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macfrog · 5 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k

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It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

#forgive me for it not being clm or sof #they're coming very soon i promise #this was too fun an idea not to chase #i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil)#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller

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sugoi-and-spice · 3 months

Text

Vox Relationship Headcanons

Time to strike the iron while the hyperfixation is HOT!

(I mean come ON . Look at this fucking evil dork. I love him).

SFW

It goes without saying that Vox is HUGE on appearances. He does not make his relationships public lightly. His brand as one of the V’s after all is perfection, and he’s not going to go out arm and arm with a person unless they know that.

That being said, especially given his on again off again relationship with Valentino, I could absolutely see him as being the type to fall for a hot mess.

A very different person with his partner in front of and behind the scenes. When the cameras are off, he’s warm, affectionate, and vulnerable. He’ll share his every insecurity with you, strip himself bare to the bone for you to love and comfort truly and honestly. And he’s an excellent listener too, always available to hold and talk through any problem you have. Your problems are his problems — you’ll work through them together.

When in the public eye however, he can be a downright prick — putting everything, and I do mean everything between you two on the backburner to keep up appearances. He will not hesitate to make jokes at your expense if it means his ratings will go up.

Fights with him are explosive. No, he’s not the type to lay a hand on you, but we’d be lying if we didn’t admit that he can scream at you within an inch of your life.

Words of Affirmation and Gift Giving are his primary love languages. Specifically, he needs words of affirmation and he loves to give gifts. And holy shit does he give the most uncomfortably lavish gifts. Diamonds, rolexes, new cars — no price is too high for his darling.

Surprisingly, he prefers home dates. Watching a movie on the couch or having a little game night with a bottle of wine. He does genuinely enjoy the authentic time you spend together and he wishes he could have more of it, so the more he can get of that private, intimate time together, the better.

And while he is a man of the future, so theoretically should like video games, I do think he has a certain soft spot for a good old-fashioned board game.

When it comes to video games though, he does tend to gravitate to phone games.

Vox is from the 1950’s so I do think he prefers a more nuclear family and relationship dynamic. He wants to bring home the bacon and have his partner ready to fry it up in a pan with a dirty martini ready and waiting for him. That being said, he is a man that always looks to the future as well, so he’s by no means above doing chores of his own. At the end of the day, this desire for more traditional relationship roles really comes from a place of needing to be doted on rather than any views he actually has about gender.

The man’s a sucker for a good massage from his partner. This wired up workaholic has knots that you can’t even imagine, so please, offer him a nice bankrupt at the end of the day. He’ll be sure to return the favor tenfold.

A very lovey-dovey drunk. Oh my GOD, he’s so touchy-feely and weepy and just all the y’s. You want a guaranteed cuddle-wuddle session? Load him up with a couple glasses of scotch — you’ll have those chords coiling around you.

And yes, his alcohol of choice is scotch. Scotch, dirty martinis, or a nice oaky chardonnay.

This man wants to get married. Yes, even if he is in hell, the idea of not having to worry about who his next lay or source of connection will come from, having someone that will stand by his side through thick and thin, a partner? Now that’d be the (after)life.

NSFW

BIG fucking praise kink. This man NEEDS you to stroke more than just his bod and his cock, he needs you to stroke his ego too.

“God you’re so good”, “FUCK, you’re so big”, “Nobody can make me feel this way but you, Vox”.

Don’t worry, it’s not just for his own ego. He loves to give praise as much as he receives it. This man is a TALKER in the sack.

“Fuck, fuck yeah. Just like that, baby. You’re so fucking good, just like thaaaaat.”

He’s also got a little bit of a degradation kink — but in general, it still feeds into stroking his own ego. Loves to tease and taunt his partner once in a while about what a horny little slut they are, how he loves to see them so desperate and pathetic. Asking his partner, “you’d have anyone right now, wouldn’t you?” just for them to assure him that no, nobody but him will do.

On that note, the man can dish out degrading dirty talk, but he can NOT fucking take it.

Very much a switch. Sure, he loves to fuck, but he’ll just as happily let his partner bend him over his own desk and fuck the shit out of him. A good orgasm is a good orgasm, his ego may be big, but not big enough to get in the way of that.

Big fan of bondage, both on his partner and himself. There are few sights better to him than seeing his partner bound and shibari’d in his own cord and wires, holy shit. But he’ll also never say no when his partner breaks out their own pair of fuzzy handcuffs for him.

He absolutely short-circuits when he cums, so watch out. Sometimes, if he cums hard enough, he may just zap you a bit so watch out.

Favorite position is seated cowgirl. He loves the way he can hold his partner close while ramming as deep into them as possible. Not to mention the fact that either one of them can take over control at any moment. He can thrust up, they can grind down — it’s just the best of all worlds. Not to mention you can do it from his desk chair.

On that note, he’s a big BIG fan of cockwarming.

LOTS of precum. This HD motherfucker is just a weepy mess.

I can’t explain why, but Vox just seems like an ass man to me.

