? 👀
non, i love you so much, thank you for reading and for loving ysd <3
i wouldn't call this a proper fic or anything...just some random thoughts about these two on valentine's day. i hope you like!
your summer dream, valentine's day thoughts
pairing: dad's buddy!joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+
word count: 1.7k
warnings: fluff, consumption of alcohol, alternating pov, smut, bondage (come on handcuffs), unprotected piv, oral (m+f), ass play (it's them), and food play (whipped cream is either dairy or non-dairy in this - you decide). no use of y/n.
Joel has gotten pretty damn good at reading at you, if he does say so himself. Not that you're all that hard to read. But it's painfully clear to him, when he asks if you want to do anything for Valentine's Day, that something about the question irks you. A grumbled response followed by a sudden, loaded silence, your fingers flying to the seashell around your neck like the feeling of it under your touch will anchor you somehow.
And he's no fool, he can put two and two together. No doubt you're thinking of your ex, and Joel shudders to think how much that kid must have fucked this day up to make you react like that. He doesn't pry. But he does start to plan.
See, for Joel, Valentine's Day was never about romantic love. It was about forcing himself to wake up early for once to leave chocolate hearts in Sarah's cereal bowl before she came down to breakfast. It was about helping his little girl hand write each one of her classmate's valentines, usually in a frenzied rush on the night of February 13. It was about sneaking one for himself just so he could slip it into Sarah's lunch box and imagine how she'd smile when she found it. That's all he wants for you - that's all he ever wants for you - to see you smile and know he'd had a hand in it.
-
Joel Miller doesn't do surprises all that well. But he's trying, and you love that. He might have been able to keep his plans a secret had he not offhandedly suggested you book the 15th off work for "no reason," very poorly ignoring your side-eye from across the centre console of his truck. So you'd known he'd been up to something, but nothing could have prepared you for what.
He's got supermarket flowers on the counter when you get home from work, calling out a greeting to you from the bedroom. You find him there, duffle bag open on his mattress, looking all flustered and giddy when he tells you he's already packed your pyjamas and your toothbrush and your swimsuit but that he doesn't know "what all make-up or whatever" you need and you're just standing there in the doorway, charmed to absolute death like, "Well, neither do I unless you tell me where we're going." And all he gives in response is, "Not far, nothin' crazy."
He's a picked dress for you, you discover, some flouncy little pink number you haven't worn since...well, since Costa Rica. He's already packed it away along with your singular pair of "nice shoes" and it probably shouldn't turn you on so much that Joel is literally choosing your outfit for you and yet...you think he might be the only man on Earth who could get away with something like that. It's kind of hot to let him call the shots. To, for once, not have to think so much about things.
Of course, you've got him a present too, but you keep that to yourself for now.
He's not lying; it's not far and it's not crazy, just a nice hotel in downtown Austin, chocolates on the sheets and sparkling wine in an ice bath. Reservations at one of your favourite restaurants. He looks so handsome with his hair pushed back, dark green button-down, dark black jeans, dark brown eyes in dark restaurant lighting. His fingers alternate between brushing your thigh and caressing your inner wrists and he seems to be deliberately trying to drive you fucking crazy.
As much as you insist against it, he pays for dinner, and frankly, you're far too eager to get back to your hotel room to argue about it.
-
Joel is impatient too. And nervous. And fucking hard.
You may not know what he's got planned, but he certainly does. And he's been struggling to think of anything else all evening. You share a shower and it's all soft touches and wet kisses and his cock pressing into your thigh, your body literally melting against his and afterwards, he feels a bit less nervous. Your gaze is a little foggy and your breaths are coming a little shorter and he's sure you're wet by now but he fights the urge to touch your pussy because tonight...tonight is about patience. Tonight is about indulgence.
-
As much as you've made a home for yourself at Joel's place these past few months...there's something about a hotel room that feels infinitely more familiar. You're glad Joel chose this.
You wait on the big, cushy bed with a robe around your body and watch Joel emerge from the bathroom, curls still damp, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. He rummages in the mini fridge (had he put something in there?), then he rummages in his duffle bag (what the fuck is he plotting?), then he finally kneels on the bed before you with both hands behind his back and a roguish little smirk.
-
He starts with the cuffs, they make him less nervous; you've already said you want this. He gets exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for when he presents them, all pink and fluffy, from behind his back: a widening of your eyes and a hitch of your breath, an instantaneous nodding of your head. So willing it makes his cock ache.
He tells you to get naked and you do so without question. Laid out all bare and open, he's sure he must be the luckiest man in the entire goddamn world. You welcome the cuffs around your wrists, all soft and pliant and trusting while you let him mould you into a position of his choosing, arms above your head. He carefully conceals his other surprise until you're comfortably restrained.
-
Bound and yearning, you watch him expectantly. Suddenly he's trying to play it cool, muttering some shit like seein' as it's Valentine's Day... as he retrieves the canister of whipped cream he'd been hiding. You can't help it, you burst into a fit of laughter and Joel laughs too, shakes his head, maybe a little embarrassed. But also still noticeably hard and not exactly backing down.
It's corny - it's so corny - you both laugh and laugh about how corny it is but ultimately...this is Joel. And you'll try anything with Joel.
And no surprise, it's fucking hot as hell. You give into it the instant he traces a line of whipped cream up your navel and licks his way along it, up between your breasts till his lips find yours. Sugary and sticky, his kiss dissolves you, and you are fully at his mercy.
He toys with you, calls you his good girl while he decorates every inch if your skin with cream and thoroughly licks you clean. You squirm when he dances his tongue over your perked nipples, moan when he scoops a dollop of cream onto two of his fingers and slips them between your lips.
"Wanna eat it off your dick, Joel," you tell him and oh - he likes that idea. Quickly readjusting your restraints so your wrists are connected behind your back, he at last removes his briefs and perches on the edge of the bed, guides you down to your knees and says, "Open your mouth," only to squeeze a small amount of whipped cream onto your tongue before slowly feeding you his cock.
And that's fun - but when he pulls you off him, you pout. "I said I wanted to eat it off your cock." Joel chuckles but grants your wish, shaking the can with a devilish grin before drawing a line of cream from his tip down to his base - "Go on, then."
And you do, lapping first at the sweet stuff around his tip. The curious flavour it creates when it mixes with the heady salt of his precum is so stupidly erotic it makes you throb. You wish you could touch yourself.
Joel lets you work him until his cock is clean, slick and sweet and glistening with saliva.
-
After that, Joel's patience finally expires. He helps you back into bed just so he can manhandle you onto your knees, press your chest into the mattress and eat your pussy from behind. It's his favourite way to eat you out, especially like this, with your hands still confined behind your back. Fully his.
You come like that, fairly quickly too. Maybe it had been all the build up. Maybe it had been the way he'd let his tongue wander over your asshole so he could eat you there too; he fucking loves how crazy that makes you.
-
You're just a sticky-wet puddle by the time he finally fucks you, big hand curling around the back of your neck, holding you flush against the sheets until his frame crashes down on you altogether and you're fully prone beneath him. And it's kind of romantic, you think, his body weight smothering you, thick cock buried inside you, rasped whispers in your ear...it's just like the first time. All these months later and it's just like that first time.
Unlike that first time though, he actually comes inside you, painting your insides instead of your skin. He frees your wrists and kisses each one turn, tells you how good and sweet and perfect you are until the words stop sounding like words.
Another shower, a dip in the hotel pool, a quick night cap at the bar downstairs and then you're back in bed, settling in for TV and snuggles and - undoubtedly - round two.
And of course - presents.
For Joel, custom guitar picks with his initials embossed on the celluloid and a few previously promised Polaroids of the two of you together (which he immediately stows in his wallet).
For you, a book you'd said you wanted nearly a month ago now - never mind the hotel and the dinner and the flowers and the goddamn handcuffs. There's also a personalized card with a handwritten message that you're not ashamed to say makes you tear up. Well, one line in particular:
I'm yours and you're mine...one day at a time.
You curl up in hotel bed sheets, let your eyes slip closed as you savour the safety, the intimacy, the undeniable nostalgia of it all.
"I do okay?" he asks as you begin to drift to sleep.
"More than okay," you vow, nuzzling into the column of his neck. "Thank you, Joel."
622 notes
·
View notes
Hey, I dont know if you are currently acepting asks but... Please can you write something with Clockwork/Alfred? I'll give you a cookie?
I really love how you write and i cant find fics with this ship
Danny gets a cryptic message from Clockwork the night that he, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz are supposed to go on a three-week College tour road trip.
A trip that they were going to use to decide where the three graduating students planned on going to college. Jazz was coming along to ease their parents' worry, mainly as a voice of reason. She had taken time off of work and classes just to make this happen.
It had taken months to plan.
So cryptic messages put a damper on the mood. Granted, all notifications from Clockwork were cryptic, but that didn't make this any less stressful.
He had just sat by his bed, leaning his back onto his lower bed frame and mattress, when he noticed the glowing sticker note on the carpeted floor.
"What does it say?" Sam sighs, closing her suitcase. She was kneeling a few feet away from him, double-checking their luggage. "A warning about the trip? Insight of an upcoming trial? Oh, let me guess, one of us is pregnant?."
"It's me, isn't it?" Tuck asks from where he's lying on Danny's bed. He places a hand under his chin with a sigh. "I've noticed a glow in my reflection lately. Danny, you're the Father."
"Shut it, Tuck." Danny laughs, turning the glowing sticky note over. "It just has an address, a date, and a time. Nothing else. I think he wants us to go there when the day comes."
Jazz walks in carrying a tray. She insisted they all take some bedtime tea to help them get enough rest for the drive. She recently started making her own blends after much research and experimenting. Danny loves it and always begs for a jar of her tea whenever he visits her. "What's going on?"
"We have to add a stop to the road plan," Sam sighs. She takes the black mug covered in white laughing sculls, nodding in gratitude to the redhead. "In one week, we have to go to Gotham."
"That's doable. We'll be going through Bludhaven by then. We would use the following two days to go sightseeing a few cities over, but we can sacrifice one of them to head to Gotham instead." Jazz hums, mentally going over their planned-out map that she likely memorized.
Danny groans, carefully resting the black mug with white constellations on the floor beside him. "I really wanted to see the hot springs resort, though."
"Member next time, Danny." Tuck pats his head while his own black mug- this one with little game controllers- is held carefully in his other hand. "After the baby is born, we'll go again."
"Why are you stuck on the whole baby thing?"
"Danny, that's no way to speak to the father of your children, especially while he's carrying," Sam chided from her corner. "The stress is bad for the baby."
"Please stop."
"But Danny," Jazz cuts in, sitting across from him. She crosses her legs underneath her, and her black mug with white books completes the set. "You should be supportive of Tucker in this very delicate time."
"I'm going to Go Ghost and never come back."
"I knew you be a deadbeat dad," Tucker tsks.
The four burst into impish laughter; the ease of the teasing joke and the calming tea rekindled the mood of excitement, even with Clockwork's glowing sticky note being shoved into their luggage to be revisited in a week.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you sure this is the place?" Danny asks again, leaning forward to where Tucker is driving.
Jaz looks around in fascination at the large houses and spacious yards they pass while Sam sleeps beside Danny in the backseat. She just finished her turn driving for seven hours and wanted to catch up on sleep.
Personally, Danny thinks she shouldn't volunteer for the first shift- they set out at four in the morning to keep to their road plan- but he knows no one else would do it if Sam didn't.
Neither Fenton works well before nine a.m., while Tucker needs help seeing in the dark, so he always gets the day shift.
Tucker's grip on the steering wheel tightens as he grits through his teeth. "For the sixth time, Danny, this is where the GPS said to go. I am literally staring at the icon move on the map as I drive."
"It's just....look at this place! It's rich people. I think they call the cops on us for driving through here." Danny defends, knowing his consent doubts driving his bed friend up a wall but unable to stop fretting.
"I don't think they call the cops....but I think we should move as quickly as possible." Jazz advised as the houses started to grow in both size and property amount. "We're almost there."
"Why would Clockwork want us to come here?" Tucker hissed as their old beat-up fan made a turn into a road that had the trees cut into arches above their heads. It was so obviously fancy that the three got highly uncomfortable. Even Sam's house wasn't so drenched in wealth, and this was just the front entrance.
"Maybe he wants us to investigate a haunted mansion." Danny offers, "Since we're in the area and all."
Danny leans back in his seat. He glances over at Sam; upon noticing the blanket she was using had slid down, he reaches over to tuck her in.
It's just as he sits back that his enhanced sight catches the faintest outline of a man in the trees, crouched down on a branch and watching them. Danny's heart spams, but he has no time to react further as the van moves on and the man's figure disappears in the floral.
"Holy shit!" Danny swears loudly, causing Tucker to jump and tilt the van.
"Dude!" Tucker hisses, "Don't do that! You scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry, sorry." Danny places a hand over his heart, trying to calm the rapid beating. "I think I just saw a demon. Pretty sure that's what Clockwork wanted us to investigate."
"A demon?" Jazz whimpers, eyes flickering all over the trees with unease. "Are you sure it was a demon?"
"It looked liked like a one," Danny responds. "I highly doubt some guy will just go around dressed like a bat for fun."
" Great. Just great. A demon, that's going to be so much fun to deal with," Tucker complains, pressing on the gas more. They don't call him out as the feeling of being watched becomes suffocating.
The sooner they're out of the open, the better.
The end of the driveway opens up to a grand manor that would have made any noble Lord green with envy. Tucker drives around the giant fountain, pulling up to the park in front of the stairway of the main entry.
He squints out the front window as he loops before gasping. "Is that Clockwork?"
The Fenton Siblings each press their noses to the glass of their windows when they come to a complete stop. Both gasped at the exact same time and in the same volume at the man who was casually waiting for them at the door.
It's obviously Clockwork, but he's not in the form they are used to. Not the flouting child, not the sticking middle-aged man, or the aged old entity. No, the form Clockwork uses is a man in his early fifties, with the grace of a sliver fox and, oh, not a ghost.
"Hello, children," Clockwork says, walking down the stairs to meet them. The three are staring at him with slack jaws, half out of their vehicle but lingering in their doors just in case.
Sam snores.
"I'm ever so glad you have come." Clockwork continues, his green eyes flickering with mirth. A smile pulls at his lips, causing laughing lines to appear around his eyes, and it complements his warm bridge skin. He is not blue. "Not a moment too late. Punctual as ever, Jasmine."
"I- ugh, thank you, sir." Jazz shutters before getting her wits about her. "Why did you call us?"
"I will be delaying your trip for the next week." Clockwork lifts up a hand as if to stop any complaints this announcement may cause, which isn't really necessary, seeing as none of them can find the strength to speak. "I will, of course, make it possible to make up the time lost. I just need you four to act as my children for the next week."
"Why?" Tucker's voice is barely above a whisper.
"I can only keep this form for seven days, as I am not a halfa, but in that time, I hope to woo a man. He is a family man through and through, so if I can show him that I am more than capable of caring for a large family, it will help me in the long run." Clockwork then shrugs. "Plus, I need an anchor, and what better than four virgins?"
"Hey!" Danny shouts offended.
Clockwork raises a brow. "Am I wrong, Daniel?"
"No, but you didn't have to expose me like that," Danny grumbles.
"Who are you trying to woo?" Jazz asks, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
Clockwork's cheeks gain a reddish hue, and the three eyes practically pop out of their socket. They never knew the time god could be so...human. It's jarring. "Alfred Pennyworth. The butler of Wayne Manor, four houses down from our manor."
"A butler?" Tucker repeats slowly, "You, the god of time and overseer of all that is, has been, and will be, want to seduce a butler?"
"Yes. He is the love of my core," Clockwork nods determinedly.
Well, who can argue with that?
"Alright." Danny agrees. "So what's our cover story?"
"Yes, my four children- all adopted- and I have recently decided to go learn about our family roots and visit our ancestral home. Only to remodel and check out the family records, we will be out by the end of the week to our next grand adventure. We are old money but one that faded from importance due to lack of contact with the rest of high society. To remedy this, I will be taking you to high-class events." Clockwork sighs dreamily. "We were invited by the Waynes to a gala tomorrow night as a welcome-back party. There, I will see Alfred."
"Alright. And the demon?"
"Demon?"
"A man in the driveway that looked like a bat." Danny helpfully says, even though his voice wavers slightly.
"Oh, you mean Bruce. Yes, that's Alfred's son. Don't worry; he can not cross our driveway. I put a spell that causes humans to forget why they were coming here if not invited by us. Also, he is not a demon. He is a human who dresses like a bat to fight crime. Bruce's children dress like birds to help him."
There is silence that sounds louder than it should as they all take in this information. Clockwork smiles at him, mischievous and graceful in equal parts as they try to make sense of the weird kid Alfred the Butler has.
"I'm going to need a lot of stress-reducing teas for this week." Jazz sighs.
"We can go buy some for you tonight," Clockwork promises, pulling out a black card and grinning with all his teeth. "We're old money now, darling."
"oh my god."
Master Post Link
883 notes
·
View notes
No One Needs to Know... Right?
This is my humble little addition to @glitterypirateduck O, Captain! Challenge ❤️
Prompt 17, 69 and 83
Warning: alcohol intake, smut, a bit rough Price, oral sex, dacryphilia if you squint (like, just a line) and I love to make him desperate for pussy. Enjoy ❤️
“I have told you once, and I'll tell you twice, Kate.” Price says, pinching his nose bridge as exasperation fills him. “I am not, working with Adamson.”
“And I have already told you twice, John.” Laswell answered, just as annoyed. “That there is no other choice, this is coming from upstairs and there is no room for negotiation. I'm sorry”.
It wasn't the first time that Price had needed to work along with another unit, but Colonel Adamson was surely the worst.
The old man constantly had his head inside his own ass, too busy complimenting himself to care about the success of the mission or about everyone getting back home safely.
He was not a man you would like to have to trust your life on and know John didn't have another option. So all be could do, was get mentally prepared for what was to come.
And to do so, he relied on his old run-down trusty pub just out of base. He sat down on the stool he always did, ordered his scotch on the rocks as always and remained silent, letting the voices in his head quiet down.
Just silence.
Alone.
Like always.
“I'll have the same he's having” A female voice next to him brought him back.
He looks to his side, staring at the woman sitting down next to him. The pub is not necessarily fancy, but still, the jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt you are wearing give it away you got here soon after work and not necessarily for pleasure.
“It's this seat taken?” You ask the man, worried now that he won't stop staring at you.
“No, no, please sit down.” He answers quickly, the smile on his face contagious. “Hard day at work?”
