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gutsby · 3 months

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Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he��d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

#NO ONE SPEAK TO ME FOR AT LEAST A WEEK #THIS IS DISGUSTING #I AM DISGUSTING #DO NOT PERCEIVE ME PLEASEJE HAHAHAHAH #brain rot ❤️#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

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captivemuses · 9 months

Note

Also reminder ily

I love you tooooo <3

#ooc #hope work is going okay hon

0 notes

crownedhopelesss · 11 months

Text

@jeremydied liked for a starter.

ALL SAMMY WANTED TO do was let off a little steam. things have been tense, especially between the both of them, because of the intense pressure that was thrust upon the both of them. sammy was never one to get things done in a timely and orderly fashion. she took each day just like that; one day at a time. and tonight was a night where she wanted to let loose. it didn't seem like jeremy was on board with the same spontaneity. she had ordered two tequlia shots with a lime wedge for the both of them, excited once the bartender had slid them to her. she takes both and turns to face him in her stool, music blaring, she leans in and smiles, extending out his shot. she laughs, ❛ let's pour one out for the big guys down below, am i right ? ❜ and before she takes her, she notices the slight disgruntled attitude jeremy was presenting. she leans back, taking his shot with her. ❛ damn, jer, what's up your ass ? i'm just trying to ---- never mind, forget it ❜ she scoffs softly under her breath. she proceeds to take one then the second shot back to back and sucks on the lime wedge. ❛ i'll leave you alone and see you in the morning, i guess.... ❜ she trails off, getting up from her stool and sliding cash to the bartender. she felt bad for forcing jeremy to come out tonight but she didn't want to let this spoil her night of fun either. it was supposed to be their free time and if jeremy wants to spend it mopping around, that's his prerogative.

#i hope this is okay hon!! lmk if not and i'll write something else for ya!! also u can reply w gifs or icons!#jeremydied #jeremydied: sammy #( sammy speaks. )#( closed starter. )

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mclqren · 19 days

Text

BALLERINA ★ LN4

PAIRING ✦ lando norris x fem!ballerina!reader

SUMMARY ✦ you play odette in the 'swan lake' ballet, and you manage to capture the attention of an f1 driver who has come to watch [ SMAU ]

WARNINGS ✦ cursing

REQUESTED ✦ here!

NOTES ✦ reader plays odette in the swan lake ballet, and is british. she’s good friends with carmen, george’s girlfriend. the fc i've used is pdm.clara, but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)

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liked by yourbsf, carmenmmundt, and 1,291 others

yourusername crazy to be beginning this journey, and this is only the start!! thank you to everyone who's supported me, can't wait to be odette 💗

view all comments

user1 you're soooo pretty!! 🩷

yourusername aw thank youuu!! 💗

user2 my family and i went to see it tonight and it was SO GOODD! ur so talented it's crazy ❤️

yourusername thank you sm, im so glad you enjoyed it!! 💗

yourbsf my best frienddd!! such a cutie fr

yourusername i love you so much its crazy 💗

carmenmmundt so pretty!!

yourusername love you carm 💗

landonorris

( caption one: tagging along + tags 🙄😘 )

yourusername

( caption one: behind the scenes 📸 | caption two: night two = over! absolutely insane 💗 )

imessages ( lando )

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt, and 2,008 others

yourusername life recently 🩰

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user3 you're so good in swan lake omg

yourusername thank you sm!! 💗

user4 I LOVE HERR

user5 okay lando norris in the likes hello??

user6 after he went to see the show with george and carmen as well?? this can't be a coincidence.

yourbsf my girl 🩷

yourusername foreverrr!

user7 im obsessed.

yourusername 💗

imessages ( lando )

imessages ( y/n )

landonorris

( caption one: in london for a bit! | caption two: fun times 😉 )

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, and 5,910 others

yourusername day off's been fun 📸

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user10 Y/N HAS A MANNN???

user11 STOP IT RN :(

user12 she's stunningggg

yourusername no you!! 💗

user13 she's such a sweetheart

user14 the pink flowers omg he knows ur fav colour

carmenmmundt i hope he's treating you right! 😘

yourusername so far so good 🤞

user15 ALL OF THE 2019 ROOKIES IN HER LIKES??

user16 oh she has to have a thing w lando.

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and 956,221 others

tagged yourusername

landonorris when your girlfriend's a ballerina who can cook (somewhat) 😱❤️

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user20 LANDO HARD LAUNCHING HELLOOO?

user21 DID NOT EXPECT THIS WOWWW

user22 SHE'S SO SWEET AW

user23 LANDO NORRIS BAGS A GIRL

alex_albon absolutely no one had faith in you but it's nice to see you managed to get her anyway! 😊

landonorris by no one do you mean you and george?

georgerussell63 we had zero faith in you but it's nice to see you got the girl of your dreams!

yourusername GIRL OF YOU DREAMS AWWW LANDOOO

landonorris LOOK AWAY Y/N

yourusername ur def punching w me but its okay! not everyone is as good a chef as i am 💗

landonorris im a great cook?

yourusername hon ur not fooling anyone

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt, and 13,810 others

tagged landonorris

yourusername when your boyfriend is an f1 driver who sleeps whenever he touches a soft surface 😘😘

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user24 AW THEY'RE SO CUTEEE

user25 the last slide LOOLLL

user26 she's feeding us w these lando crumbs!!

carmenmmundt if he ever treats you wrong im right here as a backup option x

yourusername ur on speed dial dw x

georgerussell63 hello???

carmenmmundt on a more positive note DOUBLE DATE TIME WOOHOOO

lilymhe plot twist TRIPLE DATE TIME

yourusername I CONSENT YES

alex_albon they've met already oh dear

landonorris isnt this fun!

landonorris the last pic 🤨🤨

yourusername i had to include a picture to fit my aesthetic 💗

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ghostedcas · 7 months

Note

imagine like simon goes into some sort of surgery and has to be put under anesthesia, and when he gets out hes like still high asf on it 💀 and hes being a lil silly goose

okay this is such a cute idea omg, this is 100% based off that tiktok audio where it's like "my wife wouldn't like you touching me like that" "i AM your wife."