He’s not necessarily a cuddler after, but he is something of a “savor the moment” kind of guy. He likes to lay in bed (or chair lol) with his partner for a good while afterwards, smoking a cigarette, reveling in some post-nut clarity conversation, just really taking in the moment. His life is so busy at all other times honestly, always looing and speeding to the future. Sex and post-sex are the times where he really does just like to stop and live in the moment.

#vox #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #vox x oc #smut #spice writes

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little-lynx · 1 year

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EVERLARK OUTFITS: THE VICTORY TOUR

This part of “Catching Fire” is done (finally) so I put it all together;) DISTRICT 11, THE SQUARE

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. <…> As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress. <…> I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. // Catching Fire, ch. 4

I think this dress should be a little semi-official so I choose cape sleeve sheath midi dress. It’s perfect for autumn (and they have early autumn weather there in 11th). The hair is just plain + gold hairband = girlish innocent look like the one after the games (this tactics they choose for the Tour). Plus I wanted to draw Katniss with her natural straight hair because i draw her with her braid usually ;) And again nothing about Peeta’s outfit. You know I feel like Portia 😅 because I have to choose how to dress Peeta. I’m not complaining through. So it is black suit with golden buttons (matching Katniss’s hairband and pin), thin soft orange sweater and black leather shoes.

DISTRICT 11, THE DINNER

A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face and falling down my back in a shower of ringlets. Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap around my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. “Like it?” “It's beautiful. As always,” I say. “Let's see how it looks with a smile,” he says gently. // Catching Fire, ch.5

DISTRICT 7

Jackson has devised a game called «Real or Not Real» to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it’s true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation. <...> But since Peeta’s greatest confusion centers around me—and not everything can be explained simply—our exchanges are painful and loaded, even though we touch on only the most superficial of details. The color of my dress in 7. My preference for cheese buns. The name of our math teacher when we were little. Reconstructing his memory of me is excruciating. Perhaps it isn’t even possible after what Snow did to him. But it does feel right to help him try. // Mockingjay, ch. 19

So we have only one sentence in “Mockingjay” about this outfit. And still I decided to draw it because I have a theory (head canon?) about it. I think Peeta remembers the color of her dress because it was special night for him (a lot of kisses and attempts to sneak away from everyone and maybe it felt very real at times) and also because she had two braids and the dress was red. RED is the color ❤️. / Peeta has dark red + black + a little bit gold which is also sexy color combination.

DISTRICT 5 I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. <…> Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— the clothes are striking. <…> As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s. // Mockingjay, ch. 16

Katniss: green silk dress + wavy sleeves + sea waves embroidery / Peeta: ivory dress shirt + knitted green waistcoat with sea waves embroidery + tweed suit

DISTRICT 2

Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup. So I lie. “Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet.” Velvet. The only fabric. I could think of off the top of my head. “I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back,” says Johanna. // Catching Fire, Chapter 15

This description gave me strong “Anastasia” feels 😅. So I loosely based Katniss dress on Anastasia’s ballet evening gown. For Peeta I chose tuxedo jacket similar to Salvatore Ferragamo design for FF 12/13. Neo classic, purple velvet, shiny shoes. Also I decided to include a cane, both to help Peeta to have some rest during all this Tour activities and as an accessory.

DISTRICT 12

When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. <…> She [Madge] saw my reflection behind her and smiled. “Look at you. Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol.” // Catching Fire, ch.6

When I started drawing this one I just felt that I need to make it look very “Capitol”. So I added some feathers. A LOT of sparkling feathers, haha. Also there are some “moon and stars” accessories in Katniss’ hair because this silver gown gives me moonlight vibes. For Peeta I came up with classic suit but made him wear it casually.

#yes I redraw some of them #old ones looked bad #ugh #the hunger games #hunger games fanart #everlark #everlark fanart #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #thg fanart #lynx hunger games #lynx thg outfits #victory tour #catching fire #catching fire fanart

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reverieblondie · 7 months

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The Dare

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Spider-woman!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Some Plot, Stealing Stuff, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Degrading, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Hair Pulling, Fingering, Reader is called Slut.

Summary: Hobie takes the dare game up a notch. Unexpected events ensue...

A/N: This is my first fanfiction ever so please be kind! If I missed any warnings or my grammar and spelling sucks please just let me know. I thought this idea was funny so figured I would share!

Word Count: 5,757 (still working on my editing skills so warning)

Hobie casually struts into view, wearing Peter's favorite pink robe. He has a smirk on his face. He obviously was successful in the dare.

You, Hobie, Gwen and Ben were passing time at HQ by having a friendly game of daring each other to do things, you all recently got done with a mission so it was perfect to kill time, Gwen had suggested truth or dare but Hobie said that dares only would make for a better game. It started innocently enough like reading the last text message you sent your crush, drinking a bottle of hot sauce but you can’t drink anything else for 10 minutes, and going to dance in the cafeteria to no music to see if anyone joins you, but it quickly diverted to more dangerous dares.

“I can't believe you were able to get that” Ben laughs out as Hobie strikes poses while Gwen and you cheer him on

“Oh this was nothing mate, I do believe that is your turn for a dare Miss Y/N”

You look at Hobie with a smirk, if he was trying to scare you it wasn't going to work. “I can handle whatever you throw at me Hobie, all these dares have been a cakewalk so far”

Hobie smirks, “Why don't we get you something challenging then, hm?”