“What gave it away?” You ask puffing a laugh, you look down at his glass. “Yours wasn't that great either or that the celebration?”
He chuckles, wide shoulder shaking slightly as he does. “Definitely not celebration.” He raises the glass to his lips, your eyes following the glass and staring for maybe a second too long on his lips.
It is easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with the man, a mix of dad jokes and a level of understanding that someone with the same job would have. Still, neither of you talks about your jobs, both because it is the reason you are in a pub getting drunk and also because it is not an easy job to talk about.
You don't notice how close you have gotten to each other until you are resting your head on your hand with your elbow resting on the bar and you try to rest the other arm on the backrest of the stool only to find Price is already resting his in there.
You look at his face as you lay your arm on top of his, looking for any sign of discomfort, only to find that easy smile on his face again. You open your palm, letting it rest over his massive biceps; the wild thought of it around your neck as he fucks you from behind running through your mind for a second.
“I think I have drunk too much.” You admit chuckling, rubbing your face with your other hand.
Now, Price is not a stupid man; and the way you bit your lip unconsciously when you touched him, your eyes getting darker just for a second let him know perfectly fine what your feelings were.
“Want me to walk you home, sweetheart?” He asks, looking at your face to see your reaction; and when he sees you look at his eyes only to drop your eyes to his lips he smiles widely.
“Well, aren't you a gentleman…” You mumble standing up, taking your card out of your pocket to pay.
“Please, my treat.” He says, taking his out as well.
You quickly shake your head. “Nope, I'm paying tonight, sir. You can pay next time, how about that?” You ask, winking at him as you do.
He chuckles, putting his card away amused with your antics and waiting for the bartender to charge you. Once done, he walks next to you, his hand on the small of your back. “How far away is your house?”
“My Airbnb actually, just down the road.” You answer, pointing with your finger where it is.
Sadly, it doesn't take long to reach it, and even though you opened the door the two of you linger in the doorway.
“You know… the weather broadcast said that it was going to rain tonight…” You say, knowing damn well the British man couldn't care less about the rain.
“Oh no… I guess I better get inside, right?” He smiles, taking a step forward towards you.
You quickly nod your head. “Yeah, we don't want you getting wet.” You pull his shirt, making him lean down and crush your lips with his.
His arms find their way around your waist, hugging you close and pulling you up the floor. You barely manage to close the door once the two of you enter the flat; a mess of tongue, spit and drunk words spilling out of your mouths.
Your legs find their way around his waist, him holding you up gentleman-like with both hands on your ass. He pulls you closer, letting you feel his growing erection against your clothed cunt; earning himself a moan falling for your lips. “Fuck…”
“John, sweet girl. That's my name, moan it loud so I know how good I'm making you feel, alright?” He asks, groaning when you grind yourself against him.
“John…” You moan softly, pulling your head back and that's all he needs to attack your neck. Pulling his tongue flat against your collarbone and up to your ear like a desperate dog.
He sits you on top of the sofa backrest, moving his hands to pull your sweatshirt and t-shirt off. Groaning when he sees the sports bra, almost offended that there is another layer to peel.
You chuckle at his desperation, only for him to suddenly move his hips forward against your cunt making you moan. “That's better.” He murmurs against your mouth once he manages to take off your bra.
He leans down, catching your nipple with his teeth before sucking it inside his mouth, groaning as he does. His arms circle your middle, pulling you tightly as he keeps grinding your core; too desperate to remain immobile.
He moves lower, his tongue running from the middle of your chest down your boob up to your side, bitting down over your ribs making your moan mix with a hiss.
Your hands find his hair at the back of his head, pulling hard enough to force him to peel his face back. Looking back at you, eyes dark with desire, lips red, swollen and wet for the kiss and licking at you and stupidly smug smile on his face. Makes you want to wipe it from his face.
“Up, to the bedroom, now.” You order, pulling him closer with your legs around his hips.
“Yes, ma’am” He chuckles, picking you up again; groaning when you lower your face to attack his neck. Licking up his neck, feeling his heartbeat under his skin just as fast as yours.
He enters the doorway to your room, hitting your knee against it as he does making you curse. “Fuck, John. That's how your aim is going to be tonight?” You ask teasingly, your knee hurting just enough to complain.
“Oh, shut up. My aim is impeccable, sweetheart” He answers scoffing, as he sits on the bed with you on his lap.
“Aw, did I hit a weak spot?” You ask, cocking your head with a fake pout in your mouth.
“Darling, I don't have weak spo-” He cuts himself up with a struggling moan when you lower your hand to grab his erection through the clothes.
You chuckle against his mouth, kissing his half-open mouth. “I want to taste you, John” You whisper keeping your eyes focused on his expression.
He smiles, happy with your urge to satisfy him, and kisses you back. “Yeah? You want me to fuck your throat, sweet girl? Why don't you do it with your pretty pussy resting on my face, hm?”
You whine back, brain slowly turning to mush; barely managing to stop kissing him for long enough to stand up and take off the rest of your clothes. He does the same, lying down using your pillow to prop his head up and staying with an arm extended inviting you in. And fuck if the sight is nothing but inviting, you knew his dick was big just from sitting on top but you were not ready to see the big, uncut, thick piece of meat sitting between his legs; too heavy to stand up on his own and instead slowly dripping precum onto his thick thigh. Watering your mouth at the thought of how his happy trail will rub against your clit later on the night.
You crawl back onto the bed, completely forgetting about the sitting on his face part and focusing on getting him into your mouth. Until a hard slap lands on your ass making you cry and turn your head to look at him offended.
“That's not where your pussy is supposed to be at, innit?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. And when you take too long to move for his liking, he takes matters into his own hands grabbing your hips to hoist you on top of him with ease which only adds to your current horniness.
“Ffffuck, that's a sight I would fucking kill to wake up to every day” He groans behind you, deep voice making you clench with desperation which makes him chuckle. “Hmm, she likes it when I talk about her.”
And it feels like you are intruding on whatever is going on between him and your pussy with the way he is talking about it like it is her whole person. So not wanting to interrupt, you bend down fisting his dick in your hand as you wet kiss his tip.
“Aww, did you get jealous that I was giving her some attention, darling?” He says, apparently completely unaffected by your attention to his cock which only makes you crankier.
You get his tip on your mouth, completely ignoring him when suddenly he moves his hand down to the back of your head grabbing your hair in a fist and keeping your head in place only for him to begin to thrust his cock into your mouth and down your throat.
You automatically start choking on it, gagging and wet sounds filling the rooms. You manage to relax just throat just a bit, which he takes as an invitation to shove his cock inside until your nose is plush against his balls.
Tears prick your eyes at the abuse of your throat and the lack of air, hearing him groan at every convulsion of your throat around him and he only pulls back when you dig your fingernails on his thighs.
The hand on your head pulls your head back making you arch your back as you gasp for air, thick threats of saliva still connecting your lips with his glistening dick as you cough.
“I asked you a question, I don't like it when I get ignored, love. Alright?” He asks a certain gentle tone to his voice that totally throws you out of place. You nod quickly, a croaky “yes” the only thing you are able to answer.
“Good girl.” He says, letting go of your hair to pet your head slightly pushing it to rest on his hip close to the pool of spit at the base of his cock. “Just lay there, darling. Let me enjoy my treat.”
You have barely managed to get your breath back when he takes it away again by running his tongue from your clit all the way up to your ass, groaning as he does so.
“So fucking delicious, so fucking good.” He groans, moving his arms under your tights to pull you impossibly closer to his mouth, making you moan loudly when he sucks your clit inside his mouth rubbing his tongue against it.
He looks pussy drunk already, a chaos to the way he is eating you up; going up and down, side to side, fucking your holes with his tongue, grabbing your ass with his massive hands pulling them apart to get the whole view, eating you out like a starved man.
It's hard to get air into your lungs with the way you are moaning again and again, grabbing onto his hips to ground you feeling him pull you again and again against his face; it should be you fucking his face instead it feels the complete opposite.
“Fuck, John, I'm gonna…” You moan, toes curling as you feel your orgasm approach. “I'm gonna come, John. Don't stop, please, don't stop.”
He chuckles, delighted with your begging before shoving two of his thick fingers inside your cunt making you hiss at the sudden stretch and throwing you off, orgasm getting further away and making you whine pathetically at its loss.
“Quiet down, I'm getting you there but I need your tight little pussy nicely wet and stretched before I get my cock in you.” He groans after spanking you again before he starts to move his finger in and out, adding a third one not too much later making you cry in pleasure. “You can take another one, right, love? You won't get my cock if you don't.”
“I can!” You moan embarrassedly fast. “I can, please, put it in, please.” You move your hips back against his hand, moaning loudly when he gets the last finger inside only keeping his thumb out to rub your clit making you moan loudly against the skin of his lower stomach
“Attagirl, c’mon, sweet girl. Come around my fingers so I can fuck your pretty pussy all nice and sweet.” He cheers you on, moving his hand faster. You bite down on his abs, the layer of fat that covers them catching between your lips making him hiss as you come, clutching down so hard his fingers get spitted out of your cunt.
He groans, licking your juices again making you jolt at the feeling, shoving his whole face against your cunt getting drenched in your juices. Only pulling back when he runs out of breath, letting you fall down on his side, your leg still resting on top of his chest.
“Pretty thing winking at me and everything.” He coos, running his thumb along your hole making you shiver and slightly slapping his leg.
“Let me breathe, for fuck sake.” You barely managed to say, still struggling to breathe. He chuckles, moving your leg off his chest and grabbing you by your waist to sit you on top of his abdomen not caring about getting his torso wet.
He rests his hands on your hips, with you resting yours on his chest and he looks at you with a smile on his face but still trying to catch your gaze. “You alright, darling?” He asks, his thumb rubbing circles on your hips.
“Yeah.” You answer nodding, noticing a certain tense feeling leaving his body. “I just need a second, that was… that was something.”
He laughs, his eyes disappearing into thin lines as he does. “I hope something good… do you wanna stay on top? Set the pace?”
You nod quickly, agreeing it is possible the best for the both of you and you look behind you. “We can wait, love. We have no rush- ah, fuck.” He groans when his tip catches onto your entrance, making the both of you moan as you slowly sink deeper. The stretch of his cock inside of you leaves you with shaky legs as you dig your fingernails on his chest. You bend down, resting your head on his shoulder needing a moment to adjust. He doesn't say anything, kissing your temple softly and rubbing his hand up and down your back.
You grind your hips against his, moving slowly, his dick barely moving but still enough to make the both of you softly moan. You sit back up, resting your hands on his chest as you start to slowly move up and down, his tips deliciously grazing your cervix kissing it with each thrust, so deep you almost feel it on your stomach.
You move slowly, choosing depth over speed; his hands on your waist helping you up and down as his eyes travel down your body to where you are connected to him.
“That's it, darling. Take what you need.” Price says between moans, not moving his hips. And if he hasn't fucked you stupid already, you would. You would turn the man into a puddle, make a mess out of him, have him babbling nonsense, too pussy drunk to even remember his name. But instead, it is you the one who can barely stand straight, whining about the tiredness of your legs aching for a break and you bend forward resting your hands on the headboard of the bed, wanting to cry.
“I can't… please, move. I can't, please, John, please.” You cry, legs shaking too exhausted to keep moving.
“Shh, sweet girl, don't cry.” He says, propping himself on his elbows to lick at your cheek where a tear spills. “It only turns me on more, love.”
He lays back down, chuckling when you whine again and he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you close, setting his feet on the mattress just to start thrusting up into your core hard and fast.
You cry in pleasure at the sudden change in rhythm, arching your back and making it easier for him to get your nipple in his mouth, moaning and biting around it.
“Such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” He moans, forehead pressed against your chest. “Cum around my cock, darling. I want to feel you choke my dick like you did with my fingers, c’mon, pretty girl, come for me.”
And it is like he has godly powers over you because with the way he keeps thrusting up and at the same time as he talks to you has you coming embarrassing fast. Clutching his dick like a vice making him struggle to keep moving but without giving up, coming inside just after a couple more thrusts.
You lay down on his chest, both of you breathing hard but without moving. He pets your hair, brushing it back behind your ear, running his finger through undoing some of the knots he finds. “You're alright, darling?”
“Greater than great, John.” You answer smiling, raising a bit to kiss him on the lips, slightly moving your hips making you both groan. “A shower?”
“A shower indeed.” He chuckles, kissing you deeply for what feels like a second before helping you stand up before standing up himself.
It is a sweet innocent shower, soft kisses on your shoulder and sweet kisses on his shoulder blade; helping the other clean up like a couple who have known each other for years.
Once outside, you lay on your bed naked looking at him as he dresses up. He bends down to give you one more kiss before muttering: “Never in my life have I hated my job as much as right now for making me leave you like this, and with the kind of job I have it says a lot, sweet girl.”
You chuckle shaking your head, softly slapping his cheek. “You are just being dramatic, John.”
He grumbles back, standing up and you walk after him to the door hiding behind it once he opens it. You peek your head outside, saying goodbye and once you think he is leaving he turns around.
“You know… I'm gonna be quite busy this week, but next week, same day and time as today I'll probably drop by the bar again… in case we coincide again…” He says, indirectly asking you out making you chuckle at the fact he is shy to ask you out as if he didn't have you choking on his dick just an hour ago.
“I'm sure we will, John.” You say, making him smile fondly. He gives you one more kiss before he disappears down the street.
The next morning, Price is not so happy. He barely makes it into the brief room before the rest of the team walks in. But it's not his boys who make him mad, it's the colonel who walks after them, cane in hand.
“Colonel Adamson” Prices greets him, greeting his teeth as he does.
“John.” The older man answers, a disgusting smile on his face as if he just told the best joke of his life. “So you are still alive… maybe you are not as bad as I thought.”
“I don't need to prove myself to you, and this is merely a business meeting.” He says, already done with him pointing to the empty chair before him. “Please, sit.”
“Actually, sorry to disappoint you, John. But I retired last year, I'm not the one working with you this time.” He says, walking closer to him, raising the cane to slap on the opposite hand. “It's my daughter, you see? And if I hear that anything happens to her under your watch, you better die on that mission, son. Or I'll take care of it. I don't want a scratch, bruise or tear on my girl's face, understood?”
“She'll be fine.” Price answers, not really threatened by the man, feeling that if his daughter is anything as repulsive and just plain horrible to deal with no one will even think about laying a finger on him.
“There you are.” A voice draws his attention, a voice uncomfortably familiar. “I told you to wait for me, Dad.”
“Sorry, dear. Just wanted to greet my old friend before leaving you at it.” He says the first genuine smile John has ever seen on the man, and it is only because he is talking to you.
His daughter.
Of the man that just threatened him about touching you.
Is okay, he just needs to play it cool and no one needs to no.
Right?
“Oh. Hi, John.” You say enthusiastically. “Why didn't you say you were coming here too? You could have stayed the night.”
Fuck
Back to Masterlist - Taglist Form
Hi, my lovelies 💗💗
How are you guys, enjoying the voting for the next series? hehe
@howlove this one for you baby
Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @glocuseguardian3rd @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @lunari0 @dukeofjjune @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @dilara-del @multifandomheathenannie @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @salsamander @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @lolly145 @contractedcriteria @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @cod-z @Kaztykat @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @justyourfriendlyneighbourhood1 @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadow24
778 notes
·
View notes
you're wrong but you're so much fun | Lewis x Reader
Summary: With your mom and his dad dating, of course you would be spending Christmas and New Year under the same roof as Lewis. As annoying as your ‘stepbrother’ was, you often found yourself unable to resist his charm. But enough is enough you decided, you were done with him acting like he was superior. So you found yourself a guy to casually date for a little while, to distract you, but also to help you win whatever game was going on between you and Lewis. And the latter was not happy at all when he found out about the other man in your life.
Themes: stepbrother!lewis, smut, jealous!lewis, bondage, mild degrading kink, dom!reader
a/n: if you want, you can read part 1 and part 2 !! Also, I’ll see you after new years now, bye bye <3
“Who were you on the phone with last night?”
You weren’t even done filling your plate up at the breakfast table when Lewis hit you with the accusatory tone.
Both your parents were in the cabin this morning. Maybe the kitchen if they hadn’t moved since you last saw them just minutes ago. You could hear faint whispers of their voices and laughter, so chances were that they could still hear you and Lewis.
However, since it was just you and Lewis at the table, of course he would resort to being mean and a bully for no reason.
“A friend.” You replied, “Why?”
Lewis sighed, “Because your bedroom is right next to mine and I can’t sleep if you’re giggling all night.” He sounded like the brat you thought he was.
“Fine,” You rolled your eyes, “I’ll giggle quietly from now on.” You paused for a moment then added, “Although I don’t remember you minding me being loud that night when you comforted me during the thunderstorm, or the other day when you were giving me fashion advice in my bathroom.”
He glared at you. “Shut your mouth.”
You smirked at him. Even threw in a little wink.
—
Lewis ignored you the whole day. But that was until your mom suddenly asked you at lunch, “Hey honey, when can we meet that boy you told me about?”
The silence which followed was heavy.
You answered, “I don’t see why you need to meet him,” You said, purposely ignoring the confused look from Lewis, “We’re not seriously dating, it’s just… you know? A casual, temporary thing.” You ended by shoving food in your mouth.
Lewis cleared his voice and tried to act as natural, calm and not confused as he asked, “Where did you meet this boy?”
“Online,” You answered, and gave him a few details he didn’t ask for. “He’s staying at a nearby cabin with his friends so we’ve just been casually talking.” You added, “We have plans to meet up soon but our schedules just aren’t aligning.”
You locked eyes with Lewis after that. You could hear your mother saying how it would be a good idea to invite the boy over when you would be having a bonfire soon, but you barely paid attention. The look on Lewis’ face, the realisation that he did not in fact control everything you do was priceless.
You had the upperhand in this game for once, and you loved it.
The two of you didn’t interact much after that. But you could feel Lewis’ eyes on you the whole time you were around each other. For some reason, even when you were in different corners of a room, he would still glare at you.
Neither of you ended up even remotely close to one another that night. Which was good because he was getting on your nerves with all that staring.
However, the following night, Lewis walked into your room all ready to piss you off some more. Maybe even to remind you that you can’t just be messing around with some random boy. But then he froze the moment he entered your room and shut the door behind him.
There you were, standing in front of the full-length mirror next to your bed, wearing nothing but dark green, lacy underwear, and a matching excuse of a bra. See-through all of it, looking like it was some sizes too small for the amount of skin that was on display.
But that wasn’t what bothered him. No. What bothered him was that you had your phone in your hand. He also noticed the polaroid camera on the bed.