thank you so much for the request nonnie, a forehead kiss for you MWAH MWAH

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 563

warnings: none really, lots and lots of that good ol fluff, mentions of surgery, goofy simon, maybe a little ooc simon (he's high so it's fine)

a/n: i hope this is okay, i'm feeling a bit rusty with my writing but i've finally got back some motivation and energy to do so after the past two months of low energy and bad mental health. if you guys want to know a bit more about it and my mental health (i don't see why anyone would but lmao) let me know, i don't mind making a post about it if you guys want an explanation of some sort or whatever. anywho, sorry this is so short but i hope you still like it!! <3

a/n 2.0: i recently applied for a part time job at a bookstore so y'all pray for me that i get this job because i want it so bad. i am just gonna decide that i WILL get this job, because why wouldn't i?

simon had been out of surgery for just over an hour now, being a soldier you 'd think perhaps he was going under surgery for some kind of wound he had inflicted upon him on the battlefield but no, he was just getting his tonsils removed after a bad bout of tonsillitis ended up with him developing really bad tonsil stones.

so here you were, waiting by his bedside for him to wake up. the doctor and nurses reminded you just as he had gotten out that he may still be a little, well loopy, off of the meds depending on how quickly he woke up. you waited in a chair at his bedside, reading a book when you heard the blankets of the bed rustling just a little.

looking up from your book you see simon starting to wake up and you reach out to grasp his hand, only for him to rip it away from you when his eyes were fully opened.

"uh, si? you okay, hon?" you ask gently, maybe he just wasn't feeling too well after waking up, or perhaps he wasn't wanting physical touch, that happened quite often and you always respected that space he may want when he wanted it.

"don't call me that." simon said, voice hoarse and scratchy from the surgery, he sounded a little angry.

"what?" you questioned, this wasn't like simon, you couldn't understand why he wouldn't want you speaking like this to him.

"i'm taken."

"i know." you replied with a short laugh.

"you should be touching me like that then."

it hit you then, he was woozy from the meds and didn't recognize you. the realization made you laugh a little more. you decided to have a bit of fun with this high version of your boyfriend.

"sorry about that simon. wanna tell me about your partner?"

"oh, (name)? they're amazing, you know they're so pretty. and they're funny too. they always know how to make me feel better, i miss them." simon replies, ranting and raving on and on to you about his partner, about you.

"you love them a lot, don't you?" you ask him with a smile, it felt so nice to hear all these lovely things about yourself, your boyfriend clearly unfiltered by the effects of the anesthesia he was under.

sure he definitely said sweet things to your face, but something about hearing it when he was basically high as shit made your heart pound a little more.

"i love them with my whole heart." simon replies, a goofy little smile on his face.

you can't help but reach out to gently caress his face at those words, body filling up with some much adoration for the soldier in front of you.

"hey! what did i say about touching me. i have a partner!" simon scolds, trying to dodge your touch.

"simon, love... i am your partner. it's me, (name)." you reply with a laugh.

simon takes a good long look at you when you tell him this, he stares at you, looks you up and down before letting out a soft and quiet "oh."

you begin to hear the beeping of his heart rate monitor speed up, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he stares up at you.

you couldn't help but laugh a little more at this. what a sweet idiot. your sweet idiot.

#ghostedcas #casper writes #casper's 💌#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fluff #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader fluff #ghost riley x reader

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sturncrazy · 3 months

Text

SECRET KINK

Chris Sturniolo x y/n (fem!)

(anyone else = green)

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT!!NSFW 18+

this is from a request for a breeding kink soooo!! hope u enjoyyyy🫶🫶

(breeding kink…obvi, no protection, pet names, praise, lang, and light mentions of drinking at beginning)

authors note: GUYS!!! sorry it’s been a fucking MINUTE!!! schools been whopping my ass but i’m back babyyyyyy!! and to the baddie that sent in a request lemme say girl don’t apologize for being into the breeding kink stuff cause i think it’s hot too🫶💋

word count: 3,112

—————————————————————————

“here❤️” you texted chris,

pulling your car into the driveway.

“doors open❤️ the boys are still here, dw they’ll head out in a bit”

“nw! i wanna say hi” you checked your makeup in your mirror. you and chris had been dating for almost a year and you spent a chunk of the week sleeping at each others houses. chris had been having a “boys night” with his brothers and their friend, and you could hear their voices shouting over video games as you walked in the door.

“hi boys!” you said entering the living room. you were received with a serises of enthusiastic grins, but none of them seemed able to budge from their game. you walked up to chris and gave him a kiss on top of his head.

“hi beautiful” he grinned at you briefly

“hi hon—ooh! can i have one?” you asked, glancing at the table full of beer cans.

“yeah of course! help yourself” chris said, returning his focus back to the game.

“oh man fuck you” said nate, throwing down his controller in defeat. you chuckled and snagged yourself a can out of the fridge. nate fussed around the coffee table, already bored.

“what’s this” he said, holding up a card game box.

“some shit we got as PR, but it’s a drinking game i think? don’t know, we can’t exactly post about it” chris said, momentarily glancing up from his video game. nate unwrapped it and flipped through the deck.

“damn these are crazy” he said, his eyes going wide.

“really?” matt said, clearly uninterested.

“yeah like, just straight up asks your body count or take a shot”

“ooooo how improper” you mocked. nate gave you the finger, kiddingly.

“read me one. i’ll be the judge of how fun the game actually is” the video game was becoming increasingly boring to watch

“okay, tough guy” nate said, skimming for a better card. his eyebrows raised, apparently landing on one

“what’s the craziest kink you have? drink half your drink if you don’t answer” you sucked in your lips, and raised your can to your mouth.

“oooooo” nick chimed in

“bet chris already knows that one” nate said, slapping chris on the shoulder. chris laughed, his tongue folding over the front of his top teeth forming a cocky expression.

“nuh uh, you couldn’t waterboard that shit out of me” you snorted. chris shot you a curious look.