You shrug feeling confident “I'm not scared of any dare”

“Any dare?”

“Yep!”

“No backing out aye?”

“No backing out” you grin, feeling that he wouldn't be able to think of anything too crazy, but you forget this is Hobie, and he loves to push the limits.

Hobie thinks for a moment, his face contorted with thought, and then a wicked smirk flashes on his face, he looks at you and leans in knowing he had a perfect dare.

“I dare you to steal a pair of Miguel's underwear” Gwen and Ben exchange shocked looks then look back at you, brows furrowed mouth agape you are equally as shocked by the request.

“What?!”

Hobie goes to repeat but is quickly cut off by you interrupting him “Eh…Please don't repeat it I heard you.” This causes Hobie to laugh

“So are you game?”

you think for a moment, that stealing Miguel’s underwear…this was definitely a challenge and a bit of a gamble on your life. But you would never hear the end of it from Hobie if you backed out now. Face riddled with concern you look up at Hobie, a fire in your eye blooms not wanting to be beaten.

“I'm game!”

You and Hobie shake hands the dare is on, no backing out now.

You first had to think about a game plan to get Miguel's underwear. It's not like you can just walk up and ask the guy, he was the big boss he could crush your head like a peanut. Plus it didn't help that you had a fat crush on him, and now you have to nab his underwear.

Taking a deep breath you headed to Miguel's room in HQ. You ducked around corners and made sure you were not being followed or looking too suspicious, though that wasn't easy to do considering you were sweating bullets. Miguel's room was known to be located at the top of HQ, being the leader and founder of the Spider Society means you get to have a penthouse suite at your job you guess.

You had only ever been to the door of his room once, you had forgotten to give him your mission reports on time so you had to hand deliver them one night at Miguel's irritated request, you remember that night having to rush the paperwork over and banging on the door, for Miguel to reveal himself in sweatpants and an oversized shirt hair lose from a recent shower. Seeing him in such a casual state had worsened your crush. Miguel just gave you the same furrowed expression he always seemed to have glued to his face, looking you up and down before he took your reports without uttering a word to you.

After that night you couldn't help but fantasize about Miguel doing more casual mundane things, like grocery shopping or maybe telling jokes to you, the guy was in a consistent state of stress so thinking about him relaxed made you excited. People might think it would be weird but hey it's your fantasy, not theirs.

Finally making your way to the top you peek around a corner looking at his door. There is no one around from what you can tell, so you check your watch. Perfect it's still afternoon, Miguel, the workaholic he is, never leaves his office early so you still have plenty of time. Sneaking over to the door you try the handle, and to your surprise…it's unlocked? Huh? Miguel should lock his room. There are some real weirdos out there, the current weirdo being you. Then again what idiot would be dumb enough to sneak into Miguel's private space? Oh yeah thanks to the dare, you!

Through the door you steadily walk in, the living room is huge, nicely lit, minimalist design, and very clean, a total opposite to Miguel's office which is dark with all kinds of clutter. A nice large sofa and a TV that hardly looks like it's ever been used decorate the space, attached to the vast living room, a kitchen with a sleek-looking island and very modern appliances, some you can't even recognize. As you go further and further in his suite, you tiptoe around looking at everything, if you didn't know this was Miguel's place you would have never thought that anyone lived here, so devoid of any kind of personality. Maybe he's just a minimalist?

As you quietly walk through the impressive suite you hear a noise that stops you in your tracks. You look and see a door that is slightly cracked, you examine the door cautiously slowly making your approach. Another noise draws you in closer, a grunt?

Thanks to your careful steps you manage to sneak to the door and peer inside without making a sound. Peering through the slit of the door you lean in to survey what caught your attention, your eyes widened at the sight and your breath instantly halts.

There he is Miguel, your leader, your crush fully nude standing in his master bedroom, head thrown back eyes screwed shut, fangs fully extended, moaning in pleasure as he tightly fucks his cock with his hand. His hips are jutting forward slightly, his angry red tip leaking glistening precum that only aids in his feverish fucking. His muscles are tense and rippling, each moan makes his massive body shake. You are mesmerized by the sight, you're sure your jaw is on the floor. You are watching Miguel O’Hara fucking his hand chasing any kind of release.

Continuing to watch his relentless pursuit, your excitement builds as you watch. Mouth dry and wanting to desperately attach yourself to his cock and lick and suck till your thirst is quenched from his release. Your thoughts run rampant, you shouldn’t be watching this, it's wrong, but you can’t take your eyes off him. His tanned skin glowing with the subtle sheen of sweat, his moans egging him on and equally you.

The whole display has you tightening your thighs together, your arousal ls pooling in your panties. He starts to move with more sloppiness, slipping incoherent words in Spanish to the air and he gets close to his high. Then to your pleasure, sticky white ropes escape him and cover his large hand painting him white. He continues to pump for a few more moments, slightly shaking as he does. He then opens his eyes, grabs a towel resting on his bed and cleans himself, as he’s cleaning he gives a small sigh looking more relaxed during his come down and takes a deep inhale from his nose. Then he stops and his face contorts to confusion, taking another whiff of the air again he looks towards the slightly ajar door.