He saw red for a brief moment. His brain short-circuited. Fuck.
Meanwhile you were the opposite of ashamed or embarrassed when you saw him. Having him in your room at this time, wearing nothing but his usual grey sweatpants, meant that your parents were out with their friends.
Which means Lewis probably thought he was gonna act like he owns and controls you again. But you were ready this time. You’d had enough.
“Oh hello there.” You said, nonchalantly as if he didn’t just walk in on you basically taking nudes. You refused to seem inferior to him anymore. He wanted to play this game? Fine, but you were determined to win this round.
Lewis finally blinked, breaking out of whatever reverie he was in, and said, “What the fuck are you doing?”
You turned to face him, confidently. He tried to avoid looking at you but then he gave in. Eyes roaming all over your body. You shivered for a moment, physically feeling his stare. But then you refused to let him win again.
“You really should knock before coming into a lady’s room, Lewis.” You spoke with fake defencelessness. “Now look, you’ve caught me all vulnerable.” You pouted a little, knowing you were pissing him off.
“You–,” He stopped talking and sighed, shaking his head. He looked at you, then at the phone in your hand, then at the polaroid camera and the photographs on the bed. “Stop this shit, alright? Else I’m gonna tell your mom.”
You chuckled. He sounded like a kid. “Oh Lewis,” You cooed, “I’m a grown woman with a job, who earns her own money.” You stated, “If I want to take pictures of myself in lingerie that I bought, I don’t see why anyone, least of all you, should have a problem with that.”
Lewis finally moved away from the door, stepping further into your space. Getting gradually closer to you he said, “Right.” He admitted. “I don’t have a problem with you taking pictures of yourself, but…” He leaned closer, you stood your ground even if seeing his broad shoulders, big muscles, tattoos made part of you want to roll over and offer yourself like a soft puppy for him to play with. “Who the fuck are these pictures being sent to?”
You gave him a smug look, “That’s none of your–,”
He cut you off by grabbing you by the throat and pulled you closer, squeezing just a little. You’d be lying if you said your body didn’t instantly react to that. You felt the need to clench your thighs together.
“Oh I think it is.” He spoke calmly even though there was a fiery jealousy in his pretty brown eyes. “You think I haven't noticed?” He questioned. “Texting all the time, smiling at your phone, even using your phone at the dinner table.” He listed all that he had noted. “You’re gonna stop talking to that guy.”
You scoffed, even though he had a hand wrapped around your throat, you sassed, “You can’t tell me what to do, big bro.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, “Can’t I?”
You persisted, “No.” You whispered, “I am done letting you boss me around.” You caught the slight frown on his handsome face. Gods… why did he have to be so handsome?
“Is that so, little sis?” He teased, pushing you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of your bed. “You’re gonna talk back, now? Hmm? You’re gonna argue with big brother?”
That mocking tone of his was pissing you off. And he was much stronger than you so the only way you could overpower him would be if you caught him off guard. You moved when he least expected it. You twisted the two of you around and pushed him down onto the bed instead.
Lewis frowned when he fell on his back on your bed. He went to get up but you were already straddling him at that point so he couldn’t get up. He didn’t want to either. This was new, he had never had you be on top of him before.
You wrapped your hands around his ridiculously muscular, attractive neck this time, pinning him down onto the bed. Lewis was partially confused but partially turned on. You could feel it. The erection in his pants pressing up against you.
You stared down at him, ignoring the way his hands felt free to touch and rub and caress your skin. Ignoring how good it felt, you said, “I’m done letting you treat me like I’m some petulant little girl you need to keep in check.”
He smirked, “Well you’re acting like one right now.” He said, grabbing onto your hips, “Just let me–,”
You cut him off, “You talk too much, you know that? And your hands wander too much as well.” You thought about it for a moment, then came up with a plan. Glaring down at Lewis you said, “Stay put.” You warned as you went to get off of him. But seeing his smirk and knowing he would try to get the upper hand again, you had no choice but to grab his hand and guide it in between your legs.
Lewis frowned, mumbled a quiet “Fuck…” when he felt your warmth, your wetness. All for him. His fingers felt free to feel around down there. You let him, for now.
“I said, stay put.” You repeated. “Be a good boy, and only then can you keep playing with this. You hear me?” You whispered, smirking at the look on his face. He was surprised of course, but he was into it.
So he rolled his eyes and dropped back down onto your bed. Folding his muscular hands behind his head, he waited. You got off the bed but then stood and admired his physique for a moment.
Golden skin. Tattoos on display. Braids untied. Muscles bulging from places you didn’t know the human body had muscles… Lewis of course didn’t mind your ogling. He loved the attention.
You forced yourself to move upon seeing the smug look on his face. Who does he think he is? A handsome man with the body of a Greek god, that's who.
You rummaged around your drawers until you found what you’d been looking for. And when you brought it over to your bed, Lewis began chuckling.
“Aww what are you gonna do with that? Tie me up with a pretty bow?” He taunted, looking at the white ribbon strips in your hands.
You smirked. “Did you know I know how to do shibari ties? You’re lucky there’s no actual rope around.” Lewis’ smile dropped when you climbed on top of him again. You chuckled, “Scared, big bro?” You teased.
For once, he didn’t fight back. Mostly because he was also lowkey excited to see where this was going.
You moved up his body, straddling his chest as you grabbed his wrists and tied them together with the white ribbons. Once secured, Lewis let out a breathless chuckle when you then went to tie his wrists to the metal headboard. “You’re insane,” He commented. “You really think I can’t get out of that?”
“I’d like to see you try.” You scoffed, confident in your skills. “The ties are strong, but if you struggle too much, the silk ribbon will surely burn your skin. We don’t want that, do we?”
Lewis glared at you, soft lips parted as he breathed slightly more heavily.
You even added a little bow to complete the look. “There,” You said, satisfied with how strong the ties were. Not tight, but definitely locked. “You wanna see how it looks?” You grabbed the polaroid camera which was on the bed and took a picture. The photograph came out and you waved it around, blowing on it. Taking your sweet time and ignoring the gorgeous man under you. “That’ll take a while to develop, but trust me, you’ve never looked better.” You winked at him.
“You’re gonna regret this, little sis.” He whispered dangerously, hissing in pleasure as you dragged your nails lightly up and down his exposed torso. Tracing his abs and his tattoos with the tip of your finger. Running your hands all over his chest. “Damn you.” He spoke through gritted teeth as you dug your nails in his sides playfully.
You reached down to lower his sweatpants, and as you did, his cock stood proud and tall. Already leaking at the tip and you had barely touched him yet.
“Think you can always have your way, don’t you?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “Walking into my room whenever you feel like it, with that pretty face and sinful body…” You leaned down to kiss that compass tattoo in the middle of his chest.
He let out a breathy laugh, “So you do think I’m pretty.”
You looked up and glared at him. “Don’t make me gag you to shut you up, Lewis.” You warned.
He smirked, scoffing. “Yeah right.”
Part of you wondered if he was doing it on purpose.
“You know what? I don’t wanna hear you talk.” You got off of him and quickly took your underwear off before straddling him again. His cock remained hard, untouched and leaking. Looking irresistible. But you needed him to shut up first so you balled up the dark green material and shoved it into his mouth.
Lewis laughed as you did, fully prepared to spit it back out. But that was until you grabbed the remaining ribbons and tied it around his head, keeping the balled up thong inside his mouth as you tied yet another bow at the front of his now gagged mouth.
You picked up the polaroid camera again and took another picture of him. “Smile,” You taunted, capturing him tied up with white bows and gagged. “So pretty,” You murmured as you put both camera and photograph aside.
He looked up at you with unrestrained lust in his warm eyes. He wasn’t fighting back as hard as you had imagined he would, you noticed.
You smiled triumphantly as you rolled your hips against him, feeling his hard cock against your wet inner thighs. “Oh fuck…” You whispered, smiling when you heard his muffled groan. You could feel that familiar tingle in between your legs. And you were ready to just fuck him but, you wanted to mess with him first.
You gave him a soft kiss on the bow right on top of his mouth, he struggled against the knots at his wrists, but you ignored him and reached down to wrap your hand around his cock. He groaned, closing his eyes and thrusting up into your fist.
You lazily stroked his length, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you kissed your way down his neck. You kissed his skin leisurely, not rushing even though he was squirming under you, his moans and groans muffled.
“You see how nice it is, when you shut the fuck up and stop being mean to me?” You teased, biting down on his neck while your hand moved up and down his dripping cock. You liked the sounds of his muffled moans. He was somehow more vocal now that he was gagged.
Lewis groaned and opened his eyes to look at you. His eyes were darker, his gaze more intense and he tried to thrust his cock into your hand but then gave up because each time he did, you would just let go of his length. So he just took whatever you gave him.
At one point you checked in with him, asking, “Does anything hurt?” You pointed at his tied wrist and mouth. He glared at you with annoyance and desire in his eyes and silently shook his head. “Good,” You gave him another soft kiss on the nose before continuing.
You released his cock, kissing down his body and bringing your mouth closer to where he desperately needed you. You smirked when you felt him squirm even more when you kissed him on his hip bones and all over his lower abdomen.
You heard him groan, a muffled “Please…” escaping his mouth.
You giggled at the sound of that, “Oh what’s that? Was that a ‘please’?” You watched him for a moment. Watched how he rolled his eyes at you, thrusting his hips up just trying to get you to touch him. “You’re learning your manners already, I see.”
Then without any warning, you took him into your mouth, all of him. Slowly. Lewis’ loud, muffled moans filled the room. You sucked on his tip, your tongue teasing him as you felt your body tingling with need too.
You kept your eyes on his perfect face as you sucked on his cock. He closed his eyes momentarily, as he tilted his head back. He looked even more ravishing, completely at your mercy for a change. It made you feel powerful.
He twitched against your tongue and you tasted some of his pre cum. You slowed down, not wanting to make him come just yet. You licked his cock from bottom to top while your hands toyed with his balls. Lewis moaned, his voice muffled still, making him sound needy and desperate.
You dragged your tongue over the slit on this tip very lazily, causing him to thrust his hips up. You were driving him crazy and you loved it.
Lewis moaned even louder the moment you pulled your mouth away, lifted up and sank down on him, your wet warmth wrapping all around him making him groan. Your walls clenched around him, making both of you let out guttural moans.
You leaned in and kissed his closed eyelids, cupping his face in your hands as you slowly rocked back and forth, feeling him deep inside you. “Fuck… why do you have to feel so good, huh?” You chuckled when he tried to pull against the white ribbon strips, but all in vain. “Guess I did successfully tie you up with a bow, didn’t I?”
You heard a rare whine from him. He sounded so vulnerable, and desperate that it made you speed up as you rode his cock. Your walls gripping him tightly and making him get louder and louder each time. You watched him whine and smirked at his helplessness.
“Not so cocky now, are you?” You teased. “Beg for it, come on.” You said more sternly, whispering against his mouth, lips hovering above the white bow. “Oh what? You can’t?” You laughed, “You can’t even beg, can you?”
Lewis groaned louder. His desperation was quite clear. And he began to thrust his hips up trying to match your pace. But you messed with him even then, you slowed down your pace whenever he got too excited, and you sped up when he least expected it.
Soon, Lewis was just a moaning mess under you. Cock throbbing inside you, moans muffled, his hands just gave up trying to break free from your ties. But fuck he was a vision…
Lewis got loud, growling as you teased him, riding his cock perfectly. There was nothing else he could focus on in that moment.
You eventually gave in. “Are you ready to come for me?” You asked, looking deep into his eyes. His pleading stare told you he was. “Go on then, come inside me, big bro.”
He was so close anyway that he came right after. His moans begging you to slow down when you kept riding his sensitive, throbbing cock even after he came. His heart raced, he was breathing hard and fast as you came as well, clenching around him violently.
You caught your breath for a minute, then quickly untied his hands and pulled the thong from his mouth. You leaned in to kiss him, slow and gentle this time. “You did so good,” You murmured against his soft lips. “Who knew you’d be such a good boy the moment you’re tied up?”
Lewis kissed you back lazily. Quiet, for once. He didn’t have a sassy reply this time. His hands hesitated to wander this time, only barely brushing against your thighs.
You kissed his warm, damp chest, murmuring, “If you want us to keep doing this, you’re gonna stop being mean all the time, alright?” You looked up to see him watching you with a strangely calm look on his face.
“Fine,” He muttered, like it was an inconvenience to him.
You scoffed, “Look at you pretending you didn’t like being tied up.” He avoided your eyes immediately and you couldn’t help but laugh. But then you remembered…
Straddling him once more, you reached for the polaroid photographs. “Aww,” You cooed, showing them to him, “Look how pretty you look, white bows and all.”
Lewis just groaned and shoved you aside. You laughed as you landed beside him on your bed. You expected him to get up and walk out of your room but he stayed put. Processing, maybe.
“Here,” You handed the polaroids to him as you tangled your legs with his upon turning on your side to look at him, “Keep them.”
Lewis reluctantly took them then sighed and said, “I hate you.”
You checked the mental scoreboard and there it was, a first win for you. “I know you don’t.” You winked at him.
701 notes
·
View notes
𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐢 ; 𝐥𝐦𝐡
🚨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢 𝐟𝐟 𝐢 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞-𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬, 𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐦𝐞 ;
genre: angst, smut, fluff | 18+, minors dni | ;
wc: around 12,1k ;
cw: non-idol!au ; husband!minho ; explicit sexual content (clit play, unprotected penetration, creampie) ; lots of crying ; infertility ; mentions of an unplanned pregnancy and a pregnancy scare ;
ikigai [ik-ee-guy], 生き甲斐 , japanese : a reason for being, the thing that gets you up in the morning ;
⛅︎
Minho stares at the small, wooden crib in the middle of the room and silently prays to the gods above that he too will get to feel this kind of joy soon.
He’s happy for his best friend Chan and his wife, he really is, but it’s still hard to watch someone else living his dream and being constantly reminded that it’s not his turn yet, it’s not your turn. He instantly wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer as he fights back the tears that well up in his eyes when Chan picks up the small, whining creature wrapped in a soft yellow blanket from the crib. Chan looks at his baby with a gaze that holds all the love of the world, that much is very clear to Minho, and he keeps wondering what does it feel like, Chan, being a dad? But what he wonders the most, unfortunately, is will I ever get a chance to feel this kind of joy, too, someday?
That’s a question neither him nor you can give an answer to.
“Let’s go say hi to uncle Lino and auntie Y/N, shall we?” Chan speaks to the baby in a soft voice, then chuckles when his daughter blinks at him a few times and stirs, snuggled comfortably in her fluffy blanket. “Hi, uncles!” Chan coos at the baby once he’s sure you and Minho are both in her peripheral vision. She’s the cutest. Only a few weeks old, she looks just like her father - she even has his dimple.
Both you and Minho coo at the baby as well, little Haru, and then Chan speaks again. “Do you want to hold her?” He asks his friend, but when he notices Minho’s panicked expression, he chuckles and looks at you, encouraging you with a nod.
“Sure,” you smile at him, but Minho senses so much pain behind that smile, and the second little Haneul is in your arms, he already knows what you’re thinking. He notices the way your eyes well up with tears as you hold her and caress her puffy cheek as she stirs and looks at you with her cute, boba eyes. “Hi, Haneul,” you coo at her, “This is your cranky uncle Minho,” you giggle and Haneul’s curious eyes fall on Minho’s face.
He dramatically gasps, pretending to be offended, “Me? Ah, Haneul, your auntie is a liar, she’s the cranky one,” he boops her little nose, “You don’t want to be around her if she hasn’t had her coffee in the morning.”
“Yah, you little sh-“
“Y/N, please, there’s a baby right here,” Minho scolds you with a playful grin on his face, then his gaze falls back on Haneul, who’s frowning, “See? Cranky, I told you,” he shrugs. Out of the blue, little Haneul bursts into a loud cry that catches Minho off guard.
“Okay, enough time with the uncles,” Chan chuckles as he takes her in his arms, cooing and rocking her as he hums a soft tune, “Yah, Minho, you made my baby cry, ah.” When he notices Minho’s panicked expression, he just chuckles again and says, “Relax dude, I’m kidding. She’s just hungry.”
Will I be a good dad?,Minho can’t help but think as he watches Haneul relax in her father’s arms, her cute eyes light up when she sees the small bottle of milk. Will I be able to calm my child like that? Understand their needs, be their safe place?
“She’s so cute,” you murmur only for Minho to hear, “I want a baby, Minho…” he doesn’t miss the way your voice cracks, and he’s quick to wrap his arm around your waist to pull you closer.
“Oh, jagi, I know,” he kisses you on the head, “I do, too.” His voice breaks as well, and it’s your turn to hug him now, caressing his back as you both watch Chan feed his daughter as he says something to the guys, Changbin and Felix, sitting next to him, watching the baby in awe.
“I think I… I think I’d be a good mom?” Your voice comes out as a question, full of doubts, and he hears you sniffle, but you’re not looking at him - you know you’ll break down if your eyes meet his.
He kisses you on the top of your head once more and lingers. “You’ll be a great mom. You’ll be the best mom in the world, jagi,” he whispers, brushing your knuckles with his thumb.
He wants to reassure you, tell you everything’s gonna be okay and that soon you’ll have the family you’ve dreaming of for years, that you’ll finally be a mom and he’ll be a dad, but he can’t. How is he supposed to make a promise he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep? It’s not something he can control, it’s not something either of you can control. He feels so hopeless, like he’s failing you in some way, not being able to give you what you want the most.
You’ve been trying to get pregnant for a while now - a couple of years already, nearly three.
The decision was mutual and came natural for the both of you - you moved in together when you were still in college, and it didn’t take long before the two of you started having baby fever, dreaming of the perfect mix of you and Minho running around the house. You decided to wait until after graduation. College came and went, and just like that, you and Minho started trying for a baby. A baby that never came.
You’ve always wanted to become a mother. Minho, though, never fully realized how much he wanted to be a dad until he met you. Give you a child, a family, raise your little bundle of joy together, family vacations, the holidays together, him dressing up as Santa on Christmas Eve… He wants all of this, and he wants it with you. It wouldn’t make sense with anyone else - you’re the love of his life, his soulmate.
“I love you so much, Minho,” you whisper, turning to look at him.
He sees your teary eyes and wishes he could take the pain away, “I love you too, jagi.”
⛅︎
It’s familiar, but never fails to take your breath away, the feeling of Minho’s fingers on your skin - his long fingers brushing your body, making a shiver run down your spine as you arch your back under his touch. His lips are wrapped around one of your nipples, licking and sucking your hardened bud, occasionally scraping it using his teeth - his thrusts inside of you are slow and deep, his pace is steady, his movements fluid.