“weird game, probably meant for horny high schoolers” you quickly tried to end the conversation and settled down on the couch next to chris, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and your fingers into his hair. he smiled up at you and gave you a kiss on the cheek, which resulted in him getting killed off in the game.

“aw shit” he muttered

“sorry babe” you chuckled

“YES! FUCK YEAH! I WIN!” nick yelled moments later, while matt chucked his remote half across the room.

“who’s playing me again?” nick asked, eager for another victory.

“not me man, i gotta get home and get some sleep” nate stretched.

“i can give you a ride” matt said, reaching for his car keys

“sweet. alright, bye brotha” nate said, pulling chris in for a half hug

“bye, y/n” he continued, tussling the top of your hair in a familial way.

“night, nate!” you laughed out as he and matt headed for the door.

“wanna get to bed soon? i’m pretty wiped out” you said turning to chris

“yeah sure thing. i just need to shower” he smiled up at you.

“let’s head downstairs” he patted your leg, urging you to stand up and took your hand, leading you to his room in the basement.

“night nick!” you shouted out

“uh huh” he half answered, clearly engulfed in another game. you followed chris and padded down the steps to the lower level. chris had claimed this floor his and had done a nice job with it, particularly since you helped. it was cozy and felt secluded. plus, the privacy of being two floors from where his brothers slept was an added bonus. you flopped onto chris’s bed and reached for the tv remote.

“cool if i take a shower now?” he asked, you nodded

“okay…better not be asleep when i get out” while chris was in the shower you snagged one of his old t shirts and tossed it on as a nightshirt. your eyelids were just growing heavy, when you heard his bathroom door pop open. chris walked out in plaid pj pants, shirtless, rubbing a towel against his damp hair. he looked effortlessly hot—enough to wake you back up. he gave you a smile

“i love seeing you in my clothes” you continued to stare dumbly at his body, you’d never get over the sight of him.

“you fallin asleep?”

“well now i’m up” you said dramatically giving him a once over, eyes wide.

“little freak” he mumbled, bending over you to give you a kiss.

“dick” you teased, shoving him playfully. he crashed down on the bed next to you. you moved your head to his bare chest. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you close, before speaking against the top of your hair

“hey speaking of you being a freak”

“oh?” you laughed shooting him a look.

“was nate right that i’d know your answer in that game?”

“well…” you struggled for words a moment too long, chris caught on and pulled back to look you in the eyes. his mouth ajar in a shocked smile

“WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?! cmon y/n you have to tell me”

“what?? no way! nope!” you shook your head vigorously

“what? that’s so not fair. why not?”

“cause…i dunno it’s embarrassing. nuh uh” you felt your face begin to flush.

“we’ve had sex like a million times. and you’re telling me THIS is embarrassing?!”

“okay well that stuff is different”

“what stuff”

“like…fantasy…y’know?”

“oh so you’ve had FANTASIES you’re hiding from me” nothing you were saying was deteriorating chris’s curiosity.

“well no not fantasies but like stuff i’d never ACTUALLY do”

“you’re killing me here please TELL ME”

“NO!” you dragged the word out and rolled into a ball away from him, laughing. chris clamored on top of you and rolled you onto your back, pinning your arms down on either side of your head forcing you to look at him

“tell me right now i swear to god” he said smiling down at you, his still wet hair brushing against his eyes. you hated to admit the way he was holding you down was already turning you on.

“you’re gonna think i’m weirddd” you whined

“no i WONT! i promise” he let go of one wrist and offered you his pinky. you locked yours with him and widened your eyes

“you SWEAR you won’t judge me”

“cross my heart hope to die”

“you’re an idiot”

“just TELL ME”

“OKAY OKAY” you pushed him off you and sat up, facing him.

“but just to be clear, i’m not saying we’d ever like do it. i’m totally happy never doing this it’s just like a weird thing—“

“ehhhh whatever enough spit it out” chris said cutting you off. you rolled your eyes at his childish behavior and took a deep breath in.

“okay fine. i guess i’ve always kinda had a breeding kink?” you winced at your own confession. chris raised an eyebrow

“i mean i’ve never done anything to act on it, but like the idea of it is just hot to me…i know it’s weird”

“so is it just the idea of like not pulling out?” his tone was impossible to read and you felt your palms begin a nervous sweat, what if this freaked him out?

“no-well i mean— that’s a part of it yeah—but not just that, y’know?” chris nodded, taking in what you’re saying.

“but you’re on birth control right? like nothing would actually…?” he raised his hand, in gesture to what he meant.

“oh no, i guess it’s sorta more a role play thing? it’s not that i actually’d wanna get pregnant, just more the idea of pretending like that—i—it’s weird i know—sorry—“

“i don’t think so” he cut you off, shaking his head. you froze slightly

“you don’t?” he gave you a small smirk

“no, i get” you felt your heart beat heavily against your chest. he studied your face for a moment, the silence in the room drowned out by the obvious tension, before he suddenly broke out of it.

“so, what are we watching?” he asked lightly, lying back with his an arm behind his head and facing the tv. you felt a small wave of disappointment at the sudden shift, but went with it.

“oh i dunno, nothing looks great” you sighed, lying back down onto chris’s chest. he mumbled a response into the top of your head, his free hand softly brushing up and down your arm. you picked back up the remote and continued to flip through the screen. you landed on an old comfort show and before you knew it the conversation seemed like ancient history. chris eventually moved his arm from yours to around your waist. you raised a leg over his. your eyes flitted down to his fingertips where he was playing with the hem of his shirt you were wearing. he mustve noticed because he began to pull the fabric up higher, exposing even more of your barely covered lower half. you looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“what?” he chuckled

“whatcha doing there christopher”

“nothing” he mused, watching his own hands fumble with the shirt, the occasional bump of his cold fingertips against your skin sending little jolts through your body

“y’just look so sexy like this” he mumbled

“oh yeah?” his hands now lightly grazing your bare hip bone, the angle of your body being the only thing keeping you from behind entirely exposed.