You jump quickly backpedaling from the door, did he see you? Shit you need to hide, you quickly tiptoe to the next door finding yourself in what looks like a home office. You look around the room quickly scanning for a place to hide, a desk catches your attention, this will have to do. Quickly hiding below it you hear Miguel walking slowly into the room looking around. Heart beating rampant you place your hand over your mouth and steady your breathing, you can not get caught he will kick you out of society or worse kill you!

Miguel scratches his head and gives a slight “huh” before leaving the room and going back to the bedroom. You wait a few moments before you poke your head out cautiously. Looks all clear, you quickly go to make your escape, but then you stop the dare…you got to get that underwear, it was just a stupid game but your pride was going to get the better of you and you didn’t want to be subjected to Hobies teasing of how you couldn’t hack it after all your big talk. You swallow down your fear and turn towards the bedroom door.

You approach the door hesitantly and place your ear to it, you hear what sounds like a shower, Miguel must be doing some aftercare for himself. Taking all risks you gently open the door and peer inside your spider senses helping to guide you through feeling no immediate danger. Peering inside you see the room is empty. Walking in you look for a dresser but with no luck, the only thing you see is a large bed and nightstand, ever the minimalist huh Miguel? Your eyes go to the door on the side of the room where you hear the shower being used.

This is stupid, this is stupid, this is stupid! You're going to get seen! Thinking to yourself as you slowly crack open the door to the master bathroom. Looking through the crack you see a silhouette of Miguel in the shower, the glass is steamed over from the intestine heat of the water he is cleaning himself with. It’s so hot that as you carefully crawl in you feel the heat and humidity in the air thick and making it hard to breathe.

Miguel is something else to take such scouring showers. You look around, eyes darting all over the floor for any chance of dirty clothes and then to the fogged-up shower making sure he is still blissfully unaware of the invasion of privacy. Your eyes catch what looks to be another door that you are betting to be his closest, you quickly crawl over and sneak into the closet carefully shutting the door behind you.

Looking around the closet you see a variety of different clothes ranging from tee shirts and jens to luxury suits and jackets. Your attention falls to a leather jacket that you can’t help but touch, imagining how wonderful he must look in this jacket, what you wouldn’t give…you quietly slap your hands to your cheeks trying to refocus. you're on a mission here!

Surveying around your eyes lands on what seems to be a dresser. Quickly rushing over you open the first small drawer, socks in various neutral colors. Okay, drawer number two, you open and bingo! There they are Miguel’s assortment of underwear, boxers or briefs? He’s a brief man.

Eyeing the underwear you feel a tinge of embarrassment and guilt looking at his underwear, this is pretty perverse, you already watched him masterbait now taking his underwear? Well, it's only because of the dare that makes it less perverse right? You did get excited from watching him, do you have a problem? Too horny maybe? You shrug that’s something you will ponder another day, today you have a mission. Plunging your hand in the drawer you take the first pair your hand falls to, navy blue. This will have to work!

Still hearing the shower you are thankful he seems to be taking his time. Going to make your escape you head for the door, then just your luck, the shower turns off, fuck. Quickly backtracking to the closet you hide yourself leaving a crack so you peer out to watch.

Miguel wipes the fogged-up glass of the shower revealing his damp hair cascading down his forehead, the water rolling down his chiseled physique, you feel your heat dripping down as you watch. Note to self find an excuse to pour water on Miguel so you can see him dripping wet again. You watch with intrigue as he swiftly wraps his towel around his narrow waist drawing attention to his deep v.

It takes everything in you to not drool and melt away into a puddle on his floor. Every movement of his routine made you desire him more and more, you were down bad. Miguel brushes his hair back with his hands and that has you almost losing all sense, why is everything he does so sexy? You need to get a grip. Studying him you wait for an opportunity to make your escape without getting caught, just have to be patient now. He's looking at himself in the mirror looking at his jaw and inspecting his face, he then widens his lips to reveal his teeth and fangs on full display.

The sight of his fangs has you holding your breath. That’s right if you get caught he would have no problem using those things on you, actually, that’s not a terrible idea…no! Too horny, get out of here!

Miguel opens a drawer at the sink and pulls out some floss, he tentatively pulls a long string out and begins to floss around his teeth making sure to go carefully around his fangs. Why is this oddly adorable? Scary Spider man adorably flossing, and very cute. Miguel gets done flossing and licks his teeth, then something you never thought you would ever see. He smiles to himself in the mirror before quickly going back to his permanent neutral state. Too bad he doesn't smile more often; you often try to make him smile when you get to interact with him at work. Telling jokes, funny stories, smiling and waving as you pass him but nothing has ever seemed to work out for you.