His eyes are closed, small huffs coming out of his nostrils and he fists the bedsheets as he rocks his hips back and forth, steadily. His body blankets you, making you feel perfectly safe in his embrace. As he feels close to reaching his orgasm, he lets go of your nipple, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He shifts his weight on his elbow, placed on the side of your head, then you feel his other hand travel all the way through your body - his calloused fingers brush the side of your breast, then your stomach, then they briefly stroke your thigh, before you feel them on your pussy. Minho brushes your labia, hissing when he feels how beautifully your lips spread to welcome his length - only when his fingers are damp, pads entirely wet with your arousal, he touches your clit.
“I’m- ‘m close, jagi… ‘m about to cum,” he chokes on his own words, rubbing your bud a bit faster, drawing tight, imaginary circles on it, the way he knows you like it.
“‘M close too, please don’t stop,” you pant. Your toes begin to curl, and your thighs start to tremble as your breathing becomes more and more labored. “So close, so close,” you chant, whimpering under him, which encourages him to continue - it doesn’t matter if his wrist is starting to feel a bit swollen.
He releases inside of you with a choked moan, filling you up with his semen - only after making sure you’ve come, too, of course. In fact, the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him, clenching around him, is what pushes him off the edge in the first place. The awareness that he’s the only one who gets you to feel you this way, to see this side of you - he feels so damn lucky.
“I love you so much, my jagi,” Minho mumbles, his words are muffled against your skin.
You catch your breath, running your hand through Minho’s dark hair, pulling it back from his forehead and face once he lifts his head to meet your gaze. His brown, boba eyes, are full blown as he stares deep inside your soul - he already knows what you’re thinking. He knows you so well, better than anyone else.
“I love you, Min,” you smile at him, but he can see the pain you’re trying to hide behind that smile, and it kills him.
He shifts his body so that he gets off of you, careful not to cause you any discomfort nor pain as he pulls out of you, not without pecking your lips once more, lingering for a bit. He lets his body fall on the mattress, his chest rising and falling quickly as he comes down his high. When he feels you move, he knows what’s about to happen next. You grab a pillow, his, because it’s thicker, and place it under your spine and back. Then, you lift your legs all the way up, resting your heels and calves on the wall. It’s supposed to work, they say - help the reproductive system and increase your chances to get pregnant or whatever. You’re not really sure it’s true, though - you’ve been doing it for years and haven’t noticed any changes, and you most definitely haven’t gotten pregnant yet.
Minho’s heart cracks a little when he hears you sigh. He runs his calloused fingers through your hair, smiles when he feels you lean in to his touch. “I’m gonna take a shower, okay?” He asks, and you nod. He leaves the room, disappearing inside the bathroom and hopping in the shower, shivering when the cold water hits his bare skin.
He immediately notices something’s off with you when he returns to the bedroom - the way you quickly wipe your cheeks and the skin under your eyes gives away that you cried. His breath gets caught in his throat at the sight. As soon as you witness his presence in the room, you quickly sit up on the bed and smile at him - it’s a fake smile, he knows that, he knows you. Then, it’s your turn to hop in the shower while he changes the cum stained sheets and pillowcases. While he’s at it, he pulls out a clean pajamas for you to wear once you’re done.
You’re quiet when you come back in the bedroom, and also when he blow-dries your hair - fidgeting with your rings or with your nails, lifting off the acrylic until one accidentally breaks and you cuss under your breath. You’re also quiet when you slip under the covers, next to him, throwing one leg over his lap and resting your head on his chest as his cologne fills your nostrils. You’re quiet… too quiet - unusually quiet. Minho hates it, he wishes you’d open up to him, tell you what’s going on inside your head, and then he hears it - a faint sniffle.
And his heart cracks once again as his own eyes well up with tears. He pulls you closer, kissing you on the top of your head.
“You know you can tell me anything, right, jagi?” Minho asks you, praying that his tone won’t betray him, praying that you won’t notice he’s on the verge of tears as well. He wants to be strong for you.
You nod weakly, without uttering a single word, and he hugs you tighter. That causes you to burst into tears. Minho promptly wraps his arms around you, shifting so that your face is pressed against his chest as his hands pat and rub your back to soothe you, in hopes to get you to stop crying. “Shh, it’s okay, jagi, it’s okay. I’m here, hm?”
It takes you a while to finally calm down and stop crying. Minho doesn’t let go of you until you do. He doesn’t stop leaving kisses on your head, he doesn’t stop whispering soft words to you.
“Min… Minho,” your voice trembles, muffled by his t-shirt. You sniffle, but don’t lift your head, incapable to look at him right now, especially since you’re about to tell him that…
“Tell me, jagi,” Minho encourages you, speaking with a soft voice, toying with the ends of your hair, “talk to me, love.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, hugging him tighter as you fight back the tears. “Minho, why don’t we…” you take a deep breath, fisting his t-shirt, “why don’t we… take a break?”
Minho freezes. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore at this point.
“A break? From… from us?” It comes out as a whisper. His heart aches. He feels numb. He can’t lose you.
“No, no!” You shake your head as a no quickly, and feel him sighing out of relief. And then - “From… from trying…” you clarify, the tears finally escaping from your eyes.
Minho feels as if his heart just stopped beating in his chest. He blinks a couple of times, furrowing his eyebrows, breathing slowly. He feels a void in his chest he’s never felt before… you want to give up. He knows there’s nothing he can say to make the situation any better - it makes him feel terrible, hopeless, useless, worthless.
“Jagi…” his voice trembles, lips quivering. He holds you closer to his chest, wishing he could take away all your pain even though his own is eating him too. He doesn’t say anything else, respecting your decision. He bites on his lip so hard he can almost taste blood in his mouth, inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils.
You’d started trying for a baby as soon as you’d graduated, and then Minho’d proposed to you.
The two of you would fall asleep in each other’s arms, listing all the possible ways you could name your daughter or son. And then you’d go to bed wondering how your child would look - who would they resemble, you or Minho? Would they have his pretty boba eyes? Or maybe his perfect nose?
These thoughts hurt now. They’re not happy thoughts anymore, there’s no joy nor hope left in them, only pain.
“I don’t want to go through this again, Min…” you sniffle, “I just… I feel so hopeful every time I’m late and then… and then the hope just gets crushed whenever I see that single line on the test,” you sigh, swallowing the lump in your throat. A couple of tears slip from Minho’s eyes. “I just don’t want to feel this pain anymore, Min… it breaks my heart.”
And it breaks his heart as well, seeing you like this. He wishes he could ease all the pain, take it all away, put it all on his shoulders and carry it for you. He can do that.
It’s when you feel something wet on your forehead that it becomes clear to you that Minho, too, is crying - his body is shaking weakly, it’s so subtle you almost don’t notice it at first. He sniffles when you hug him tighter, nuzzling your face in his t-shirt, kissing his chest. He feels terrible, he feels hopeless. He feels like he failed you in every possible way.
“Jagi, I’m… ‘m sorry,” his words come out through shaky breaths. He pulls you closer, hugs you tighter. He doesn’t want to let go. “I’m so sorry, I… I want to give you the world, my jagi, I want to give you the family we’ve been dreaming of for so long…”
You lift your head to look at him, but he just buries his face deeper in the pillow. It’s a delicate moment for him, for the both of you, and he feels so vulnerable right now. There’s nothing wrong with that, but Minho prefers to deal with his emotions by himself, and you know that. All you can do for now is be by his side and love him unconditionally, like you always did.
“I love you so much, Min…” you place a soft kiss on his jawline, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as the tears keep streaming down his face and he’s unable to stop them. “You make me the happiest. It’s just… it’s just all too much sometimes, you know? Let’s take a break for a while, maybe we’re just too stressed about this.”
He nods softly, but your words don’t ease the pain he’s feeling. They don’t fill the void in his heart.
“Anything for you, jagiya.”
⛅︎
Chan’s wife is pregnant. Again. Their baby is not even six months old and yet Chan’s wife is pregnant with their second child.
Minho hopes it’s a joke, but he feels his knees give in nonetheless when his older friend delivers the news to him. It can’t be possible. He blinks rapidly a few times, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d misheard his friend. Maybe he was distracted and misunderstood what Chan was trying to say, yeah?
“Yeah, she’s… she’s pregnant,” Chan repeats, and a wide smile spreads on his face. Minho’s heart aches, hit breath hitches. “A couple of months already, actually,” he looks and sounds genuinely over the moon, “can’t believe this cutie right here is gonna be a big sister soon,” he coos at the small baby in his arms before kissing her forehead.
Minho feels bad. He wants to be happy for his friend, he really does, but… he can’t stop thinking about you. About how crushed you’re going to be when you find out. Because if Chan told him and the guys then his wife must’ve told you and the other girlfriends, right? A part of him hopes she didn’t, but he knows it’s just a wishful thinking, his. You’re going to be devastated - hell, you probably are already.
And you are.
Chan’s wife announces her second pregnancy with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, pulling out the ultrasound from her bag, and you hate yourself for not being able to be happy for her. You are happy, it’s not that. However, it’s a bittersweet feeling, yours. You feel like the worst friend ever, because while the other girls are all happily squeaking and clapping their hands as they scoot closer to try to get a better look at the picture - you stay exactly where you are, your gaze lost, as your heart pounds in your chest.
“Oh! I didn’t know you and Chan were trying again,” Changbin’s wife congratulates her with a hug. She sounds so happy, they all do. You fake a smile, the void in your chest has never hurt so bad.
“Oh we… we weren’t,” Chan’s wife admits with her cheeks slightly pink. Your heart drops, your hands start to shake. You feel your throat closing, you find it harder to breathe now. “We haven’t been exactly careful, you know? So I just knew there could be a chance and, well… here we are.”
They weren’t even trying. It just… happened. Why couldn’t it just happen to you and Minho? Why did you have to go through the heartbreak of seeing that stupid, single line on that plastic stick every month? All the vitamins, the keeping track of your ovulation cycle, the blood tests and medical checkups… It just happened, to them. They weren’t careful. They weren’t trying, it was just a coincidence. One day they fucked without a condom and then oops, pregnant, again.
“We weren’t sure if we, uh… If we wanted to keep it at first,” Chan’s wife says, and you nearly drop the cup in your hands as your heartbeat picks up its pace, “but we’ve talked a lot about it and we think we’re ready.”
You need air. You can’t breathe. It hurts too much. You need to leave.
⛅︎
Something’s off with Minho when he comes home. He takes his clothes off and changes into his pajamas without uttering a single word. When he slips under the covers, he’s still quiet. You know him, you’ve known him for years - you sense there’s something on his mind. He’s usually like this whenever he’s had a bad day at work. He still puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head, and you can hear him sigh.
And you feel the exact same way.
“Min…” you mumble, scooting even closer, resting your head on his chest.
“My jagi…” he makes himself comfortable, the pads of his calloused fingers gently brushing the skin of your arm. That’s when he hears you sniffle, and his eyebrows furrow. “Hey, hey now, what’s up?” He asks you, placing two fingers under your chin to lift your head and meet your eyes. They’re watery.
“It’s… it’s nothing, it’s just-“ your voice trembles, and you can’t stop the tears from falling from your eyes as Minho’s stare deep into your soul, “she’s…”
You don’t have to finish the sentence you started, because he already knows what you’re talking about - who. Your face is completely wet, and you keep sobbing and sniffling, and his eyes instantly widen as he sits on the bed with his back against the headboard, taking you with him. You wrap your hands around his wrists as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumbs. Once he’s finished, he kisses the tip of your nose.
“I know,” Minho whispers, kissing your forehead. “I know, jagi, I know. I’m so sorry,” he says, even though you both know it’s not his fault.
His arms wrap around your waist and pulls you closer so that your face is hidden in his neck, not caring at all about the fact that you’re soaking his shirt with your tears. He then starts toying with the ends of your hair, knowing it’s something that never fails to relax you. Back in college, he’d play with your hair for hours as you stressed over your exams, holding you tight exactly as he’s doing now.
“It- it wasn’t even planned, Min,” you cry, and Minho can hear the way your heart breaks. “It’s just… why us, Minho? We’ve been trying for years…”
Minho can’t answer your question. Technically, it’s no one’s fault, no one is responsible for your fate.
“They- oh God, they weren’t even sure they wanted to keep it,” you sob into his chest, and Minho flinches because Chan didn’t tell him that. He can’t imagine how you must have felt, how you must feel - well, he can, but at the same time he knows that no matter how similar you feel about this situation, you’re handling it in two entirely different ways.
As much as it pains him too, he knows he has to be strong for you. “Oh, jagi…” his hand moves up and down your back to soothe you, although it doesn’t really work. “I know how you’re feeling right now, believe me, but… it’s not their fault,” Minho says calmly, “they don’t know about our- I mean, they can’t know about us,” he rephrases what he originally wanted to say, avoiding to mention the word problem or issue.
“I know. It doesn’t make me feel any better, though,” you mumble in his chest.
The silence of your bedroom never felt heavier. You and Minho are both lost in your thoughts, still holding each other tightly, because each other is the only thing you’ve got left. You have only Minho, and he has only you - you and, well, the cats. His family. Your family. You wonder if it’s enough for him, if he’s content with his life as it is now or if he’s yearning for more. You wonder if you’re enough for him, if you’ll be enough for him.
“Minho?” You call his name softly, your voice sounding incredibly small as it breaks the silence. You don’t look at him as you speak, your head stays buried in his chest, your arms around him. You’re scared that looking him in the eye might be too much for you, and that you’ll end up putting off asking him what you want to ask him. “Would you still love me? If I… if I couldn’t have kids, I mean,” your heart thrums in your ears as you speak, “what I’m saying is… would you still think I’m enough?” You toy with your promise ring and wedding band as you ask him the painful question, your worst nightmare, the thought that keeps you awake at night.
Minho’s body freezes under yours, and he blinks a couple of times while staring at an indefinite spot far away while he tries to process your words and their meaning. The more he repeats your questions inside his head, though, the less sense they make to him and the more absurd they sound.
“Jagiya,” he says, sounding almost as if he’s scolding you or something. “You’re the love of my life,” he states in all seriousness, and he means it.
His answer, however, is not enough for you. You need to know.
“Minho, I’m serious.”
Minho was never the type to openly talk about his feelings, but he feels safe with you, and he knows he can tell you anything. It’s how vulnerable it makes him feels, what he dislikes about opening up to other people. It always made him feel kind of stupid, but you managed to change that throughout the years. You showed him you’re by his side no matter what, and you’ll never think any less of him. He loves talking to you. Sometimes, it’s all you do - you’d spend hours curled up on the couch or in bed, talking about your day or literally anything else. Minho wouldn’t change it for the world. The feeling of having you in his arms as he rests his head on your shoulders is everything he needs, the only thing that keeps him sane.
“I’m being serious, too,” Minho sighs. “You’re the love of my life,” he repeats with a seriousness that makes you shiver. “I told you after five months of dating, I told you the night I proposed and I told you on the altar when we got married. I tell you every day. It’s not just words to me, I mean it,” he unwraps his arms from around your waist to cup your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“Minho…”
“No, listen to me,” his tone is much softer now as his watery boba eyes meet yours. “I love you,” he says with a disarming sincerity - it takes you off guard. “You changed my life completely, y/n. I wouldn’t be half the man I am now if you weren’t by my side. I’m completely and utterly in love with you, so no,” his gaze is fixed on your eyes, “you’re not enough. You’re more than enough, you’re everything I could possibly ask for and so, so much more.”
“Min…”
“You know, there’s a Japanese word: ikigai.”
“What?”
“Ikigai. Now, I could brag about my master in Japanese and explain its etymology, but I won’t,” Minho chuckles. “It’s a word that literally means ‘one’s reason to get out of the bed every day’, it’s your life purpose,” Minho takes your hands in his, brushing your knuckles with his lips. “You’re my life purpose, jagiya. You’re my ikigai.”
Tears are streaming down your face, and you sniffle a couple of times. Minho brings his hands on your shoulders and rubs your skin to soothe you as a warm smile spreads over his delicate features. You raise your hand to cup his cheek, then place a single, soft kiss on his lips. They taste like home - he’s your home. That’s why you’re so scared of losing him.
“Pf, silly girl, asking if you’re enough,” Minho shakes his head playfully, feigning offence. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, and you rest your face in the crook of his neck and leave another kiss there.
There’s something different in the way he holds you now, though. His body swiftly becomes rigid, and he gulps, almost as if he’d gotten swamped with a sudden thought. A thought that terrifies him.
You see, Minho was never one too sure of himself. Insecure is not how you would describe him, though. It’s a strange way to put it, but Minho believes in his capacities and abilities, and most of all in the person that he is. He never really doubted your feelings for him, not even at the beginning of your relationship when you barely knew each other - and, most definitely, not when you were exchanging your vows at the altar. Minho is one hundred percent sure you love him. The question running through his head is, however, for how long. For how long will you love him, before realizing that he’s the one who’s not enough for you? That he’s the one who failed you? That he’s the one who couldn’t give you the family you so desperately wanted?
Minho needs you more than he needs the air to breathe. He can’t lose you, you’re his home, his everything.
“Min?” You murmur, voice muffled in his skin - soft and with a musky scent, that reminds you of his body wash. “Are you okay?” Your voice is soft, even though you’re trying to hide the turmoil in your heart.
What if another man could give you what you want? A baby. A family. A future. What if he just… can’t? Before he knows it, Minho is crying - a broken sob leaving his soft lips. You immediately pull away, lifting your head to look at him. His cheeks are stained with tears, and a few more are running down his face. Minho closes his eyes when you wipe them off with your thumbs, kissing each one of his cheeks afterwards.
“Min, what’s up? What’s wrong?”
“What if… what if it’s me?” He asks with a broken voice after a few seconds spent in silence.
“What if it’s you what?” You ask him, not fully grasping the meaning behind his question.
Part of him wants to brush it off and forget about the intrusive thought that has been bugging him for a while now, but deep down he knows he needs to talk this through with you. You’re the only one who can give him the answers he’s so desperately seeking.
“What if it’s me… the one who… What if you can’t get pregnant because you’re incompatible with me? What if one day you wake up and realize that you could have so much more with somebody else and- and instead you’re just here… wasting your time with me?”
You feel like your heart just shattered into a million pieces, maybe more. Maybe it just broke into countless of tiny, little pieces that are even imperceptible to the naked eye. You can’t believe you’ve made him feel like this, that you let him believe that having a family - no, getting pregnant, is more important than him. He’s your family, has always been.