“mhm. gets me all worked up”

“how worked up” you said in a innocent tone, looking up at him with doe eyes before sliding the hand your had from his stomach to his crotch. his eyes screwed shut and he let out a small hiss as your palm reached his already stiff clothed length. you scoffed lightly.

“hard for me already, huh?” you began to rub your hand against him, adding some pressure. chris squirmed under your touch, a faint groan escaping him. he nodded.

“aww poor thing. want me to help you out?” you said in a sweetly, palming his dick harder. he nodded his head, again, vigorously. you removed your hand to spit on it and he watched you wide eyed. you bit your lip in a smile, loving getting to see his face contort in desperation as you moved your hand down the waistband of his pjs. you wrapped your grip around his hard cock, it twitched against your touch and he let out an unsteady breath. you kept your eyes on him as you began to pump your hand up and down his length, watching him let out small moans and grasp at the sheets nearby.

“oh—fuck—“ chris sighed out. throwing his head back, his eyes rolling back into the sockets. his obvious enjoyment only made you want to hear more. you began to leave wet open mouthed kisses on his chest and moved down, slowly. his stomach flexed against each kiss and he whined against your teasing. you reached his waistband and looked up at him. he lifted his hips, allowing you to discard the pjs. his throbbing cock, still slick with your spit, slapped against his stomach. you returned your hand to wrap around the base of it and brought your lips to leave a sloppy kiss on its flushed tip. he shuddered before you began to lower down, sinking his dick into your mouth. you bobbed your head up and down, a trail of spit leaving your mouth. chris’s groans and curses filled the room in harmony with your occasional gags against his length. you felt one of his large hands reach for the back of your head. you tried to prepare yourself for him to push you further down, fucking your throat as he often liked to, but we’re surprised when he yanked your hair back, pulling you off of him. you looked up at him in confusion. he smirked and reached for your waist to bring you closer to him

“can’t cum yet baby” he lifted you onto his lap, his lips brushing yours

“don’t wanna waste any of it” he rasped against your mouth

“wha—“ you tried to question, as he wrapped an arm around your waist and tossed you onto your back. he pinned you, wrists by your head, and leaned down

“you heard me” he said cockily, before beginning to kiss you. you almost managed to fight for more answers, but chris began to grind his exposed rock hard dick up against your pussy and your mind went blank.

“oh—god—“ you moaned dumbly, raising your hips higher to meet his motion. his cock began to run up and down against your slick bare folds, brushing your clit repeatedly.

“such a good girl—so wet for me” he breathed out, the tip of his dick just barely adding pressure against your throbbing entrance. you heaved and thrashed underneath him. he kept your arms pinned and savored watching you become even more desperate.

“chris—please—“

he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, and slide his hands to lock into yours.

“you ready baby?” he rasped out, letting go of your hands. you nodded and moaned against him.

“good” he said with a kiss before beginning to slide himself deep into your core. you let out a whimper as the tip of his dick pressed up against your most sensitive spot. a groan tumbled from chris’s lips and his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your walls fully tightening around him.

“god you feel so good, baby” he mumbled, before pulling back out of you almost fully

“please—fuck me, chris—“ you almost cried out, your pussy aching for more.

“—i need it so bad”

“yeah? you need my dick, honey?” he said sweetly, smirking down at you. you whined again and nodded as he thrusted deep into you again.

“oh god—yes—“ your fingernails reached to latch themselves deep into the flesh of his shoulders as he began to find a steady slow rhythm in and out and in and out of your squelching wet core. Chris’s eyes scanned your face and body lying beneath him as he fucked into you. they landed on your stomach and he licked his lips at the sight.

“fuck—look—can see me inside you—“

sure enough, his hard length created a bulge against your stomach with each thrust deep into you. Chris lowered a hand to press against it. you bit your lip and sighed out, too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin and bit your earlobe lightly.

“can’t wait to fuck a baby into you” he hoarsely whispered

“what—“ you half moan out, still too consumed with pleasure to think straight

“you heard me, sweetheart—gonna fill you up and stuff your little pussy—you’ll look so pretty all full of my cum”

your stomach twisted and your heart raced. you couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan at chris’s words.

“you want me to give you a baby? huh, princess?”

“fuck yes—-please—“ you said, desperately. chris continues to slam into you, perfectly hitting where you needed him most. he gave you a passionate kiss before saying against your lips

“you gonna take every drop of my load, right?“

“yes chris—i promise—“

“such a good girl”

“don’t fucking stop—fuck—“

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna give your pussy all the cum it deserves” he started to pick up the pace of his even plunges into you and the sound of your skin slapping against his began to echo in the room.

“gonna get you all big and fat and pregnant. well make the prettiest baby in the world”

“oh god—feels so fucking good—“ you whimper

“you ready, baby? want my cum in you now?” chris groaned, breathlessly. you felt your walls tighten around him as the familiar knot in your stomach started to form.

“yes—-please—fuck chris fill me with your cum—“ his dick twitched inside you at your words

“you’re gonna make such a perfect mommy—you’re doing so good for me gorgeous—just keep taking me just like that—”

the knot in your stomach begins to reach its last moments

“Chris—fuck—I’m gonna cum—“ you cry out

“good girl—cum all over my cock, sweetheart—“ Chris huffed out, coaxing you to release. your hearing begins to buzz as you feel yourself come undone. Chris continues to fuck you through your high as his motions begin to get more sloppy, the clenching of your walls bringing him closer to cumming.

“Ohhh—oh shit baby—“ he began to whine

“mmm that’s it—cum in me, chris—put your baby in me” you sigh out, wrapping your arms around his neck as you start to regain your senses

“ohh—nggh—i’m cumming—fuck, baby—-here it comes—“ chris pants as he roughly thrusts into you, his thighs and upper arms shaking slightly.

“OHHHH—“ his brow furrows as his release takes over. he lets out a loud moan as he haults, his cock buried all the way inside you. he shoots hot, thick, strands of his cum deep inside your walls, and then collapses against your body. the two of you try to regain your breath. chris lifts himself back up to look down at you and gives you a kiss, still buried inside you. you smile against his lips.