Miguel sighs and shakes his head going away from the mirror to his bedroom. Okay, enough daydreaming you need to get out of here quickly. You decide the best way to sneak out is to crawl on the wall, you start scaling the wall crawling on the ceiling. He left the door to the room open so you peek your head in, and it’s all clear. You crawl through and go to exit his bedroom as you are about to get down to open the door. It swings open causing you to quickly flatten yourself to the ceiling. Miguel walks in with a bottle of water in hand still in a towel from the shower. As he is right under you he stops and sniffs, shit shit! Why does he keep doing that? Do you smell? You took a shower this morning, you should not be smelling.

As Miguel whips his head side to side you quickly and quietly slip out the bedroom before he has a chance to get wise and look up.

You quickly get down from the ceiling and start making your pursuit to the door. You did it! You made it, you got the underwear! Oh, the look on Hobie’s face is going to be priceless!

Suddenly, as you are about to reach out to the knob and make your escape, feeling the high of success you are pulled back and swiftly turned around to be met with a crimson-eyed Miguel, and he looks pissed. It’s in this moment you wish to see Miguel who was smiling but you're not getting that side of him you're getting Miguel burning with rage. “I thought I fucking smelled you…” okay wow, ouch? Do you smell bad? Before you can say anything his hand grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks “What are you doing in my room?”

You stare at him, lips puckered and eyes wide, this is how you die…

Miguel squeezes you harder “Answer me…” he growls, he’s so close to you, you can feel the vibration in his chest, his heat burning your skin his smell invading your senses, it’s intoxicating being this close, he's not wearing a shirt and only in those familiar sweatpants, you can’t help but notice your panties getting soaked. However you can’t get lost in the fantasy right now, you’ve been caught and you need to focus on not losing your life.

“I’m sorry” you mutter out as best you can. Miguel continues to stare daggers into you, he wants more of an answer than that.

“I didn’t think you would be here”

Miguel releases your face and now keeps his hands on your arms pinning you to the nearest wall. “Why would you even come in here?” He looks you up and down for a moment and that’s when he sees what’s in your hands, his eyes widening in surprise “Is that…”

“Wait! Miguel, I can explain! This isn't what it looks like!”

Miguel tilts his head at you, “Yeah? Because it looks like you're a nasty little perv”

His derogation sends shivers down your spine and makes your sex even more wet.

Miguel studies you seeing your flushed features, can he sense that you're getting turned on? The answer is yes, “I should have known you were here, your sweet scent tainting the air.”

Okay, what the hell? You furrow your eyebrows at him “Do I smell? You keep saying that I smell?”

Miguel lifts an eyebrow at your face still stern but not so much angry “I can smell your arousal pooling in your panties” he grips you tighter “I may not have that little danger alarm like the rest of you but that doesn’t mean my other senses are not heightened. And right now I can smell just how excited you are, was this your plan? Watch me, take my underwear, and get caught? Or is getting caught just a pleasant surprise for you?”

Miguel lends down whispering in the shell of your ear, his warm breath causing your skin to tingle “And don’t try to deny it”

Your breath hitches for a moment “I didn't mean to watch it was an accident”

“What about you getting so turned on?” He stares intensely at you, you feel your face flush with embarrassment and clench your thighs together. You are turned on, desperately so. His voice is so sultry, even him bullying you is causing you excitement. Looking into his red eyes his face seems less of rage and more of fascination.

“I-I couldn't help myself.”

His hands slowly slide down your arms to your waist, and he buries his head in your neck, smelling you taking you in. The feeling of his breath fanning over your skin makes you think you will instantly melt. Your eyes flutter, closed breath becomes heavy and he rubs his nose slowing up your neck. Finally, he moves away from your neck and looks at your blown-out eyes and flushed cheeks, he smirks, oh you're in danger.

Miguel suddenly turns you around pressing your chest and face to the wall, his hand grazes your ass before roughly spanking you, causing your hips to buckle forward releasing a high-pitched yelp. His weight leans on you and his knee drives up into your wet cunt, the slight friction makes your head jerk back and clit to tingle. Miguel chuckles and he brings his face into your hair smelling you before reaching and grabbing a handful of hair, pulling slightly. His lips slightly graze your ear as he speaks.

“You're a bad little slut aren't you?”

“N-no'm not”

Another spank smacks across your ass “Oh, I think you are though. Sneaking in here watching me and taking my stuff, good girls don't do that.” He purrs

He leans more into you and you can feel just how big and hard he is. Miguel's hands find the zipper to your suit slowly zipping it down “Tell me to keep going, tell me how much you want it”

Pushing yourself from the wall you nod your head, your mind hazy from the desire to be touched more. Forgetting all about pride, forgetting all about the dare, your only thoughts are your desires.

Miguel tsks at you and stops unzipping your suit “Use your words Cariño or I will stop”

“Yes, I want it! Please!” You whine slightly rubbing yourself on his knee desperate for any kind of friction.

“What are you bebé?” Releasing the zipper of your suit that now reveals your bare back to him, He swiftly brings a hand to tug your hair, he's going to make you beg and plead, isn't he? Biting your lip you feel him shove his knee further into you, his other hand going to your hip to help guide you as you rub yourself practically riding his knee like a bitch in heat as he continues his torment.