“Pf, silly boy, thinking I’m wasting my time with you,” you try to joke the same way he did minutes earlier, but deep down you’re shocked.
“I’m… I’m serious, jagiya.” You hate how broken he sounds.
“So am I,” you crack a smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “Remember when you bumped into me during lunch break back in college? And I spilled my coffe all over your white t-shirt?”
“Why are you telling me this?” Minho asks. He remembers everything vividly. If he closes his eyes, he can almost relieve it inside his head. That’s when you met.
“That’s when we met,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It was also the day I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Minho is beyond confused. “Why?”
“You were so kind to me even though it was one hundred percent my fault. Your t-shirt was so expensive, too,” you chuckle at the memory, running your hand through his hair, gently tugging at its ends as you keep staring into his beautiful, brown boba eyes. “But you didn’t get angry at me, you just smiled and brushed it off with a shrug.”
“And then I asked you out.”
You nod, smiling. “And then you asked me out. On a coffee date, ironically enough.”
Minho giggles. He nuzzles your nose with his. “We had so much fun, too… You were just so cute, I was whipped for you already. I couldn’t wait to see you again,” he tells you, and then he pecks your lips.
“Me neither,” you smile back. “I spent the whole time glued to my phone waiting for you to text. You made me the happiest. You make me the happiest,” you correct.
“Still?”
“Minho, you’re all I ever wanted, all I’ll ever need,” you cup his face in your hands. “You and the cats are the most important thing in my life. You’re my… what was that Japanese word you just said?”
He chuckles. “Ikigai.”
“Ikigai,” you repeat with a nod, “you’re my ikigai, too. Have always been.”
Minho lets out a sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding. He pulls you closer, and it’s his turn now to hide his face in your neck as a few more tears fall from his eyes, drenching your pajama shirt. You keep him close to your body with your legs on each side of his hips while your hands toy with the ends of his hair. You’d missed having him this close to you - not only physically, but also emotionally. You needed to have this talk with him, it really was therapeutic and regenerating for the both of you.
“You’re my Minho,” you mumble in his hair, leaving a kiss there. “And I love you so much.”
Minho shouldn’t be getting hard right now. It’s an emotional night for the both of you, and he truly is fine with things not escalating at all between the two of you, especially since you said you wanted to take a break from trying. There have been physical encounters between the two of you since then, but you never really went all the way - the pressure’s just too much, but you’re both content either way.
“Oops, sorry,” Minho mumbles on your skin, and then he places his hands on your hips to gently push you off his lap, afraid that it might make you uncomfortable to feel him there. But you stop him, wrapping your fingers around his wrists. He immediately lifts his head to meet your eyes, his eyebrows are furrowed.
“Don’t,” you whisper, “I… I want you, Minho. I need you.”
When he kisses your lips, it’s gentle and lustful at the same time - as if he’s scared to touch you in fear you’ll break under his touch. His hands grip your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt as you slowly grind on his lap. Eyes fluttering shut, Minho deepens the kiss, letting his tongue lick your lower lip, and then your mouth - he lets his hand wander underneath your shirt, brushing your stomach, then your back and then up, up, up to your shoulders.
“You’re so soft,” Minho murmurs on your lips, “your lips are so soft. And you’re so warm, I missed feeling you, having you in my arms like this…”
Kisses on your cheeks, kisses on your jawline and behind your ear, kisses on your neck. Minho knows every spot - he knows exactly where to touch you, where to put his lips, how to make you fold like a piece of paper. His thumbs brush the soft skin underneath your breasts, and then the side - you hiss when he brushes your nipples with a delicacy and a reverence only he has. What Minho doesn’t say with words, he shows you through his actions and physical affection, worshipping your body as if
“I missed you, too,” you mumble, running your hands up and down his back over the clothes.
“Off,” Minho mutters under his breath, lips latched on your neck, “can I take this off?” He asks for permission, tugging at your shirt. You nod.
His calloused fingers grab its end, and he’s rapid to take it off you, letting it slide over your head before letting it fall on the bed. The same things happen to his t-shirt. And then your chests are pressed together, as Minho resumes kissing you. His body shifts on the mattress so that he’s now lying on his back, dragging your body with his - he doesn’t stop kissing you. Your hands are all over him - in his hair, on his shoulders, his hips. You just cannot stop touching him.
Both your pajama pants come off in a few seconds, getting tangled somewhere under the bedsheets. You’re naked now, your most private and intimate parts pressed together. Minho’s hands grope your asscheeks, and as a reflex you grind yourself on him, making his hard cock throb and leak pre-cum. He smirks against your skin, and bites your lip.
“I love you,” Minho whispers on your lips as his fingers come to wrap around the base of his length, spreading his own arousal all over his tip. He lets his cockhead slide up and down your folds a couple of times, maybe more, and he’s surprised by how wet you are already. All for him. Ready to take him like he’s ready to have you.
“I love you, Min,” you whisper, and he pushes inside, breaching your walls deliciously.
He fills you up slowly, savouring the way your heat engulfs him wholly as his eyes flutter shut as huffs of air fall from his lips. He missed you, he missed you so much - that’s what he keeps thinking as he sinks into you over and over and over again, thrusting from underneath you, meeting the sweet rocking of your hips. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulls you even closer.
“Close… I missed having you so close to me… missed making love to you.”
Helping you move up and down his length slowly, the way it makes both your heads spin, it doesn’t take long before your orgasms start to build up. You sigh and breathe and pant on top of him, trying to keep as quiet as possible to not wake your neighbors up. Minho himself is trying to hold back the moans and whimpers that threaten to leave his lips - his chest rises and falls quickly, though. Minho pulls a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear, then cups your cheek as he stares into your eyes. You clench around him, hard and harder, until your whole body trembles.
“Min… Min,” you whimper, trying to focus on his movements solely as the tip of his cock brushes your g-spot with delicacy, “‘m close.”
“Baby… my sweet baby, cum,” Minho encourages you, and it’s enough to make you lose control, “let go for me.”
When you finish, it’s with a cry of his name, as your whole body shakes and trembles with force. Minho holds you tight as he continues to move inside of you, a few thrusts away from reaching his orgasm as well. A couple of precise and rough thrusts send him over the edge, and he’s quick to place his hands under your thighs and lift your hips, slipping out of your wet heat right before he spills his seed, finishing on his stomach instead. For a couple of seconds you’re confused about why he pulled out, but then you remember your conversation from a few weeks ago, and your face drops instantly, but you don’t let him see it. Instead, you quickly get up from the bed and run to the bathroom to grab Minho a warm towel to clean himself.
⛅︎
Chan had had an idea - babysitting. More specifically, you and Minho babysitting their baby so him and his wife could go out on a night date.
Bang Haneul is an utterly adorable baby. She’s got her father’s smile and his eyes, but the puffy cheeks are definitely her mother’s. She never really cries or whines, only when she’s hungry - and most of the time, she’d look at you and Minho with curious eyes, tilting her head to the side, probably wondering who you are, and where are her parents. She smiles at Minho when he sings to her, and even claps her little hands.
“She totally loves me,” Minho smiles at her, holding Haneul in his arms. He boops her little nose, earning a giggle from her. “I’m your favorite uncle, aren’t I?” He coos at her, “don’t tell me it’s uncle Binnie, please. He’s too loud, isn’t he?”
“You’re just as loud,” you chuckle, smiling at the sight before your eyes.
Minho glares at you playfully. “Pf, please,” he waves his hand at you as if you just said nonsense, “I’m her favorite uncle, I know that already. See the way she looks at me?”
“You fed her yogurt this afternoon, of course she loves you,” you roll your eyes at him.
“And a peach,” Minho adds, “mashed nice and well for this little princess,” he coos at little Haneul, and she giggles at him, patting Minho’s cheek with her small hand.
Minho would be an amazing dad - patient, loving, caring, and so thoughtful. You watch him in awe, from the floor where you’re sitting on Haneul’s play mat, surrounded by her colourful toys. Minho notices you’re staring at him, and he smiles back at you, as he carefully sits down next to you, with Haneul in his arms.
“You wanna go to aunty Y/N? Yeah?” He asks the baby as he watches her stretching her little arms in your direction as soon as you enter her peripheral vision.
Haneul’s eyes light up when you take her in your arms and smile at her. “Hi,” you coo at her, softly caressing her puffy cheek. Minho scoots closer, resting his head on your shoulder, where he leaves a kiss.
The precious and soft moment is interrupted by the sound of rattling keys and the front door swinging open. Naturally, it’s Chan and his wife. Haneul in your lap wiggles and squeaks as soon as she spots her parents, stretching her arms out to them.
“Hi, my baby,” Chan smiles brightly at her daughter, rushing to where the three of you are with open arms, ready to take her into his arms and hold her. “I’ve missed you so much, you know that? You missed me? You missed daddy?” He kisses his daughter’s forehead and nuzzles her cheek with his nose.
“Did she give you a hard time?” Chan’s girlfriend asks you, smiling at you as she sits on the couch.
You shake your head as a no, and Minho does the same. “Nope, not at all. She’s a true angel.”
“I wonder if baby number two is going to be so calm and peaceful, too,” Chan thinks out loud, glancing at his girlfriend’s stomach even though she’s barely showing.
“Sorry if we ruined your plans for the day by asking you to look after Haneul,” Chan’s girlfriend says, looking at you and Minho, “maybe you wanted to be alone tonight… Sorry if we asked you last minute, but my friend bailed on us last minute and we didn’t know who to ask.”
“Yeah, the rest of the boys was busy tonight,” Chan adds, “well, Jeongin and his girlfriend were technically free, too, but… I mean, they’re still babies,” he chuckles.
“Ah, it’s no problem, really,” Minho nods at his hyung, “we enjoy spending time with Haneul. She’s the cutest.”
“She really is, my cute baby,” Chan pouts, kissing his daughter’s cheek lovingly. “She looks just like her dad,” he jokes, looking at his wife with a mischievous grin.
She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t even argue with him, he’s right. It’s not fair, though, I carried her for nine months and she looks like a carbon copy of her father,” she pouts, “I hope baby number two will look like me, at least a bit.”
“You know,” Chan starts, focused on playing with Haneul as she squeezes her father’s hand, “I read somewhere that if the first child is a boy, then he’ll look like his mother, and if she’s a girl she’ll look like her dad,” he says.
“How do you know it’s not just a casualty?” Minho asks his friend, genuinely curious.
“I don’t,” Chan shrugs, kissing the top of Haneul’s head. “Hey, why don’t you and y/n have a baby? We can test the theory,” he jokes, but both you and Minho freeze, “I think it’d make a great uncle, wouldn’t I?”
“Chan!” His wife scolds him. “Yah, mind your own business! You’re so nosy, aish…” she giggles.
“Hey, it was just a suggestion! Plus, I think Haneul would love a little cousin to play with, yeah?” He asks his baby, but she just raises her head to look at her dad confused.
And if either of them notices the way you and Minho are sitting there uncomfortably, with fake smiles plastered on your faces - they don’t comment on it.
⛅︎
The water feels warm on your skin, the perfect temperature. Yours and Minho’s clothes are scattered on the floor, his black socks are the last thing to reach the pile of fabric by the shower, and the next thing you know he’s opening the glass door, stepping inside right behind you. The water hits his body, rivulets running down his chest, back and legs - his hair is wet and stuck to his face. He wraps his arm around your waist, and you turn to face him. He smiles at you, tucking your wet hair behind your ear with his other hand, and then he leans in to kiss your wet lips. You both had a long day today, and really need to relax and blow some steam off - a hot shower is the perfect solution for that.
“You’re so cute like this,” Minho chuckles, “your hair looks funny.”
You narrow your eyes at him, smirking. Then you playfully slap his shoulder. “Cute? Funny? Your wife is currently naked in the shower with you. Aren’t I supposed to be, I don’t know, hot?”
“But you’re always hot.”
You roll your eyes at him, “kiss-ass.”
Minho chuckles. “I mean it! You’re always hot to me, but you’re also cute and funny. You’re, like, the whole package. I hit the jackpot with you,” he shrugs.
You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I stand by what I said: kiss-ass.”
Minho chuckles, then he pulls you in for a kiss. You thought it’d be a quick peck, but you soon feel his tongue on your mouth. And then you feel something poke you, so you lower your head. “Oh.”
When you lift your gaze, Minho is smirking. “I told you I always think you’re hot.”
Sex in the shower is not something that happens too often between you and Minho, and it’s a shame. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as well, and he doesn’t hesitate to push your body against the wall delicately, making sure he doesn’t hurt you by softening the impact with his arms and hands. You whimper in his mouth, but it’s a whimper of pleasure. His length is rock hard between his legs, now pressed on your stomach, already leaking pre-cum because of how aroused he is.
“Need you,” Minho mumbles on your skin, kissing your neck, then your jawline and lowering his head until his kisses reach your collarbone, “need you now. Need to make you mine.”
“Take me. Minho, take me.”
Minho grunts. Then, he’s turning your body around so that he’s now facing your naked back. The palm of your hands are pressed against the cold tiles, and you hiss under your breath - but when you feel Minho’s hot lips start kissing your shoulders, you can’t bring yourself to care about anything else except him. Him and how much you crave his touch, to feel his hands on yours as he fucks into you slowly.
One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, where he draws imaginary circles with the pad of his thumb, while the other one slides between your slightly parted legs. Minho hisses and rests his forehead against your nape once he feels how wet you are already - and not because of the water. He plays with your sex - rubbing your clit gently at first, and then running his fingers up and down your folds. Meanwhile, he bites and sucks on the skin of your shoulders, pressing your body further against the tiles. You arch your back as you feel him slide his cockhead up and down your entrance, coating it in your wet arousal. He holds his breath as he penetrates you, excruciatingly slow. He bottoms out inside of you - until his chest is pressed flat against your back, and you feel his hot breath on your skin. He places one hand on your hip, and presses his other palm flat against the bathroom tiles.
“Feel so full,” you mumble, breathing heavily.
The warm water, Minho inside of you, his body all over yours - it all feels so intense, your head is spinning already and he’s barely moved inside of you, only giving a couple of thrusts to give you the time to get adjusted.
It’s primal, the way he presses your body against the wall as he fucks you nice and deep, slowly, allowing you to feel him completely inside of you in the intimacy of your shower, of your home. You sway your hips back and forth, meeting the movements of his hips. He’s not able to reach your g-spot perfectly from this angle, so he moves his hand from your hips to the sensitive spot between your legs - he’ll make you cum this way tonight. While rubbing your clit ever so gently, he nibbles your ear, and you can clearly hear him panting heavily.
“You’re so hot,” Minho compliments you, while continuing to thrust inside of you. “I want you all the time, it’s surreal. I’m so in love with you,” he rambles, the words falling from his mouth freely, automatically, “make me so hard.”
Squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel your impending orgasm about to wash all over you. Minho knows exactly how to touch you, he always manages to make you cum so effortlessly. “Minho, I’m… I’m close.”
It always manages to make his head spin. He doesn’t change its pace, nor the direction of his movements on your most sensitive spot, and in a matter of seconds, your kicking your head back while calling his name desperately, releasing around him. Minho places his hand on top of yours, intertwining your fingers with his as he chases his own orgasm, rutting his hips against yours. And just like the last couple of times you had sex, his intent is to pull out right before finishing - this time, you don’t let him.
“Don’t,” you beg, moving your arms behind your back to grab Minho’s ass, squeezing the flesh, “don’t pull out this time.”
Minho doesn’t really have a chance to ask you what’s going on, because as soon as he opens his mouth he’s cut off by his orgasm, that catches him completely off guard. Hearing you sound so desperate for him does it for him every time. He cums, filling you up to the brim - there’s so much of it that it begins to leak out of you, dripping down your inner thighs as Minho stays buried deep inside of you.
“‘M sorry, I… you caught me off guard, I should have-“ he starts rambling, but you interrupt him.
“Minho, stop,” you mumble, “I asked you not to pull out. It’s okay.”
“But you said-“
“I know what I said. But really, it’s okay. I wanted it.”
Minho nods, but part of him feels guilty nonetheless. Gently, he pulls out of you, stepping under the direct stream of water, that cleans him off of his own cum. You turn around to look at him and do the same, letting the water wash away the proof of his orgasm off your body. Minho quietly grabs the bottle of shampoo, squirting a generous amount on his hands.
“Turn around, jagiya. Let me take care of you.”
⛅︎
Dori’s behavior is weird today.
He hasn’t left your side since Minho left for work earlier - he’d remained by your side the whole time, mostly cuddled on your lap or sprawled on your stomach as you slept. And then he meowed every time you tried to get up, begging you with his little eyes to pick him up so he could be as close to you as possible.
And he’s resting in your lap even now, as you sit on the couch with your book in your hands, and has no intentions to get up, not even when he hears the sound of rattling keys - a clear signal that Minho’s home. Minho steps inside your place and Dori simply tilts his little head to the side.
“Daddy’s home, baby,” you coo at the small pet, patting his head, “go say hi. You missed him lots today.”
“He missed me?” Minho asks, sounding pretty confused. His pet doesn’t get up.
“Well, I thought so,” you put your book away, lifting your head to peck your husband’s lips. “Thought he could smell your scent on the t-shirt and it reminded him of you.”
Dori has the audacity to growl at Minho when he tries to pet him, narrowing his eyes at him.
“Seems like he hates me,” Minho giggles.
“That’s weird,” you think out loud, because when you try to pet him, Dori accepts the cuddles gladly, and purrs satisfied under Minho’s incredulous eyes and ears.
“Son of a-“
“Minho!” You scold him, covering Dori’s ears with your hands, “don’t be mean to my baby.”
“Well, your baby is an ungrateful little shit,” Minho chuckles, scratching Dori’s chin with his finger, and the cat glares at him almost as if he’d understood his owner’s words, “I change his litter and feed him and who does he love more? You.”
“It’s because I give him cuddles and treats when he behaves,” you point out, and Dori lets out a faint meow almost as if he’s agreeing with you.
“He’s just taking advantage of you because you’re too good to him, don’t trust him. Traitor,” Minho jokes, leaning in to kiss Dori’s little head. “‘M gonna take a shower and then we’ll think of something for dinner, hm?” He asks, and you nod.
He disappears upstairs, and you resume reading your book. Dori doesn’t move from your lap, instead he snuggles into your t-shirt and purrs, occasionally meowing to demand pets and more cuddles. You wonder what’s up with him, if maybe there’s something wrong with him or if he’s not feeling alright - but Dori doesn’t seem to be in pain.