“how was that” he breathed out

“fucking perfect” you giggled

“yeah? i think so too” he chuckled, giving you a peck before lifting himself higher off you to pull out of you. he removed himself, gently trying to be aware of your sensitivity. you whined at the loss a little. he sits back and stares between your legs where your entrances still pulsates slightly, his cum leaking out. his jaw went slack

“what?” you giggled again, feeling a little embarrassed

“i could get used to seeing that” he said, not pulling his eyes away

“chrissss” you whine, attempting to shut your legs. he stops you with his arms

“nuh uh” he says before taking two of his fingers up to collect his cum and shoving them back inside you. you let out a sharp moan at the sudden feeling. he leans back over you with a smirk

“can’t waste any” he said, giving you yet another kiss

—————————————————————————

HEHE

hope u guys like this one

ITS GOOD TO BE BACK!!!!

💋

2K notes · View notes

finsplurtz · 3 months

Text

all mine — sukuna ryōmen

— dom ! male.reader x sub ! Sukuna Ryōmen

— Contents: sub top male reader x dom bottom Sukuna , OOC sukuna , A bit of x Yuji , madd overstimulation , could contain r4pe , power bottom Sukuna , degrading , crying , a bit of a breeding kink in there , Yuji is aged up……

Warnings : non con possibly, crying

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Itadori was panting while his body twitched. He was straddling yn, he was fully stuffed with his cock. Cum on yn’s stomach, and some dripping out of his ass.

yn was lazy and tired, he lied on the bed staring at the ceiling just massaging his boyfriend’s thighs.

“..ngh…” A small noise caught his attention. He looked at Ita’ who was slightly out of it.

“….you okay, hon..?” He asked bringing his hand to caress his boyfriend’s face.

Itadori hiccuped before nodding and slowly lying his body over his boyfriends chest.

Yn was slightly concerned but tried not to question him too much…he ran his fingers thru Yuji’s hair closing his eyes hoping to fall asleep.

He felt Yuji lift his ass slowly and sink back down with more cum pooling out. Yn quirked an eyebrow. He already felt a bit overstimulated so he hoped Yuji wouldn’t want to go again..

“Yuji…” yn whispered and groaned. He swallowed when he felt his cute boyfriend begin to kiss and suck at his neck.

Yn let out small moans grabbing a handful of Yuji’s hair to gently pull him off.

“Yuj—“ He froze when he made eye contact with the devil himself.

“..S-sukuna..?” The tatted guy sat up straight with a slight moan.

“..Impressive.” Sukuna smirked looked down at the small bulge in his stomach. Yn blushed looking away. He kept his hands off yuji’s body.

“We’ll see how much more you can handle, yeah? Now that I have you all to myself while Yuji’s passed out…I can use my time wisely.” He lifted himself and slammed himself hack down harshly laughing when yn let out a pathetic whimper.

“SUKUNA- my..dick..” he whined gripping the sheets.

The curse ignored yn’s protests and continued to fuck himself on him. After a bit the pleasure hit him as well as the overstim since Yuji had already came.

Yn was high off sex, his eyes looking everywhere but at this fckin weirdo

“Hah…~ look at you ynnn-yy ..already fucked out aren’t you..mm..~” Sukuna ran his sharp nails over yn’s bare chest making him twitch and whine.

“Ita must be lucky..getting to see this whenever he wants. Soon as I get my freedom…you’re all mine….” Sukuna laughed once more bouncing on yn’s dick again.

“Shit- Yuji’s stupid b..body is so..ugh..~” Sukuna placed his hands on yn’s abdomen struggling to lift himself with his shaky thighs.

Yn was practically drooling as his dick twitched inside the ‘King of curses’.

“Hm..~? Really hope Yuji’s awake..need him to see this fucjing beauty..!” He grabbed yn’s jaw and forced him to look Sukuna in the eyes.

‘Kuna rolled his eyes and did his best to continue overstimulating the younger male. Pulling the whiniest sluttiest whimpers and cries from this man. He thought sukuna couldn’t tell but, yn was stopping himself from placing his hands on the smaller body.

“S-scared to touch me..~? Or afraid of what Yuji might s-say..” Sukuna smirked intertwining his fingers with yn’s finding his own g spot.

Sukuna’s tongue lolled out and he let out a whorish moan fucking himself faster and sloppier.

“Shhhitt..~ you feel so fuckin’ good…so big..I want your babies in me..!” Sukuna bit yn’s lip who shook violently inside his boyfriend and hissed at the small sting on his lip.

“Wa-wanna breed me…~? I bet Yuji would fuckin’ loveeee our b-babies..” Sukunas nails dug deeper into yn’s shoulder blades making him wince.

“Cmon..give me your children.” Sukuna sat up straight and grabbed yn’s hands, placing them on his hips, he shuffled on his dick.

“Fuck me..~?” Sukuna said in a low voice. Yn whined and began to fuck Sukuna at his best abilities.

Sukuna smirked watching the guy crumble beneath him. He was so weak, so sensitive..he couldn’t bear the sensation.

He pulled at yn’s wrist sitting him up and l putting both his hands on his leaking cock.

“Look at you…all fucked up~” Sukuna laughed and grinded his hips into yn’s hand as well as massaging his prostate with his dick.

“You’re all mine…just a little mess..my messy big dicked bitch..~!” He moaned pressing yn’s hands tighter around his smaller dick.

“..right, yn..~?” With one of his clawed hands he grabbed at the guys jaw and looked into his eyes.

“All…mine..~” Sukuna whispered gracing his lips against yn’s, pulling him into a hot make out session. Yn was practically drooling letting his tongue roam Sukuna mouth, maybe the amount of stimulation was making him all the more horny…

He thrusted his hips trying to cum one more time having Sukuna moan into his mouth.

“Mmph..~ Gunna c-come…” yn whined looking into Sukuna’s red eyes.