“Your needly slut! Please just take me Miguel!”

With that Miguel releases his grip from your hair and hip peeling down your suit revealing your naked body to him, he eyes you for a moment drinking in every curve and dip of your soft skin slowly running his hands down your sides whispering incoherent filth in your ear before he quickly turns you around and scoops you in his arms carrying you to his bedroom.

He practically kicks his door in tossing you on the bed, before you can get your bearings his hands are on your ankles dragging you closer. He stares intensely at you like a predator about to devour its prey.

Miguel crawls on top of you, his breath fanning over your lips, he carefully takes his thumb and swipes it over your bottom lip. “Soft…” is all he mutters before he kisses you, softly first then quickly heating up to a sloppy ravenous hunger to taste you. His hands paw all over your body squeezing all over and grabbing handfuls of you desperately. When you break away for air he can't help but

lick wet stripes on your neck then give you slight nips, his fangs slightly grazing you careful not to break your skin.

He trails down peppering kisses down your heated body, your bra is quickly tossed off of you causing your breast to bounce before him letting out a yelp to the suddenness of his action. Miguel stares for a moment watching your nipples peak, He just smirks and massages them before latching himself to your peaked nipple, first lapping with his tongue before biting with a tug. You moan and whimper at his teasing, playfully biting and licking one as he pinches and pulls the other.

He travels lower, his eyes staying on your face watching each reaction, he's studying you, he wants to note what every kiss, bite, lick, and tug does to you. When he finally reaches your heated sex he examines your panties, soft blue with a very noticeable dark spot, he rubs his middle finger across your wet panties taking in how your body shakes at his touch and you push yourself into him more. The hard-on in his sweatpants is aching to be released, but he wants to punish you for your perverted behavior.

“Look at what you have done to your pretty panties princesa, acting like a dirty slut has ruined them” his finger rubs on your clothed clit digging into your folds and ruining your underwear further. You can only moan and plead for him to continue, your cunt aching to be filled with anything, getting impossibly wetter as he continues his teasing. Rocking your hips faster on his finger desperate for friction on your clit, you really are needy.

He slaps his hand down on your clothed cunt causing you to jump and moan at the bullying. “No, rushing me princesa” he's making sure to go painfully slow, he wants you to beg for it.

He slips your panties off slowly, watching your sweetness leak out of you, your needy pussy is clenching around nothing desperate to be filled. You are a rambling mess of pleading and whimpering as Miguel tortures you with his slow lingering touches. Miguel slowly dives his face into your cunt and nose pushing your clit making your body jerk and moan, he takes in your smell getting drunk on your sweet secretion. He lifts his head and leads his head on your thigh “Such a sweet-smelling slut, you know how long you have been teasing me?”

He starts to run his finger through your slick folds “walking around me all aroused, making me have to smell you without getting to taste you”

He Plunges his finger into you, his large finger going knuckle deep and curling slowly in you, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit making your vision blur from how deep he is. As you wetten he slips in another finger filling you up, your breathing becoming desperate, back starts to arch, and hands flying to your hair. He continues his pursuit moving his fingers around your gummy walls searching for that sweet spot of yours. When it's finally found you're seeing stars and clenching tightly on his fingers, your hands flying down to hold his wrist as he continues to make you ride his hand. Miguel just watches as you approach your high “Do you know what all that teasing does to a man?”

He suddenly pulls away as you are reaching your peak. His fingers are glazed with your wetness. Smiling down at you he puts his wet fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes never leaving yours. He takes them out of with mouth with a pop “Makes a man hungry Hermosa”

You have tears pooling in your eyes being robbed of your orgasm, you start begging him to continue whimpering and flustered as he just watches you beg.

“You're such a needy little slut huh?”

Nodding feverishly you agree to everything that leaves his mouth

“You know? I think I know how to correct your bad behavior”

Standing from the bed he removes his sweatpants, his hard cock flicking up to hit his stomach leaving precum in its wake. Staring intently at you he starts pumping his massive cock throbbing for friction. All you can do is watch him wide-eyed sure you saw it earlier but now it's going to be inside of you. His length and girth are so big you don't even know if it would fit in your tight pussy, but you are aquiver to try, whimpering at his display.

“We got to fuck it out of you Hermosa, you want that? You want me to fill up and teach you a lesson?”

You nod and spread your legs wider for him. Miguel slips out a moan, eyeing your spread open sex. All for him, begging for him, he almost can't help himself from immediately thrusting into you.

“Words?” he says, still pumping himself, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes I am bad, teach me a lesson! Fuck me, ah please Miguel!”

Miguel Grabs your face and laughs at you “No need to beg, such a desperate thing” he shakes his head. Teasing still makes your skin tingle and nipples to perk evermore. Truth be told he loves your begging, he's getting drunk off your eagerness for him.

He watches as your cunt clenches around nothing begging to be filled. He lines up and slowly rubs his length between your folds gathering your slick before slowly inching in his tip. His cock feels like fire as he slowly stretches you open, heating your soft slick walls. Your hands gripping his shoulders as you try to keep from clenching allowing him to slip in.