“He’s been there the whole time?” Minho asks once he returns to the living room, surprised to see Dori still curled up in your lap. “Isn’t that weird?”
“I don’t know, maybe he’s not feeling well… maybe we should take him to the vet.”
“But he doesn’t look in pain or anything?” Minho pouts, kneeling down to look his cat in the eye. “Maybe he’s sad or something… maybe he just needs an extra amount of cuddles.”
“Let’s just wait a couple of days… if his behavior is still weird we’ll go to the vet,” you suggest, and Minho nods.
“Alright, boss,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. Then, he pecks your lips. “What do you want me to cook? Do omelettes sound good?”
“Yep, they sound perfect.”
Well, maybe they didn’t, because as soon as you get a whiff of their delicious smell, you feel the urge to throw up. Literally, you have to practically run to the bathroom and kneel before the toilet bowl, leaving behind a confused Minho, still sat at the dinner table. Eventually, he gets up and comes upstairs to check up on you, softly knocking on the bathroom door.
“Are you alright?” He asks you, preoccupied, as he spots you washing your face with cold water to freshen up, taking deep breaths. “Is there something wrong with my omelettes? Did I put too many onions?”
You shake your head as a no, limbs still trembling as you place your hands on the sink. “No, no, they were fine. I don’t know what’s up with me, I’ve been feeling nauseous the whole day.”
Hadn’t your period ended a week ago, Minho would’ve thought you were pregnant, but he knows that’s impossible. So he just comes closer to you, rubbing your lower back with his calloused hand, leaning in to kiss you on your temple.
“How are you feeling now? Better? Worse? Do you want me to make you some tea?” He asks you, and you smile warmly at him, moved by his apprehensiveness.
“A cup of tea is fine.”
⛅︎
You feel like you could pass out on the spot when Jeongin’s girlfriend, who’s younger than you and has only been dating her boyfriend for about four months, confesses she’s late. Late late. Like, her period’s late. Sixteen days, to be precise. She looks at you with her big, doe eyes, glistening with tears, begging for your help. She needs a friend, someone who listens, and you’re very close to her, even though you haven’t seen her much - she is kind of a younger sister to you.
“What? Are you and Jeongin having unprotected sex?” You blatantly ask her, staring at her with wide eyes, kind of shocked by the revelation. They’re too young to be having condomless sex, especially if she’s not on birth control or literally any other contraceptive.
The lowers her head in shame, even though you’re not angry at her. “It only happened twice, I swear,” she justifies herself, “we’d run out of condoms and didn’t think about the consequences. He didn’t… finish inside, though. He pulled out,” she tells you with a hint of hope in her voice, but you both know it’s not an effective method, and that therefore she could be pregnant.
“You have to take a test,” you sigh. “It might just be a pregnancy scare - my period’s late all the time, I was supposed to get it a couple of weeks ago, but you never know. The chances are pretty high.”
“O-Okay, okay,” she takes a deep breath, covering her face with her hands, “but I can’t do this alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“You… you said you’re late too. Take a test, too, unnie. It’ll be less scary to not do this alone.”
And you can’t believe that less than an hour later, once you and Jeongin’s girlfriend are finally back from the convenience store, you’re in your bathroom - actually peeing on a plastic stick, even though you already know what the result’s gonna be. Negative, as it always is. You already know it, but you take the stupid test anyway to help your friend feel less nervous. She’s already taken hers and places the stick inside the box, not ready to look at the result yet, and you do the same, not even realizing you’re putting your test in the same box as hers.
You only realize when the alarm goes off and it’s time to learn the results - that’s when you realize there’s absolutely no way you can tell which test is yours. And your jaw nearly drops once you take a closer look, because one test reads negative, but the other one…
“Positive.”
⛅︎
You’ve been lying in your bed all day, mostly scrolling through your social media dashboards - Dori in your lap as per usual, he’s glued to your side, when you hear the front door close downstairs. Minho’s home. You’d get up to say hi to him, but you feel so helplessly tired and literally can’t get out of bed. You hear him saying something to the cats, and when he pushes the bedroom door all the way open, he smiles brightly at you - Soonie in his arms and Doongie by his feet.
“Hi, jagi, how are you feeling today?” He asks you, sitting on the bed next to you. You haven’t been going to work for the past couple of days - you haven’t been feeling well, and Minho is kind of preoccupied.
“I’m doing better,” you smile at him, leaning in for a kiss, “feel tired, though.” Soonie gets off Minho’s lap, and he scoots closer to cuddle you in a spooning position, circling your waist with his arm, scratching Dori’s head when his hand accidentally bumps him. “Did you have fun today, with the boys?”
“Yeah, we… we had fun,” Minho nods, but doesn’t say much. You know he’s keeping something from you by the way he’s nervously fidgeting with his rings and picking at his skin.
“What aren’t you telling me?” You tease him, rolling to lie on your back, poking Minho’s dimple with your finger.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, please,” you scoff, with a dismissive gesture of your hand, “I know you like the back of my hand, I know something’s up with you. What happened? Something happened with the boys?”
“It’s nothing, really. You know the boys, they’re silly, they say things.”
“Which things?”
Minho sighs. “It’s stupid, really. Let’s just forget about it, hm?”
“Stop being so grumpy and just tell me already,” you insist, and Minho gives up.
“Fine,” he waves his hand. Then, he runs his fingers through his hair, unsure whether he should really be telling you what he’d learned mere hours ago. He really doesn’t want to bring up the topic, but you’re just so stubborn. “Jeongin told me something today, and it upset me.”
“What did he tell you?”
Another heavy sigh leaves Minho’s lips. “Him and his girlfriend had a pregnancy scare. She went to the doctor and found out she’s not pregnant, but he was pretty overwhelmed by the whole thing. I scolded him for not being responsible and for not having safe sex, and I don’t know… I guess it upset me.”
Oh. Oh. Jeongin’s girlfriend is not pregnant. She’s not pregnant. But the tests… one of them was positive… Wait, if she’s not pregnant, then… Your eyes widen immediately, and you abruptly sit on the mattress. You can’t be pregnant, though, you had your period this month… it could have been implantation spotting, though, if you really were pregnant, but what are the chances?
“I know you’re upset now, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
You shake your head as a no quickly. “It’s not that,” you mumble, getting up from the bed despite Dori’s upset meowing.
If Jeongin’s girlfriend’s not pregnant, then it means there’s a slight chance you and Minho… But it could also have been a fake positive. They’re pretty common, you read somewhere once. You rush to the bathroom, opening the third drawer quickly - the one where you keep your stash of pads and tampons and tests, to detect both ovulation and pregnancy. You have two of them. You’re gonna take them both, even though you try to remind yourself to not get your hopes up.
“Jagiya, what’s… what are you doing?” Minho furrows his brows, looking at you confused as he can’t take his eyes off of the two small boxes in your hands. “Are those…”
“I need to take these,” you tell him, voice trembling. “I was with Jeogin’s girlfriend the day she took the test. It’s a long story, and I promise I’ll tell you, but… if she’s not pregnant then there’s a chance…” you trail, looking at him with tears in your eyes.
“There’s a chance… you might be?” Minho asks, a new feeling of hope washing all over him as his heartbeat picks up its pace.
“Yeah,” you bite your lip, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
It’s been the longest three minutes of your entire lives. You and Minho are sitting on the bathroom floor with your backs against the shower glass in silence, too absorbed in your thoughts. Your fingers are intertwined as you wait for your alarm to ring. This could be your chance. This time, things could be different. When Minho’s phone buzzes, you feel as if your heart has stopped beating inside your chest.
You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I can’t look. I can’t look, Min. You do it.”
Minho swallows the lump in his throat, feeling nervous - the most he’s ever been. He’s not ready for another negative surprise. Not when flashes of what your lives could be with a little bundle of joy passed before his eyes as he waited patiently for the results to be ready. “How… how about we do it together? I check one and you do the other one, at the same time,” he suggests, and it seems fair.
You nod, and Minho finally gets up, reaching for the two plastic sticks placed on the sink, turned upside down not to spoil the result. He grasps one, holding it firmly in his hand, and hands you the other one. Then, he sits back on the floor next to you.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he mumbles, kissing your temple.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
You look at the result at the same time. You hold your breath, as tears well up in your eyes quickly. Before you can contain yourself, you burst down in tears - salty drops rolling down your cheeks. When you turn to look at Minho, his face is stained with tears as well, his lip is quivering, and then he shows you the stick he’s holding. It shows the same result as yours.
Positive. 8+ weeks.
You’re pregnant, you and Minho are going to have a baby.
“Come here,” Minho mumbles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as he rests his chin on your head, rubbing your arm with his hand.
You let the realization sink in - you can’t fully process what just happened, your brain can’t comprehend it yet. A baby. Your and Minho’s dream of a family is finally going to come true, you still can’t believe it, it doesn’t feel real.
“I love you so much, jagi,” he sniffles, kissing the top of your head, “‘m so happy right now…”
Before you could answer, you hear a loud meow coming from beside you, and that’s when you realize Dori’s here. He makes himself comfortable in your lap once more, and that’s when it all becomes clear to you.
“Dori, baby, did you… did you… have you been glued by my side because you could sense I’m pregnant?” Dori meows once more, then purrs, making himself comfortable on your lap - you take it as a yes.
“Aish, you little… your vet bill was so expensive for nothing and here you were, trying to tell us something…” Minho shakes his head, patting his cat and scratching his fur, chuckling, and you giggle as well, “thank you for being by her side when I wasn’t here, buddy.”
You stay like this for a while, in silence, with the tests still in your hands and Dori in your lap, hugging and holding each other, feeling blessed because you finally got the happiness you deserved.
⛅︎
Minho has always been affectionate with you, but ever since you found out you’re going to become parents in a few months, he just won’t leave your side.
Your OBGYN had confirmed what the tests had shown, announcing with a big smile on her face that yes, you’re pregnant, and that your baby is healthy and about the size of a bell pepper now, since you’re around twenty weeks pregnant. Minho called your baby “little pepper” until you found out the gender - a baby girl. Minho had bursted into tears in the doctor’s office when she delivered the news, and spent the day glued to you, hugging and holding you, his hands never leaving your round belly.
“How is my little sunshine? Did you miss daddy?” Minho starts talking to your bump as soon as he slips under the covers, kissing your lips first. “I’m sorry I had to leave, little sunshine. Daddy’s gonna quit his job when you’re here, I’m never leaving you,” Minho pouts, kissing your stomach and caressing it with his hand, “I missed you so much today, did you miss me too?”
Minho’s hand freezes on top of your bump, and his head snaps up in your direction at the same time as you lower yours when you feel a small kick - the first. His eyes glisten with tears, and so do yours. Your little sunshine just kicked for the first time after hearing her father’s voice.
“Jagi did you… did you feel it, too?” Minho asks you, pouting, “she just kicked. Her first kick.”
You nod, placing your hand on your belly as well, close to Minho’s. “I did, Min,” you sniffle. “Our sunshine really missed her daddy today, didn’t she?”
Another kick, much stronger now. Minho presses his lips on your belly, kissing it all over its surface as he feels his daughter’s delicate kicks, feeling absolutely and utterly in love - a love he didn’t think he’d be able to feel.
“My precious little sunshine, I missed you, too,” Minho kisses your stomach once again. And then he remembers - he gets up quickly and leaves the room only to come back in with his workbag, laying at the end of your shared bed. “I… I bought you something on my way home, sunshine,” Minho talks to your belly. You just look at him curiously, wondering what he could’ve possibly bought your unborn daughter. “You won’t be able to see it for a few more months, though, but I hope you’ll like it.”
From the bag, he pulls out a small plushie - a white rabbit, with long ears and a mischievous grin. Oddly enough, it kinda looks like Minho. “Where did you manage to find a plushie that looks exactly like you?” You giggle, taking the small toy in your hands.
Minho just chuckles. “It’s cute, isn’t it?” He comments, looking at the plushie. “I just thought she might like it, you know? Maybe she’ll sleep with it, too, once she’s born,” Minho mumbles, once again placing the palm of his hand on your round belly.
“It’s cute,” you confirm, “I’m sure she’ll love it. Maybe we should sleep with it, so that it’ll have our scents once she’s born. It’ll make her feel safe.”
Minho smiles - a genuinely happy smile, and his eyes sparkle with joy. He nods, kissing your belly, hoping to feel his daughter kick one more time. She does. “I love you so much, sunshine,” he mumbles against your skin, “I can’t wait to meet you. We’re gonna have so much fun together, we’ll play so many games and go on lots of adventures - me, your mom, the cats and you, my baby.”
After a few more kisses and cuddles Minho gives to your belly, he lies down next to you on the bed, spooning you, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer as he buries his head in your neck. He kisses your shoulder, breathing in your delicate scent, holding the rabbit plushie close to your body, right on your belly.
“I’ll never thank you enough for this, you know that, right?” He mumbles, nuzzling your skin.
“Thank me for what?” You furrow your eyebrows, confused.
“All of this. For making me the happiest man alive, for carrying our precious and healthy baby girl. It’s pretty amazing if you think about it, isn’t it? There’s a life inside of you - our baby, our sunshine…”
“Minho…”
“I love you both so much, I can’t wait for our new life together to start.”
And all the pain you both went through is long forgotten now that he can finally fall asleep with you in his arms and his hand on your belly, dreaming of a future that, and he can’t put into words how happy he is, is just around the corner.
⛅︎
-> 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.
-> 𝐦𝐲 ☕️
828 notes
·
View notes
Dirt Bag (Daddy Loves You Part Two)
Yan!Step Dad Toji x Fem!Reader
Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @murderofravens
Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, rape/non con vaginal sex, rape/non con anal sex, heavy spanking, possessive tendencies, guns, death threats, pot references, degradation kink, Daddy kink, all characters are 18+
Master List
Part One
My Ask Box is currently closed while I catch up on requests. Thank you for your patience and understanding.
—————————————————————————
OR
You guys do not get along with each other AT ALL, and he takes this out on you by being petty as fuck. If you’re not going to be his good little girl, then he’s going to be stern as fuck until you can get your fucking shit together.
He tells you this every time you try to argue about curfew, every time he sees you’re about to go out dressed in those snug jeans and a crop top.
Honestly, he couldn’t give a fuck about what you wear, but he’s petty, so he’s going to order you to go back upstairs and change.
You got a problem with it? It just means he gets to spend more time keeping you at home while arguing with you. Argue too much and he might just pull out a wooden spoon and smack your ass with it a few times until you back out of his reach and shoot up to your room about as fast as a bottle rocket.
Damn. The power a wooden spoon holds, huh?
It makes him feel bigger than he already is.
But he isn’t in the mood to argue when he sees you walking inside with a boy. Neither of you get even five steps in when he rolls his eyes and stands from the living room couch. Fuck, work was hell. Killing for money today was just awful. Now he has to deal with you and some fucking idiot?
He pushes you towards the stairs, roughly. You fall on the fourth step on your ass, hitting your elbow on the hard wood.
“What the fuck’s up your ass, old man?!”
He doesn’t even bother with you as he fixes his eyes on the asshole in his doorway.
“Out,” is all he says as he points towards the screen door that just shut a few seconds ago.
“Whoa, man, who even are you?”
He looks stoned. Of course he looks stoned.
“I said-“ he grabs his gun, the same one he took on his mission earlier. “Out.” He cocks the gun and points it straight at the guy wreaking of pot. “Now.”
And that sobers him up pretty quick because he’s out the door in less than two seconds.
You watch your step dad put his gun back in his waistband, and you scream at him.
“Why do you ruin everything for me?!”
His eyes finally turn to you, dark and cold like a moonless sky. He grabs you by your jaw, pulling you in close while keeping your ass on the steps.
“I hafta protect you from scum like that because you’re a fuckin’ idiot.”
That’s the only reason he gives you as he tucks you under one arm, keeping you close to his hip.
“You kick, I’ll start spankin’ you.”
But you don’t listen to his warning, so you thrash and beat on his bulky thigh through his sweat pants, never relenting until a firm palm comes down on the pocket of your jeans.
You elicit a guttural cry from the impact, feeling fire blossom across the cheek he just smacked.
“Oh, you asshole! Fuck you, Toji- OW!”
It only gets worse from there. He walks to his bedroom that he shares with your mother, and as he walks, he roasts your ass. The jeans make you feel like you have zero protection because it just hurts so fucking much.
“Toji!” you cry out as he throws you on the bed, bending you like one of those art dolls made for posing.
He manhandles you onto your stomach, giving you your real punishment as he tears your jeans off of you.
“You’ve been a real bad girl, ya know that? Disregardin’ Daddy like a fuckin’ bitch.”
And it’s so much worse now to feel his hand, which could be just as bad as a belt, bite into your supple skin. You break down, snot dripping from your nose as tears spill over your lashes. You grip the shitty comforter, kicking every once in a while when the burn gets so bad that you just can’t control your limbs.
“Toji, stop!”
All he hears is a demand, and nobody orders Toji around. Especially not his dirt bag daughter.
It takes a while to get you there, but you finally lower your head in acceptance, submission as you murmur “please, please” while crying so terribly.
And Toji can’t help but palm the meat of your ass, the doughy flesh now sporting a horrible scarlet.
“Damn, that’s gotta hurt, hon,” is all he says as he massages your raw skin.
You hear rustling coming from the bedside before there’s a presence in between your legs. You’re quick to try to turn over, but one large forearm across your lower back keeps you right where he wants you.
“This is kinda yer own fault, ya know? Such a filthy little slut.” He impales you, splitting you with his piercing cock. “Damn. So fuckin’ tight. Who would’ve known? Thought you’d be loose with the way ya act and dress.”
You feel like your soul has left your body, not even hearing your own screams as your step dad fucks you on the bed he shares with your mom.
“Stop it! I hate you!” you wail as you pound your little fists into the pillow.
Toji coos at you. “Come on, hon, don’t be like that. Want me to fuck yer ass instead?”
The shock of his words still you, and you whimper and plead for him not to.
“Then tell me ya fuckin’ love me so much. Tell Daddy ya love ‘em.”
This is the sickest kind of “love” imaginable.
Gasping for air through a sob stuck in your throat, you feel your stomach roil as you repeat the words he wants to hear.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“Yeah? Yeah, love ya too, hon.”
The control he has over you is strangling as he bullies that little spot that has your hips bumping into the mattress. He reaches underneath you with one hand, supporting himself with the other. Just like that, he fiddles with your clit, pinching and twirling the puffy thing.
You stiffen as something builds and continues building until you just can’t keep still anymore. You let go of the tension, and Toji can feel your juices all over his thigh-slapping cock.