“Yeah..? Cmon big guy..come deeppp inside me….~” Sukuna’s dick twitched as he was also close.

A couple more thrust and yn came with a loud sob, his body trembled, he hid his face in the crook of Sukuna’s neck, panting like a dog.

Cum spilled from Sukuna’s cock while he moaned at the feeling of the other’s cum filling him up. He loved it so much, the feeling of an orgasm was now stuck in his mind.

“You’re all mine…right, love..?” Sukuna whispered into yn’s ear who mumbled incoherent noises and kissed his neck.

Sukuna grinned and wrapped his arms around yn’s neck.

He heard a small sniffle come from Sukuna and pulled away to see Yuji looking down at him with teary eyes.

Yn caressed his face and kissed him passionately.

“..I’m yours, Yuji..” He said looking into Yuji’s beautiful eyes before smiling and laying down on the bed spooning the smaller.

“Only yours…” He whispered while Yuji held onto him tighter.

Secretly Yuji really liked seeing yn go all submissive and whiny for him. He just imagined it was because of him and not Sukuna.

a/n: Sukuna typa guy to switch with Yuji while he’s having sex w/ yn to scare him…

1K notes · View notes

darknight3904 · 5 months

Text

Better Than Revenge

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴀ ʙᴏᴏʙ ᴍᴀɴ, ᴏʟᴅ ʜᴀʙɪᴛꜱ ᴅɪᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅ ɪ ɢᴜᴇꜱꜱ. ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀꜱʟɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴀᴛᴇᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ʙᴏꜱꜱ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ / ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ / ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ.

ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ ʙʏ ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ! ʙʏ ᴏʟɪᴠɪᴀ ʀᴏᴅʀɪɢᴏ

Coriolanus was sure he was dreaming. There was no way you had actually shown up to this. But sure enough, there you were shaking hands and accepting hugs from stuffy old Capitol residents like you were their long-lost daughter. He had been trying to get in contact with you for so long now and it had been nothing but silence and being turned away from your family home. The only current information he had on you was that you were skipping university entirely and taking over your mother's position as head of technical operations for the games. Initially, he had thought that meant he might see you during his work with Gaul but you never showed, clearly, you had been stationed elsewhere.

His time in District 12 and whatever had happened between him and Lucy had cleared his head. He had come back with his goals set in his mind and was determined not to fall victim to another girl's spell just because she had a pretty voice. And yet, as he stood across the room from you, he knew that you were going to be trouble for him. What was it you had broken up with him about? He could scarcely remember, that dress you donned tonight was so distracting with its plunging neckline and shimmering fabric, it should be illegal to look that good.

He felt his throat dry up when you began walking towards him. Why were you coming to greet him? Oh right, this was a party about him and his success with his new ideas that would be used in the games in just a matter of weeks.

"Coryo! It's been a while." You beam reaching out to shake his hand

"Yes, it has. I didn't know you would be attending tonight." He said stiffly, feeling your eyes roam across his chosen suit for the evening. Suddenly, he found himself hoping you liked what you saw.

"Well, I'm sure you know I've taken over my mother's company so of course someone would have to come to represent it." You smile

Oh right. That. The soft clicks of cameras went off from somewhere, these photos between Gaul's prodigy and the girl, no woman, who was working to make sure the games would be seen from every angle would surely be published by a news outlet before the evening was over

"Your dress is exquisite." He compliments, trying to ignore the way your chest was taunting him.

"Thank you. I see you're still wearing roses on your lapel, some things don't change do they?" You say, following his stare to your chest.

Busted. You knew he was ogling you.

Coriolanus wanted to move this conversation and brush past the fact that he wanted to tear that damn dress off but he wasn't entirely sure how to reply to a statement like that. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to figure it out since an unwanted interruption cut in.

"I got you that drink you wanted, hon." A man cut in wrapping a meaty arm around your waist

Okay, who the hell was this?

"Oh thank you, I'm so thirsty." You smile and accept the dainty glass.

"Oh Coryo, this is Aesop." You introduce them, "Aesop, this is Cor-"

"Wow, Mr. Snow, I never thought I'd get to meet you! Your work with Dr. Gaul is rumored to be historic." Aesop gushes, cutting you off like he's some desperate fanboy.

Coriolanus finds himself nodding and pretending like Aesop's words mean a lot to him. Instead, Coriolanus lets him vomit his praises while he takes in the newest man who you deem worthy of your affections. He wasn't necessarily bad-looking, with a strong-looking build accompanied by sharp features and dark curly hair, Coriolanus wouldn't dare call him unattractive, in the face at least. Aesop's choice of outfit for tonight though told a different story. It was rather plain, just a simple black suit and a dark blue pocket square to try to add some color while attempting to match your dress which was simply hypnotic compared to that monstrosity of a suit.

"So what's next?"

Aesop was still talking to him? Someone needs to tell him when to stop talking.

"I'm sorry could you repeat your question I wasn't listening." He says honestly

"I was just asking what you had planned for your future. Surely the great Mr. Snow I hear about from my mother isn't just going to stop at being a game maker." Aesop says, clearly curious about those rumors about his possible presidential campaign.

Coriolanus doesn't miss the way his arm, which was once wrapped around your waist, drop so it rested on your hips and his hand was dangerously close to your ass. What a pig. He wishes he could be the one doing that, not the Capitol's worst-dressed man who didn't seem to even be worthy of being here let alone have you on his arm.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see. After all, Snow lands on top." He smirks and Aesop nods.

Aesop doesn't have much to say after that and Coriolanus makes no move to continue the conversation so an awkward silence falls over the conversation. The soft notes of the piano interrupt Coriolanus' judging of Aesop's outfit and he finds himself asking before he can discern whether or not this is a good idea.

"Would you like to dance? For old time's sake."

He doesn't expect you to say yes but you surprise him by placing your drink in Aesop's hands and pressing a kiss to the poorly dressed man's cheek. He doesn't miss the way you whisper something in Aesop's ear before taking his hand so he can lead you to the dance floor.