“Mm, that’s right, fit it in Hermosa”

The initial pain quickly becomes pleasure as he splits you open, heating you slowly going inch by inch stretching you deliciously. Your eyes start to roll in the back of your head and you close your eyes, letting the pleasure take over you. Suddenly Miguel slams his full length into you, filling you instantly and bullying into your cervix, the head of his cock nudging your g spot. The sensation causes your eyes to shoot open, you digging your nails into his shoulders and the air in your lungs to escape you.

“Keep your eyes open and on me”

Following his demands you watch him, eyes glaze over as you get cock drunk on his relentless rutting. Miguels just laughs as he rolls his hips back and slams into you again and again forcing you to stretch open and take him in. Usually, he would warm someone up a bit more before he starts fucking them so forcefully, but you've been a little pervert so you need to be taught what happens when you're bad. All you can do is moan and shake as he bullies your tight cunt making it form to his shape.

“That's it, baby, take it”

He continues to rut into you pulling back to the tip before slamming back in, thoroughly fucking you dumb. Eyes crossed and mouth hanging open muttering incoherently. Miguel leans down and kisses you sloppily still fucking you at a brutal pace, taking your jaw and making your mouth open wider he spits in your mouth.

“Swallow” he demains

Quickly following his demands you swallow and open your mouth again to show him how obedient you can be to him, you really are like a dog..

“Good girl” He rewards you by snaking his hand to your clit and rubbing it in circular motions.

You are quickly approaching your high toes curling, legs wrapping around Miguel's waist, and hands clawing into his back leaving scratch marks painting all the way down his back. Your walls start to clamp down on him.

“Ah, Mig ah Miguel I'm close, please!”

His massive cock abusing your sensitive spot has you seeing stars and pussy creaming all over him, leaving a white ring around his cock finally cumming around him. He continues chasing his release as he helps you ride out your orgasm. His cock continues to fill you pulsating as he reaches his orgasm. The sounds of your wet pussy and the slapping of skin fill the room. His rhythm becomes sloppy and pounding harder into you

“You hear that? Ah, such a needy pussy. Where do you want it huh? When does my dirty slut want my cum? Her stomach? Ah, Face? Mm inside?”

“Inside!” You beg, approaching your second high.

“Oh? Do you want me to fill you up? Such a greedy slut aren't you?”

You begin to see white, his relentless pace making your head empty.

“I said, Aren't you!” he pounds harder, making everything shake and you scream in pleasure.

“Yes! Im so fucking greedy!” you're practically sobbing at the pace he's set. You think you're going to break as he takes your legs and pushes your knees to your face, making him slip what you thought was impossibly deeper. Miguel angles himself that has you clamping down on him squirting out on his cock.

With that Miguel stops moving, hips completely flushed with you, his body shakes as he releases his hot thick cum inside of you giving out a moan that vibrates through his wide chest. His hot load warms your insides, mixing in with your release causing you to shudder. Miguel looks down at you and smiles still staying in you, he leans his massive body over you and kisses you while pulling out. The emptiness makes you whine and he quickly goes to look at his handy work.

He holds your ankles out so you have to be stretched before him, your abused clit red and sensitive, your hole filled with his sperm leaking out. Quickly taking his thumb to the escaping mess he pushes it back into your hole causing you to shake with overstimulation.

“Mm, Such a pretty mess baby.”

Miguel gets up and heads to his door, he turns to look at your tired body glowing with sweat.

“I'm going to get you some water, when I get back you better prepare yourself, I'm not done punishing you.”

You close your thighs together, his words sending a shiver of anticipation back through you as you bite your lip watching him leave.

You will have to thank Hobie later for picking this dare.

---

Miguel laughs, “So you came here to steal my underwear for a dare?” You look over at him with a smirk admiring his nude body in such a relaxed state and giving that smile you have been so desperately dreaming for.

Eventually, you told him all about the dare game and how you ended up here. You're searching all over the floor for your underwear in the mess of bedding that found its way to the floor in a messy heap.

“Look I am not going to back down from a dare, now where are…”.

Miguel whistles and you look up at him as he's holding up your underwear; you reach to grab them from him but he pulls them back causing you to crash down on his bare chest. His other hand instantly curled around you to hold you to him. Once red eyes now dulling down to a brown as he just holds and smiles at you.

“Take mine, do what you need to do and I will keep these” He balls up your underwear and holds them in a fist behind his head.

You give him a suspicious look “Why do you want to hang on to them?”

Miguel chuckles and looks back at you “To make sure you'll come back”

---

Later you find Hobie, Quin, and Ben sitting down chatting, you march up to the table and throw the navy blue underwear down on the table. They all look at you stunned at the item of clothing in front of them. Your hair was disheveled, lips red and swollen from being kissed, and cheeks still painted with a bit of blush. Hobie raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down noting your appearance, then he smirks.