But Toji isn’t a nice man. No, Toji is a terrible man who kills people for money and fucks his dirt bag daughter until she breaks as a punishment.
He pulls out of your throbbing pussy and lets his wet dick nestle against your asshole. Your eyes widen when you feel him pushing inside.
“I told you I loved you!”
“Yeah, I heard ya. Daddy loves ya too, baby girl.”
He pumps deep inside of you, skin-on-skin contact so rough it sounds like clapping. Your freshly spanked ass so raw and bruised that you cry every time he pistons into you.
And finally, finally, the moment he’s been waiting for, you collapse into the bed in a heap of sobs and messy whimpers. Oh, it’s so good to watch you no longer hold yourself up on your elbows. With your face in the scratchy pillow case, he pulls you back by your pony tail and whispers the worst things into your ear.
“I’m all ya got, hon. Don’t worry. Daddy will take such good care of his baby girl. Yeah, no more bein’ bad for Daddy. Next time ya act up, Daddy’s gonna think you want it real bad in that cute little pussy and tight ass. Ya got me?”
And you’re so distraught you can barely respond, but you somehow find the capability to say, “Yes, Daddy!” because you fear what he might do if you call him anything else.
The laughs from above you confirms your suspicion that you made the correct choice in calling him “Daddy”. He pounds your fluttering little asshole, calling you “his bitchy little brat”, saying that you won’t be like that anymore though, telling you he’s going to be a lot more firm with you from now on because he doesn’t like the dirt bag you’re turning into.
And he’s starting with the friends and boys you hang around. Whispering in your ear that he’ll kill them all before he lets you officially turn into one of them.
You tighten up in fear, crying because doing that makes it worse for your poor, squelching hole. You nod along, agreeing with him for now.
And when your step dad is on the edge, he jizzes inside of your asshole, filling you up. When he pulls out, he’s fascinated by his white hot come spilling out of you, dripping between your scarlet cheeks, disappearing between the folds of your pussy.
“Atta girl. Knew ya could take it.”
A final clap of appreciation to your sore bottom has you sobbing a fresh round of tears.
He rolls his eyes and rubs your back, pulling you in close to him as he lays his head on the pillow. What’s even worse is that you’re so tired you actually fall asleep on his chest.
586 notes
·
View notes
hiii could i request a percy x daughter of zeus hcs? 🫶🏼 but my request would be that even though reader is crazy powerful she’s not at all what people would perceive as a “zeus kid” and is honestly laid back and just like percy
percy jackson x daughter of zeus!reader
summary: hcs about percy with a gf who's a daughter of zeus
when you first got to camp, percy was definitely thinking "not a daughter of zeus, that guy sucks ass"
yes he judges people he doesn't know, we all do
at first, the two of you could not get along with each other
constantly arguing
you definitely "accidentally" zapped him and he "accidentally" soaked you with water
you both had dish duty for a month and you got to know each other more
he was pleasantly surprised to find that you were nothing like your dad at all
like you were chill af and he was down w that
i think you two definitely still had your arguments because as children of the big three you were very impatient and easily angered, as we saw with thalia and percy
but you got through it (usually after having a duel)
always keeping each other on their toes
if there was another war, you two would be a force you wouldn't want to anger
camp halfblood now has scary dog privileges x2
the two of you train together all the time, but sometimes you get carried away
like, you'll be summoning big storms and shit and he'll like accidentally create a tsunami bc y'all are trynna strengthen your powers
you got yelled at and put back on dish duties for almost ruining the camp
if percy was feeling sad, you would take him by the water and create lightning in the sky in the shape of a heart
immediately makes him smile and he gets all happy and makes a heart in the water
you two are ALWAYS sleeping in each other's cabins
bc like
it gets lonely being strong and sexy and you just wanna feel each other's warmth through the night
i think because you two are children of the big three and you've been through so much, ur nightmares are so much worse
and sleeping in each other's cabins helps you two calm each other down
that's the only reason mr d and chiron let you do it
also, because they couldn't get you to stop no matter how many times they put you on cooking or dish duty
everyone at chb is scared of y'all....
like in heroes of olympus when the other povs show just how scary percy and jason are, i think it would also apply to you as a child of the big three
your dad does NOT approve of him
but neither of you care
poseidon likes you tho, hes a supportive king
you can fly but you're scared to take him with you because you think your dad will zap him right out of the sky
but he always takes you underwater
you guys go to his dad's palace underwater and you meet his tyson
tyson LOVES you more than anything
maybe even more than he loves percy
which is a LOT
you guys are always on quests together, but its fine nobody is really worried
they were when you guys first went on a quest together bc u two still didn't get along then
but now you do
so they know the quest will get done with EASE
y'all work together SO WELL now that you like each other
bc on ur first quest... oh lord..
we won't talk about that tho bc its CRAZY what y'all were doing to each other
but yeah, u guys work together so well and all the quests at camp get done with ease as long as you guys go together
in conclusion, y'all are just a power couple
596 notes
·
View notes
aren't we supposed to surprise you? l Charles Leclerc blurb
pairing: dad!Charles Leclerc x female reader.
you can find more of my version of dad Charles' here <3
summary: you somehow manage to overshadow Charles and Jo's gift.
Charles was an anxious man. Even more so since Josephine was born two years ago.
Yes, people laughed at him but he didn't care, he was going to sprint towards his daughter every time she took a wrong step and fell down, or his system would shut down whenever her lower lip trembled. Charles could communicate with his daughter through her eyes, they told him everything he needed to know in the meantime before she learned how to properly express herself.
They were an unstoppable duo, everybody knew that, but Charles was aware the reason both him and Jo could feel at ease and safe was you, and maybe he didn't remind you enough of that.
His mother and younger brother accompanied him to the various shops around Monaco, Pascale having to fight Charles to let her carry the stroll on the street, Arthur shaking his head at Charles' antics, playfully pitying his niece.
"I am going to make sure to take her to the worst tattoo parlors and pubs when she's older and then I'm showing you the images so you can die of a heart attack," Arthur teased his brother, earning a glare from Charles while being chastised by his mother, but the youngest Leclerc saw a smile on his mom's face.
Arthur winked at his niece and she giggled. Lorenzo had no chance of ever being the favorite uncle.
They entered different shops, not wanting to go for the typical jewelry and overly expensive designer clothing and accessories. No, Charles wanted to give you something you'd truly appreciate, something for you to relax and show yourself some love and distraction. Now it was turn for Arthur to carry Josephine while teasing his brother for being a simp.
A couple of books he thought you'd enjoy, different colored bath bombs, luxurious soaps and candles were some of the goods you were going to receive for Mother's Day.
Dad and baby Leclerc arrived got home greeted by the smell of coffee and some kind of pastry. It smelled like Charles' dream life; his life.
You smiled at Charles and gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking Josephine from his arms, your daughter babbling about papa and maman.
It was past midnight, Josephine sound asleep on her room after both you and Charles read her a short book in Italian, trying to accustom her to the language, all while you marveled at how Charles did the different voices and intonations.
Now it was just you and him in bed, his naked chest against your own skin, while his familiar hand found its place on your thigh, drawing shapeless figures, enjoying the peace of having you with him.
"I have to tell you something," You made sure to not make eye contact with Charles, hiding your face against his neck.
Charles chuckled with your reaction, "What is it and why are you hiding, bebé?" He tried to get you to face him.
"I know this wasn't planned or anything," you began talking but know Charles felt tears on his chest, it got him worried and helped you sit on the bed while assuring you whatever it was, you'd be able to find a solution.
"Babe, I'm two months pregnant," you announced and Charles placed his hand on his mouth in astonishment.
"No, in Bahrein?" Charles blurted out and a smile appeared on your face, of course that would be his first reaction as his brain processed the news.
You didn't know what you were expecting, maybe it was a problem because Josephine was still too young, maybe Charles didn't want another baby, you never really discussed it after Jo was born, but even in the dark his glossy green eyes were shining as his hand found its known place on your neck, his thumb softly caressing your cheek before lovingly kissing you.
those one of a kind kisses, the ones that were special and held so many emotions. neither of you could hide the smile appearing, only smiling at each other, Charles still caressing your cheek.
but suddenly he dropped his hand to your thigh, an unreadable expression on his face.
"But it's mother day and you're surprising me? No, I have this whole thing planned!" Charles protested and this made your eyes tear up, now it was your time to find his lips.
God, maybe it was time for a boy to mimic his dad.
2K notes
·
View notes
Too Sweet
Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader
A/n: hey guys so i may or may not take a writing break (i know i said i was gonna write more but like) the stress of all the nazi shits that keep plaguing my comment sections on every post i make, regardless if it’s political or not is making me wanna tear my head off… so I might just go away a while.
Warnings: fluff, awkward mentions of past relationships, dbf!joel, smut, piv (unprotected), so much teasing. It’s actually pretty cute guys.
Is anyone at all surprised by the song choice? Hozier has us all in a headlock rn… also this is dedicated to my favorite joel writer @macfrog bc she’s just amazing and you should read her work.
MASTERLIST
“Babygirl,” he breathed, pulling back but not away, his face still inches from your own. You could clearly see his blown pupils and focused expression. “Get upstairs.”
Though you wanted to tease him, wanted to quip back a quiet ‘or what?’, you needed him just as much, and you weren’t going to be told twice.
“Dates are a bad idea,” you reminded him, handing over another nail from the box in your hands.
A last minute kitchen Island was added to the kitchen’s floor plan on the current house the team had been working on, so now it was up to yourself and Joel to make that happen. Well, it was up to Joel to make that happen, and it was up to you to stand by and watch him.
“I know, s’just,” he shook his head, hammering the nail down and holding his hand up for another. “I don’t get the whole thing these days where relationships are built on hookups.”
Your lips turned up in a smile. He was an old fashioned guy, with old fashioned ideals about love and dating and relationships. It was sweet, albeit a little obnoxious. You rather liked hooking up with him, however little it may be.
“Where would we even go?” you saw how on the first hit, the nail went crooked, so you handed him another before he even reached.
“I don’t know, hadn’t thought that far.”
You had to laugh at that.
“You wanna take me on a date but you don’t know where we would go?”
“Well,” he finished the last nail then stood up next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “This ain’t exactly an easy situation, we got your old man to avoid.”
Very reasonable, but sort of an obvious point by now. This entire thing started based on the fact that: you know each other because of your father, as in, they are each other’s closest friend. Pair that with one man hooking up with the other’s daughter, it becomes a disaster waiting to happen… except for he doesn’t see it that way, and neither do you.
You sighed, looking around to make sure everyone was still outside with the boss. Joel had just wiped his forehead on his arm to rid himself of the sweat, and you could see the tension in his muscles from the work he just finished. You stepped up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to peck his lips once.
“If you can find a place where we won't get caught, then I’d love to go on a date with you.”
He smiled, kissing you again. He had wanted to tell you he was too sweaty for hugs right now, but as soon as you wrapped yourself around him, those thoughts suddenly left his mind. You just fit so well against him, he wonders how he never realized.
-
He was even older than you thought. Not actually, but this man had decided on a date location, and as you were pulling in, the things packed into the backseat started to make sense.
“Drive In movies?” You shouldn’t be surprised, the guy is practically a fossil, he even texts like he's still got a flip phone.
“Your dad’s never taken you here?” He chuckled, pulling into the line at the front.
“No,” you laughed, leaning back in your seat as the cars ahead moved up.
“Good, then we won’t run into him.”
You reached and grabbed his hand over the center console. He always gave two little squeezes before readjusting his grip, rubbing his thumb on the center of your palm. It was sweet, comforting.
He rolled down his window and paid the attendant in the booth, just a kid, probably still in high-school… but he certainly had an attitude on him, given the nasty glare he served Joel after making eye-contact with you. Joel had never let go of your hand, the kid knew he wasn’t your dad.
“What’d you tell him, anyway?” He asked, driving off towards the lot on the opposite side of the land. The big screen was not even rolling the trailers yet.
“Hm?”
“Your dad,” he seemed almost shy about mentioning your dad in front of you, in this context. How did you lie to him this time? But he knew what he was doing, what he’d been doing and still plans on doing.
“Told ‘im I was gonna go shopping with a friend, that I may or may not sleep over.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked, never taking his eyes off the road. He pulled into a spot in the very back corner, where it was likely to remain empty the entire duration of the movie.
“Oh did you, now?”
You turned a light shade of pink at admitting to him you wanted to sleep over… not like it was a new occurrence, but you hadn’t really asked him yet.
“I didn’t tell him for sure, I know Sarah-”
“Sarah’s with Tommy at a concert in Dallas,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt and turning off the engine. “Text your dad, let him know that friend of yours is keepin’ you till tomorrow.”
He got out of the truck, walking around the front to open your door, holding his hand out to help you down. Ever the gentleman.
“Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, walking around the backseat door and helping him unload the piles of blankets he’d managed to stuff in. The man practically emptied the top shelf of his linen closet for this.
“Anything for you, M’lady.”
He ended up taking almost everything into his arms, letting you carry one pillow and a single blanket towards the back of the truck. Normally it was all dusty and gross, proof of the work it helped him do. You wouldn’t even have noticed, because you don’t often pay attention to the state of other people’s truck beds, but he had cleaned the whole thing out, making it look as if he’d just brought it home from the dealership… minus the odds and ends of dents from his toolbox and timber.
���What’s playin’?” You nodded up to the screen as he took the pillows and blankets, tossing them across the truck bed to make a cozy little area for the two of you.
“It’s uh…” he reached into his pocket, checking the nightly double stubs. “Jaws and E.T., it’s a Spielberg double feature.”
You don’t remember telling him that Spielberg was your favorite director, but maybe he was just already at that place where he could read your mind… or maybe it was just a coincidence and he thought that the throwback double feature at the drive in would be fun. Either way, he hit the nail right on the head.
“Sounds good to me.”
When everything was settled just the way he wanted, he turned to you, his hand out towards the blankets. “After you, darlin.”
You tried to step up on the tailgate, but your foot slipped for how high it was.
“Want me to give you a toss?” He joked, but you rolled your eyes at him. You would not be acquiring his help after that joke.
“I’ll be just fine, thank you.”
It may have been embarrassing, but like hell you were gonna give into him, his chuckles of amusement under his breath as you slowly and steadily climbed up by yourself. It was much harder to grab onto the dip in the bed when there were so many blankets spread out. Eventually you made it up, collapsing onto your back into the mound of bedding.
“First try,” you raised a fist in the air, looking back to him to see his amusement had not ended and he was smiling wide where he stood, arms crossed and brows raised when your eyes met. “You comin’?”
And as easily as he could walk, he used the ridge along the underside of the tailgate to climb up over on the side, sitting down next to you and giving you a light hearted side eye. “See how easy that was?”
“Oh yeah, sure. You must be so proud, you’re a pro at climbing into your own truck.”
He laughed, laying back beside you. “Baby, I think anyone looks like a pro compared to you.”
“Maybe I’m just more athletically inclined, wanted to take the long way,” you chided, sitting up onto your elbows and looking over at him. The trailers had started running, and the light was hitting his features so nicely. He looked so nice. You could argue that he always did. At work when he was a sweaty mess, he looked real good then, too.
“I’m sure that’s it.”
He settled against the pillows, nodding his head upwards for you to join him. He brought you near with open arms, one that settled under your shoulder and the other that settled on your waist. You’d tucked your head under his chin, feeling him rest his head on top of yours.
You both had fucked around, sure… but this was a little slice of heaven right here. No amount of sneaking around or giving each other temporary pleasure beat the simplicity of laying next to one another, breathing in each other’s air, and being on a date. A real one. It wasn't a hasty exchange built upon needing to get off, but a choice to spend genuine time together, in which you receive nothing but the pleasure of one's company.
You couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date. Joel was right, hookup culture had become too strong in this day and age. It stands to reason that you haven’t actually slept with anyone in a while. You like being asked out, but guys your age don’t exactly want to give you that satisfaction. Joel asked you out. Sure, he fucked you silly on the stretch of his fingers only a week ago… but he still asked you out.
Jaws ended sooner than you thought it would. Back when you were a kid, and afraid of sharks, it seemed much longer of a movie. There was a lull between it and E.T., assuming the kid working in the projection tower had to change out the film roll himself. It made for a sweet and quiet conversation that sparked up as soon as the credits rolled.
“You bring a lot of girls here?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, even though it was meant as a teasing question.
“Nah,” he said anyway, turning a bit more to face you. “Usually, I don’t have to hide from my girlfriend’s dads. Not since highschool, anyway.”
You almost didn’t catch it. His use of the word girlfriend, which subtly implied that’s what you were… but you weren’t one to assume, or at least, not with Joel and the risky business of your relationship. You laced your hand with his between your bodies, looking down at his fingers while you did your best to recover the conversation without acting awkward.
“The more I think about it, I’m not so sure my dad would be angry.”
Joel wished he had the mindset to think that way.
“You kiddin’ me? If your dad found out I’d been messin with his only daughter, I’d get his shotgun to my head.”
A laugh escaped your lips, but you shook your head.
“You’re not just messin with me, though…”
At least, you hoped he wasn’t. Of all things that could be said about you and Joel, it was that you had already gotten attached. Already been to a place where you miss seeing him at work every day when you go home. Miss talking to him and learning more about his life, and having him listen about yours. There have been so many people in your life who told you that you talk too much, or that you never shut up. But Joel never has. He listens, and he’s happy to. You’d hate to lose that one day and never get it back.
“No,” he lifted your chin so you’d meet his eyes again. “I’m not just messin with ya.”
You held his stare for a moment, neither of you leaned in. It was just a nice moment, to look at one another, and to appreciate what you saw. A moment to see that hey, Joel has little flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes. A little moment for when you get sad that he isn’t around, that way you can remember how he looks at you when he is around. It’s something mixed with longing and contentment. Two opposites that somehow come together on his features and tell you more than his words could ever say.
“Good,” you finally replied. “In any case, my dad won’t shoot ya. I think he loves you too much.”
He laughed, the low rumble vibrated through his chest, and you felt it against your joined hands.
“You don’t suppose I could woo him over too, huh?”
“I don’t think your charm would sway him as easily.”
“Oh I got charm, now?”
“No, not really… nice ass, though,” you giggled, and he playfully shoved your arm back, causing you to fall into a fit of laughter on your back. “Just bein’ honest, mister.”
“I see how it is,” he pulled you back in with a swift move of his arm. “Only want me for my body.”
“What can I say? I’m a modern woman in a modern world.”