"I like your new hair. The curls were very nice but this new style makes you look very sophisticated." You say as he leads the dance

"What the hell are you doing?" He asks, genuinely curious as to what game you're playing

"Um, what are you talking about?" You ask a genuine look of surprise on your pretty face.

"You come in here dressed like this, with that....thing hanging off your arm, and you act like nothing is wrong between us and compliment me." He spits, upset that he seems to have been replaced so easily.

"What are you going on about now? You can't mean the breakup you caused, right?" You ask, a smug grin on your face

"I didn't break up with anyone." He defended, his face twisting with anger.

"Did Lucy Gray hit you in the head when you were with her? You seem a bit confused as to who ended our relationship." You say

Did you know what happened in the forest between them? Did you know that he nearly ran off with her and how she disappeared into the trees before he could get her? No, you couldn't possibly, there were no other witnesses other than him and Lucy. Unless that damn Covey of her was spreading rumors. He'd have to look into them soon.

"No, she has nothing to do with this. Where we are now is all on you." He says, stopping the dance, upset that you'd even think of mentioning her. Honestly, why would you even think that he was entangled with her, he was sure you heard the rumors of how they fell out.

"You're joking right. I still have that video evidence of you two kissing if you want to come back to mine and rewatch it, you clearly are not remembering correctly. I don't have any issues reminding you how you hurt me. " You say dropping his hand

"I remember just fine, thank you. I remember perfectly that you're the one who caused our end after you went crazy over something that wasn't even real." He said, upset that you weren't accepting what he was saying.

His eyes widen when you step towards him. You're so close he can smell that fruit-smelling perfume you love so much. From across the room, it might look like two old friends whispering funny secrets to each other.

"If it wasn't real then why did you chase her? I know about your little bribe that got you sent to twelve instead of eight. You can't manipulate me the way you do everyone else, Coryo."

And then you're walking away from him and back into the arms of that Aesop and his ugly fashion decisions. He could barely believe what had just transpired. He hadn't ever had a girl that walked away from him like that, he had thought he had become irresistible to so many, and yet here you were leaving him on the dance floor after insulting him.

Coriolanus certainly had a lot of nerve, you'd give him that. Not only was he completely deluded about what had happened between the two of you but he clearly couldn't accept you moving on from him. Of course, you knew he'd be like this. It had been only a week or so after Dr. Gaul had brought him back from District 12 that he started showing up at your family home, asking your mother, father, and even the maids if you would see him. You had instructed them all to turn him away and yet every time he showed up you'd wait and watch as he walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

You had been right, your Coryo would come running back. You knew that Songbird of his would turn on him eventually. Rumors swirled around the inner circles of the Capitol that she had disappeared or perhaps she was dead. Despite the rumors that came in hushed whispers, you had a gut feeling Coriolanus had something to do with it. Did he scare the poor bird off? Or maybe harm her so she'd never return to Panem? Either way, no one had a clear story on her, but all you knew was that her dulcet voice would never charm Coriolanus again. With Lucy Gray gone, you knew exactly what you wanted, you were going to get Coriolanus Snow back.

Getting him back meaning revenge, of course. Why would any sane person want to get him back romantically?

You started with small things, things you knew would deepen his interest in you again. Some days you deliberately made sure you were in Dr. Gaul's lab talking to the crazy woman when he showed up after his university had ended for the day.

"When did you start working here?" He asks when he sees you in the lab for the first time

"Oh, Dr. Gaul and I are busy coordinating the camera angles and such. It's easier just to work here with her rather than send assistants from my office with information. More direct, you know."

He nods and takes his place at his own desk but you don't miss how he smiles to himself, undoubtedly happy you're here with him.

What a fool he's turned out to be.

Other times you'd make sure to wear red, the same shade as the coat he seemed to love so dearly, and then bump into him as he walked through the Department of War.

"You ought to look where you're walking." He says, after practically body slamming into him.

The force hadn't been enough to move him but you had ended up on the cold ground on your ass. What the hell did they feed him in District 12? A brick wall? No man should be that sturdy.

"Right, sorry about that." You smile taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet

You feel Coriolanus' eyes roam your outfit choice. A white button down paired with a deep red pencil skirt and tall heels, you must've looked good because he didn't say much and let you do the talking as you walked to Gaul's lab together, not letting go of his hand.

The cherry on top though, had to be the day you wore a low-cut shirt to a meeting about this year's games. You knew what made that boy tick and sure enough, his eyes were locked on your chest for the entire presentation on the new audio systems you were planning to get installed in the arena. He really hasn't changed much, has he?

"What are you doing after this?" He whispered next to you as Gaul displayed photos of whatever new terrors she had planned for this year's Tributes.

"Nothing interesting. I was planning on eating dinner and then perhaps taking a long bath." You say honestly

"Want to eat dinner with me?" He asked, a grin spread across his face

There was that boyish charm that had convinced you to enter a relationship in the first place.

"Sure. As long as you aren't the one cooking." You smile, knowing he was the worst chef in all of Panem.

Coriolanus stifles a laugh, which he tries to disguise as a cough when Dr. Gaul looks at him mid-sentence about the reproductive organs of whatever mutt she had drummed up.

"Oh trust me, I won't be. There's a nice place a couple of blocks away." He says

"It's a date." You smile

Coriolanus wasn't lying when he said the restaurant was nice. Pretty white tablecloths adorned the tables along with candles and delicate-looking roses atop each of them. A huge crystal chandelier was the real eye-catcher though, you loved the way it glimmered in the light.

"You know I was joking when I said this was a date, Coryo." You say as you wait for the hostess to help the man in front of you.

"Why? I'd love to go on another date with you." He smiles, bumping his shoulder with yours

"Right because our last stab at a relationship went so well." You roll your eyes

"I personally think we worked well together." He said confidently

"You're joking, right? You literally called me insane." You remind him

"Look, I don't want to fight. Let's just have a nice meal, okay?" He says, not denying his actions for once

"Yeah, okay." You agree, not missing the way his eyes roll.

The hostess is a bit overly eager to seat you both, she gushes over Coriolanus' coat and how sharp it makes him look, taking special care to not even spare a glance at you. Despite your annoyance, you don't miss how Coriolanus eats the attention up and flirts right back despite just proclaiming how he wants to go on another date with you. Honestly, where does this man even get the nerve?

"So what's good here?" You ask when she finally leaves but not until after she complimented his eyes and hair.

"You haven't been here? I come here often, the chicken dish they serve is particularly wonderful." He says, pretending like he wasn't interested in her.

"No, I haven't been here. Some of us work instead of spending their money on fancy chicken." You roll your eyes at his posh tone.

"Alright, sorry. Don't get all crazy on me again." He huffs, hiding his face behind his menu, pretending to stare at it when it only had 3 options on it.

Silence settles over the table as you pretend to weigh your options like you aren't going to take his recommendation and get the chicken. As you sit there and pretend to look at your menu, you glance at him and his perfect hair. His face is just as you remember it although it was a tad bit more stern than it was before he was sent to District 12. Whatever Lucy Gray did to him had sent him spiraling that was certain. A portly-looking man comes up to your table and pours you both glasses of wine before opening his mouth to speak.

"Mr. Snow, I am the manager of this restaurant and I'd like to personally extend a warm welcome to you and your guest tonight. If there's anything you need, please ask. You as well, ma'am."

You smile politely and nod as Coriolanus thanks the man and shakes his hand.

"You know this could be your life all the time if you wanted to give the two of us a try again." He says after dismissing the manager.

"What do you mean?" You ask confused, he already knew you had money of your own, definitely enough to attend a restaurant like this, it just wasn't your personal style.

"You'd never have to work again with me at your side. I'm sure you've heard that I'm planning to run for the presidency soon. I'm the favored candidate as well." He says confidently, reaching out so that your hands are linked across the table

"What makes you think that I would want to never work again. I enjoy running my company. It's my mother's blood sweat and tears that went into it." You defend, watching how his thumbs run over the backs of your hands. To anyone else, this might look like a romantic conversation between lovers

"I'm just saying you could be the First Lady of Panem one day with me and you'd never want for anything else. All you'd ever have to do is sit by my side." He smiles, almost kindly at you

"So you want to lock me up in some big house somewhere, just for yourself." You say, seeing through his honey-coated words

"If you're not interested then why the hell did you even accept my invitation to come here? Why have you been popping into Gaul's lab when I'm there, and don't think I haven't noticed that low-cut shirt of yours. Are you into parading yourself around like a common whore for everyone else to see? What would Aesop think?" He suddenly snaps, harshly grabbing onto your hands and squeezing.

There he was, the man of the hour. This is who Coriolanus Snow truly was, not whatever charming front he liked to wear around so many, including you. You smiled, that front, the wall he had built oh so perfectly, brick by brick had crumbled and the snake had finally come out to play.

"You think I'm a whore? How sweet of you, Coryo. You should know I love pet names in a relationship, that's why Aesop calls me hon." You say not blinking an eye as his nails dig into your skin.

You can tell your reaction isn't what he had planned because he recoils slightly and the pressure in your hands drops just a bit.

"If you weren't interested in me then why have you been acting like...some love-struck teen the past few weeks? Why the... eye-catching shirt today for a business meeting? You knew I was still interested in you so why are you rejecting me now?" He asks, clearly genuinely upset and curious

"Oh come on, Coryo I thought it would be obvious." You smirk

"Well, it isn't. And, you should know I hate lies now , so how about we agree to not lie to each other." He says, in desperate need of your answer.

You nod, and he releases your hands, satisfied with your submission

"Coryo, the reason I did all those things is quite obvious in fact, I'm sure that even little Lucy Gray would've been able to tell the reasons behind my actions."

You want to laugh at the way he squirms in his fancy chair when her name falls from your lips. While you once viewed her as some little homewrecker, you now saw her as an ally. The perfect ally to shatter this man's fragile ego. Whatever she had done to him, she got him good. Now, all you had to do was finish the job.

"You see, Coriolanus, I'm honestly surprised you didn't realize sooner, given you're so good at it yourself, by the way, don't think I don't know what really happened to Dean Highbottom or Sejanus Plinth. I know what you are, Coryo. Your sweet seductive words and pretty face can only get you so far." You let a smile stretch across your face, you were truly enjoying the climax of this game, "The reason behind my actions and my pretty shirt that you've been staring down all day and enjoying is simple really, it's just a little revenge. Revenge for how you made me feel when you went running off with Lucy Gray. It's revenge for whatever you may or may not have done to her in the forest of District 12. It's as plain and as simple as just a girl getting revenge on a past lover."

You stand from your seat and watch Coriolanus' eyes widen he finally realizes that you had been stringing him on for weeks ever since that party. You want to laugh at the way his hands had balled up into fists and his face reddened. Perhaps he'd start crying. Now that would be funny.

"Why?" He asks, unwilling to meet your eyes

"Why? Because it was fun of course. I've got my sweet revenge on a man who thought he was oh-so untouchable and you're feeling what I felt when you ran off with your Songbird. .I hope you have a wonderful evening, Coriolanus, " You explain smoothly, leaning down so your lips brush his ear, "See you in the lab tomorrow. I'll make sure to wear a shirt you'll like. "

You turn and gather your own belongings, a wide smile stretched across your face as you left him at that table. That shaken look that adorned Coriolanus' pretty face made one thing clear: you had got him back for every inch of pain he had ever caused you and Lucy Gray Baird. As you walked out of the door of that fancy restaurant he loved so much, one thought rang clear in your head, there truly was nothing better than revenge.

Part 3

Guys imagine being Coryo in this fic. First, you get dumped by your gf bc of your situationship. Then your situationship falls apart and you think you might be able to get back with your ex. So, you return home and think your ex wants you again since they're sending out signals, only to find out they've been leading you on for funsies. He's going through it.

Read the teaser for it here

If you want more Coryo content check out my masterlist. I plan to possibly release It Burns For You Part 3 on either December 3rd or 4th so stay tuned!

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