“S’all the same to me, whatever gets you to agree to a date with me. Still can’t believe you did…”
He says it half jokingly. You know he doesn’t see himself as desirable. Even though he’s in the prime of his life and is quite literally one of the finest men this town has to offer, he looks at the obstacles. He works too often, has a teenage daughter, he doesn’t look the way he used to, some people find him incredibly boring… but only the worst people.
“Joel, I'm lucky to be on a date with you.”
“Yeah, sure… s’not like you ain’t got a hundred guys your age lining up behind me to-”
You kissed him. He was not going to be permitted to speak if he was not going to say nice things about himself, a new rule you were establishing. He didn’t seem to care much for the rest of his sentence after you pulled away, the words slipping from his mind the second your lips touched his.
“I like you,” you told him, making your intentions very clear to him. You weren’t just messing around, either. “You treat me better than all those shitheads, anyway.”
-
You’d been passing in and out of consciousness on the drive home. You’d been up since the crack of dawn this morning, the neighbor’s dog barking incessantly. You’re sure Joel heard it too, unless of course he’d been laying on his good ear, the bad one would have canceled out all the noise.
The streetlights go by in waves over your eyes, lids closed lightly after each time they flutter. You were curled so sweetly into the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, finding such comfort in the place. You’d have thought it was where you spent most of your time. His hand was on the edge of your knee the whole drive, rubbing small circles over the area.
By the time you both had gotten home, you had to scan the yard for signs that your dad may be in the near vicinity. He was usually never home on a Friday night, unless there was a Rangers game or if he had company. It made sense that his car was gone when you both pulled up.
“You text him, yet?”
You shook your head, pulling your phone out of your back pocket and completing the task meant for three hours ago.
“It’s only ten, he might be at the bar, still.”
You didn’t over explain anything in your message, no need to make him question your thoroughness. Just something simple and quick.
Staying over at Amy’s, I’ll be back before lunch. Drive safe.
But then you immediately deleted the last part. Because how would you know he’s still out?
Joel had cut the engine, getting out and walking around to meet you at your door, except you’d already opened it and stepped out yourself.
He gave you an unserious look that feigned offense.
“Hey now,” he settled his hands on his hips, the sass evident in his voice. “We’re still on a date, miss. I’m supposed to get the door.”
You knew he wasn’t really upset, but you found it funny pretending as if he was.
“Modern woman in a modern world, remember?”
“Yeah,” he waved you off, shutting your door and taking your hand as you both walked up to the front door. “What all does that entail, anyhow? Bein’ a modern woman?”
You smiled, watching him take his damn time with the keys. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Well, since achieving the vote, we’ve made quite a bit of ground. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re allowed to work with you guys, now.”
“Ah… how did I miss that?”
“Weren’t looking hard enough. We also get to wear pants now, so I can see why you’re confused.”
And once the door was open, he lazily slung an arm around you to let you inside. Ladies first and all that. He didn’t actually respond to your last comment until you were both in the entry hall, door closed.
“Shame, I kinda like you without pants,” he hovered in close, partially teasing but otherwise just to get his body nearer to yours. The heat between you blossomed, and it could easily be sensed on both sides since leaving the truck.
“Mister Joel Miller, don't you know the best part of a modern woman?”
He raised his eyebrows, his head shaking once and eyes rolling over. Just say it already.
“We can ask any man we want to take our pants off.”
There was barely a second between your words and the speed of his lips meeting yours. It was different from the kisses at the drive in, now it was harsh and hungry. A stark contrast to the softness and the serenity. This was clouded by lust, by the human need to devour.
Joel was not gentle by nature. He was often brutish in his work and day to day. There were few people who genuinely saw him gentle. Sarah, Tommy, your dad, and you, his other side neighbors, and Carol, the lady who takes Sarah to school when he can’t. Maybe not in that exact order, but that was the list nonetheless.
You’d always seen him gentle, so the moment he backs you into the door, your back slamming on the painted wood, something stirs. You liked Joel how you knew him… but maybe there was other unexplored territory to delve into.
“Joel,” you whined out on the end of a breath. His name falling from your mouth was always how he preferred to hear it, but under this context had to be his favorite.
“Baby,” he trailed his kisses to your cheek, then jaw, then neck, resting in the crook of your shoulder and seemingly finding a home there. Your hands dove through his hair, tugging ever so gently and feeling the vibrations on your skin as a repercussion. His hands never found a resting place, running up and down your sides, every few seconds reaching down for a feel of your ass. He seemed to like yours, too.
When the arousal became too much, you tried your luck at rolling against him. The sound he made alone would have been enough for you to know how badly he wanted you, but the feel of him through his jeans was a physical show of it. He gets hard so fast for you.
“Babygirl,” he breathed, pulling back but not away, his face still inches from your own. You could clearly see his blown pupils and focused expression. “Get upstairs.”
Though you wanted to tease him, wanted to quip back a quiet ‘or what?’, you needed him just as much, and you weren’t going to be told twice.
He watched you from behind, taking the stairs two at a time until you reached the top. You nearly tripped over the last stair, but before you could go toppling over, his arm around your waist stopped you dead in your place.
“So damn clumsy,” he shook his head, the edge of a smirk forming. He tapped your hip with his free hand, getting you to move forward again until you got to his door. “Can’t get in a truck, can’t climb stairs…”
Now that he’d teased you first, you felt you had a small bit of free reign to mess with him. He was still gonna have you, but why make things so boring? You stared at the handle, gripping it, but making no move to twist it and open the door.
“Doorknob too much for you, too?”
You narrowed your eyes over your shoulder, where he was lingering closely. You could feel him pressed against your backside, the arousal evident in every breath he took, but he was still having fun with his little pokes of annoyance at you.
“I think I remember a rule about your room being off limits…” You trailed, cheekily smiling at him before he reached around you and opened the door himself. He held out his hand with a cocky raised brow, and waited for you to step in.
“Ladies don’t always have to go first, y’know. S’all part of-”
“Bein’ a modern woman, I know.”
But still you went in first, taking a few steps backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed and caused you to sit. You tilted your head at him, still leaning in the doorway, his hand on the frame above his head and his other hand still steadily on his hip. What’s he waiting for?”
“I ain’t gonna wait all night, cowboy…”
He chuckled, shaking his head and slowly coming forward. For someone so eager, he was taking his sweet time.
“You’re cute,” he gently pushed you back into the mattress, crawling one arm at a time over your form. “But something tells me that you would wait all night.”
He leaned down and met your lips with his, feeling your hands climb from the bed, to his shoulders, then to the sides of his face. He loved the feeling of your hands on him. Loved the way that with each pass of your skin against his, you began to learn the feeling of him as well. With one hand still supporting himself, his other raked down your side, then up over your middle, hugging the curves of your stomach, the stretch of your ribcage, and the gentle peaks of your breasts. He stopped there, paying mindful attention according to every sound you made, every groan of approval, or whimper of satisfaction. It was all he could hear, and became his instruction on how to touch you.
You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer between them, trying to spur on the friction that would give you relief. Joel knew the signs of your arousal clearly by now, but there was still ground for him to cover.
“Gettin’ so needy already, baby.”
His murmur against your mouth was interrupted. You whined at the loss of his lips, but were quieted in a moment when his hands trails downwards. He knelt one knee between your legs, the other still on the ground. He lifted behind your knees and gave a quick shove to drive you further up his mattress. His next move was to go for your shorts, given the fact they’d been causing him to mentally strain himself all evening.
“Gotta get these damn things off,” he said.
They went flying to the floor, and then he had to stop a minute. With your knees raised, either side of his hips, he had the most ethereal view of your soaked underwear, a dark and increasingly wet stain against the soft blue cotton. When you noticed how long he’d stopped to enjoy the scenery, you grabbed his hand on your knee.
“Joel, please-”
“I know, babygirl.”
And he didn’t make you beg for it. Not like the silly college boys would, and have in the past. He sunk down on the ground by his bed, leaning over on his elbows, hooking them under your legs again before pulling himself inward. He kissed over the wet fabric, hooking his fingers underneath it at your sides and slowly sliding them off.
Your hands found his hair and your mouth parted in a shaking breath. The slow contact he made was like sweet torture. Your skin arose goosebumps under his touch, agonizingly slow and increasingly annoying, given your absolute need for him.
“Need you… Joel I can’t- fuck.”
He kept it slow, but he licked upward, meeting your clit in devastating motions. You needed more, and as if he read your mind, his first finger was brought down and inserted to your seeping entrance. Your cries of approval met her ears like a happy melody, pushing him to go faster.
You’d already been pushing the edge, just from him touching you… but now that the contact was area specific, you weren’t sure if you could take much more. The hard feeling of him pressed against your earlier had seeded a thought that you would not be satisfied until he was inside you, heavy and full.
“Want more,” you tried to tell him, but he would not allow his feasting to be cut short. He’d made up his mind about the first time he would actually have sex with you. It wasn’t going to be rushed.
He shook his head, the sensation from the motion even more impacting. You took one hand away from his hair, fisting his sheets as tightly as you could.
“Gotta work you a little,” he pulled back to say, adding another finger to the mix, feeling you tightly around him. He climbed back up your body, hand never leaving its place between your legs. “Relax for me, yeah?”
You did your best, taking a breath and keeping your eyes trained on his, but they soon fell to his mouth, lips licked clean and the very corners covered with you. It somehow flipped a switch in you that you weren’t sure was good or not. Joel was the first man to go down on you. Joel was the first man to kiss you without immediately putting his tongue in your mouth. Joel was the first man to be so invested in your relationship, that he asked you out on a date… after you messed around. It stands to reason that Joel may be the first man you genuinely fall in love with. Not puppy love like in high school. Not conditional love based on what he can get out of it. Actual love.
You dawn on this realization quickly, still in the moment and feeling his every move, every grip of his hand or every curl of his fingers. It’s all so instant, and in your present state of mind. Like, every time he moves an inch, it somehow contributes to your relative thought.
“Joel?” you look up at him with glassed over eyes.
He pauses his movements below on account of how sincere you sound.
“Yeah?”
It’s not I love you… not yet. It’s I know you, it’s going to be you.
You reach down between your bodies, his fingers still sheathed in yours, and palm him generously. Without losing eye contact, you undo his jeans, doing your best with one hand to maneuver the waistband of his boxers and pull him from his confinement. You aren’t looking yet… but you know from the feel of his sheer size alone, you’re in for the pain of your life. It bothered you last time, the thought that he may break you on his girth, that you may feel differently or resent him from how he feels… except you don’t feel that way anymore. Because of your aforementioned realization, you now feel that though this may hurt, it would not change your desire for him. He’s not a boy who’s hurting you to get off. He cares about you.
Not just messin’ around…
“You’ve made me wait long enough,” you told him, the awestruck glaze in your eyes slowly fading as your smirk crawled over your face. You grabbed the hem of his shirt, allowing him to help you get it off. Seeing more of his skin, and feeling it against you when he settled back down was elating. It felt like the doorway to something, the hallway leading to reward.
“Baby, you’re still tight, I don’t wan-”
“I’ll be okay, I promise.”
He sighed, trying to look anywhere but your eyes because dammit they were convincing.
“I hurt you, you tell me. Promise that,” he looked at you sternly, and you can’t say you’ve ever seen him so serious like this alone with you. He almost seemed, for lack of a better word, scared. Like you were a flower petal he was afraid to touch for the fear it would fall from the blossom.
“Promise.”
He nodded, smiling weakly, still unsure but willing to let you lead him blindly.
He picked you up and put you down on the proper region of the bed, your head meeting the pillows behind you. You giggled at his rapid motions to strip you of your shirt and bra next, his pent up anticipation now getting the better of him. He’d kicked off the last of his remaining clothing, looking back to you, sprawled out on his bed, waiting patiently for him.
“If we’re gonna do this, we’re doin’ it right,” he joked, crawling back over you.
He nuzzled his nose against yours, then leaned down to collect a kiss. The kiss met your lips but then parted and moved to your neck, then shoulders, licking the sweet spot in the crook between them. He traveled down your chest, his kisses never stopping, although his hands paid special attention to each peak of raised flesh.
Your noises fell on grateful ears, the appreciation for them showing in every eager kiss, every soft grope of your skin. When he reached your lower region, he kissed both thighs apart, lifting one at a time and making sure they were set aside his hips comfortably. Once done, he kissed his way back up. Tentative, and slow. Joel is often strong and silent, and in this instance, it showed immensely. The way he can easily move parts of you around without hassle, and do so without uttering a word. It was dangerously addicting, how he already knew your body so intimately after only a few experiences.
Once his lips again found yours it lasted, and lasted. The feeling of him right against you was breathtaking. No barriers, no clothing, no promises of ‘another time’ between you.
“You let me know, alright?”
You nodded, his voice had become gentler from his first worrisome words minutes ago.
He kept his eyes on you, trying to gauge your reaction moment by moment. You wrapped an arm over his shoulder, holding the hairs at the back of his neck to ground yourself. He lined himself up to you and ever so slowly began to push in, holding himself after the first sharp intake of breath through your nose.
“M’okay,” you said assuringly, the sensation dulling slightly when you focused solely on him and not his actions.
He went further, and deeper, slower than sludge but making sure you could feel every inch comfortably before moving again. You twirled his hair between your fingers, the other hand digging nails into his side. His face, eyes still focused on your expression, was becoming the product of bliss. This entire exchange, the build up, the stretching pain, and the way your lungs couldn’t seem to exhale, was all worth it… just to see this look on his face. The way he was having to fight himself to stay in the moment and not get lost in the euphoria, it was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him. When he was dazed and confused just by feeling you around him.
“You gotta breathe, baby,” he let out, trying to keep your comfort in the forefront of his mind. He took a deep inhale of his own, and when he felt you following his steady pattern he was able to relax a little more, just like you did. “Atta girl, just like that… keep doin’ that.”
He started to move, a single thrust once he could be sure that there wasn’t any stiff pain. The only sting left over was fading, the slow and measured pace he set was becoming like a lifeline. Comparable to a heartbeat. In and out, in and out, the feeling becomes more pleasurable and addictive. You need a heartbeat to live, and in this moment, you need Joel to live, his easy and gentle pace.
“S’good,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering closed and his head dropping to your neck again. “Feels so deep.”
Joel bit down on your skin, tethering himself. The praise was something he wasn’t quite used to. He’s self deprecating to a fault, but hearing the opposite from your lips, which he adores, makes him feel stronger somehow. Keeping a tether is all he can do to keep from rutting against you. He wants so badly for you to be different, to not end up just a one night stand or a friend with benefits. He wants you to feel how much he cares about you, wants to take care of you.
“Doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered, your neck absorbing most of the sound. “Taking me, so tight.”
Your muscles started contracting the moment he sped up his rhythm, only one thrust that was different from the rest. It hit you so fast, the coil in your stomach, building up and aching for relief.
“Joel… shit,” You could barely even get your words out, interrupted by a whimper of white hot euphoria. “I’m gonna…”
“I know,” he growled, his desire to rut into you slowly fading as he increased his pace to meet that carnal need. “I feel you, baby. Give it to me.”
It built only a little more, but then you couldn’t take it. It was too much, too full. The tightness in your stomach burst, letting go of every tense muscle in your body. It was so intense you practically screamed for him, his name a repetitive mantra on your tongue. Joel. Your hips jolted and writhed around, the feeling increasing with every hit against your cervix. Joel. Your walls tightened even more around him, the sting only slightly returning but in a way that made you crave it. Joel. He came right after you, unable to even try pulling out, just for how tightly you held him in. Joel…
He dropped half his weight, pulling away from your neck to kiss your lips. He needed to. It didn’t feel right to stay hidden in your neck when he had such gratification for you right now. The way you made him feel was no simple thing, and he felt you needed to be thanked for that. If a kiss was all he could give you in the moment, then so be it.
Joel…
“I’m sorry,” he let out, leaving his forehead against yours.
“For what?”
“I came in you… I didn’t ask,” he furrowed his brows, hoping you wouldn’t begrudge him too badly. He’d say he got lucky when you pulled him back down for another kiss.
“It’s okay… wanted you to,” you were still coming down from your high, possibly the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. He smiled and kissed you again, and again. He shifted the way you both laid, on his side, and brought you close to his chest.
When your breathing went back to normal, you spoke again.
“I was scared, y’know.”
He looked closely at you, unsure of what you meant and why.
“I thought you might hurt me. I didn’t care if you did, but I still thought you might,” you told him, running your fingers in circles over his skin. Though you seemed in bliss, perfectly happy, he couldn’t help but be frightened that maybe you weren’t telling him.
“Did I? Hurt you?”
“No.” you shook your head, holding a smile and making sure he saw it was genuine. “You didn’t hurt me, it was good. Really good. No other guy has ever…”
He again was confused by the trail of your voice… no guy has ever…? Oh, shit.
“No other guy’s made you come before?”
The embarrassed blush on your cheeks told him all he needed to know. You weren’t sure why it was so awkward to let him find that out, but you suddenly felt like you were more of a child, having not experienced things that he has for years before.
“No one before you… and you’ve already got four on the board,” you laughed, trying to make it feel like it wasn’t as big a deal. Like it was funny.
He narrowed his eyes, raising his head up to look at you closer.
“Ranger’s night, last week, tonight… that’s three,” he corrected, counting out on three fingers and holding them up.
“You technically weren’t there the other time,” you smirked, giggling once he looked at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.
“Should’ve called me,” he kissed the tip of your nose, your smile still prominent and growing. “I love hearing you.”
Over his shoulder you heard his phone buzzing, once, twice, then three times. He huffed, hoping it wasn’t from someone at the work site that wasn’t able to lock up the property after reviewing.
“Hold on,” he rolled his eyes, turning just far enough to reach his jeans on the ground, pulling his phone from the pocket. He squinted against the harsh light, swiping through the message notifications that appeared when he unlocked the screen. He laughed, turning to you. “S’ your dad.”
“It’s late, I would have thought he was either drunk or asleep by now.”
“Apparently neither,” he slid his phone back on the nightstand, regaining you in his arms. “Wants to know if I’m still awake for a drink.”
You laughed, “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Not sure if you’ve heard but, you’re actually at a friend’s house till tomorrow.”
“How fun for me… so that means a guy’s night for you and my dad?” You played along with him, the sweet tone in your voice turning teasing.
“It would… too bad I’m already asleep.” He reasoned, which is probably what he would repeat to your dad tomorrow if asked.
“Damn, you old men go to bed early.”
“Hey now… let’s not go crazy.”
-
tags: @justanothersadperson93@moonchild-warrior@hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof@untamedheart81@just-someone-broken@joelalorian@xybil @yvonneeeee @anoverwhelmingdin@theatrelove3000
313 notes
·
View notes