“And what took you so long?”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman

1K notes · View notes

fadedncity · 22 days

Text

save a horse, ride a cowboy

wc: 3.3k

pairing: haechan x fem!reader

cw: smut, bf!haechan, non idol au, alcohol consumption, switch!haechan, switch!reader, praising, teasing, oral sex (receiving), fingering, brief sensory deprivation, riding/cowgirl, dirty talk, pet names, marking, creampie, unprotected sex, small mention of other idols, small mention of aftercare

song rec: tyrant, sweet ★ honey ★ buckiin’, and riiverdance by beyoncé

a/n: i've been listening to cowboy carter nonstop ever since it dropped, gaining a shit ton of inspiration lmao. happy reading! 🤠

edit: yes title change per @iweirdthingsblog suggestion 🫶🏽

You tap your boot along to the beat of the song, creating a soft thud on the wooden planks below you. The bar hums with activity, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and sawdust mixed with the aroma of sizzling food and spilled beer.

Lanterns flicker overhead, casting dancing shadows across the room as patrons swirled around the wooden dance floor, their boots drumming out rhythms as they engaged in lively line dancing, their laughter mingling with the twang of guitars and the thump of the bass.

"Anytime today, Hyuck," you sigh, resting your chin on the end of your cue stick while you wait for Haechan to make his move.

"I'm thinking," Haechan says, his hand on his hip as he surveys the pool table. The warm glow of overhead lights illuminates the green-felt surface of the pool table you've been occupying for the better part of an hour.

Haechan's gaze is intense, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he calculates each shot. His fingers trace the edge of his cue stick, the wood worn smooth from years of use. Haechan leans over the table, his movements fluid as he lines up his shot.

The sharp crack of the cue ball fills the air as he strikes, the 5 ball nearly making it into the pocket but hitting the edge of the table instead, causing Haechan to curse under his breath.

You smirk, rounding the table to Haechan's side, confidence oozing from your pores, "Excuse me," you lean over the table.

You eye the remaining balls with a grin, your mind already calculating the perfect angle for your next shot. With a smooth stroke, you send both the 11 and 8 balls careening into the corner pocket, sealing your victory.

"That makes it what now, 3-1," you tease, savoring the taste of triumph.

Haechan hadn't really been paying attention to your game-winning strike, too distracted by you leaning over in front of him, especially in this outfit.

"You know, maybe if you weren't too busy staring at my ass, you'd have a fair chance at winning."

"Not my fault your ass looks amazing in these pants," Haechan smirks, stepping forward and pressing his body flush against yours.

The scent of whiskey and cologne clouds your senses as you refuse to back down and look away even under the immense weight of his heavy stare.

"Hey—Oh I'm definitely interrupting something," Michelle said, breaking the tension between the two of you.

"Just me running Hyuck's pockets dry," You break the eye contact, looking over at your friend.

"So nothing new then," Michelle waves off, "Well Yangyang lost in darts, so the next round's on him," she informs you both.

"Say less," You slip from between Haechan and the pool table.

Haechan closely follows behind you as you join your friends gathered around the table.

"To victory and defeat," Renjun teases Yangyang, causing the younger to flip him off as he downed the shot.

"To victory and defeat!" the group echoed, clinking their glasses together before tossing back the fiery liquid and slamming them down on the table.

"So," You wince, letting the slight burn of the alcohol pass, "Wanna go another round?" you ask Haechan.

"So you can take more of my money? No thank you," he says, setting his glass down beside yours.

"Booo you're no fun," you scoff.

Haechan's lips curled into a sly grin, "How about something that gives a more fair chance of either of us winning."

"Like...?"

Haechan's eyes scanned the room before landing on the rowdy patrons lined up for their turn on the mechanical bull, its metal frame gleaming under the dim lights. Cheers and laughter erupted as riders attempted to last longer than the previous one, their determination matched only by the wild gyrations of the mechanical contraption.

"The mechanical bull."

You accept the challenge with a smirk, eager to prove your skills once again.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the challenge. "And why would I lose?" With a playful tug, you snatched Haechan's hat from his head and plopped it on your own.

Haechan chuckles, his gaze trailing after the hat. "Because, sweetheart, if you've forgotten, you're about as graceful as a newborn calf," he says.

A grin spreads across your face as you adjust the hat, determined to prove him wrong. "Oh, baby, don't be so sure you know everthing. I've got moves you've yet to see," you counter, your competitive spirit ignited.

"You sure this hat isn't too small for your big head?" Haechan teases, flicking the brim of the hat on your head.

"Oh I'm sure. Unless you're scared to prove me right."

"I just don't want your ego to be bruised when you're proven wrong," Haechan says.

"Okay, how much you wanna bet?" you ask.

"How about we make this a little more interesting?" he proposes, his tone suggestive.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. "And what's more interesting than money?" you inquire, a mischievous smile on your lips.

"If you win, I'll go home with you tonight and we can do whatever you want," he leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "If I win, you'll come over to mine, and I get to do whatever I want to you," he says.

A chill runs down your spine as Haechan speaks these words in your ear. You swallow hard, trying not to make it evident how excited you are by his words.

"You're on, Hyuck."

"May the best rider win," he holds out his hand for you to shake.

As Haechan rose from his seat, a determined glint in his eyes, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. He ventured toward the mechanical beast, his confident stride drawing the attention of both you and your friends. With a smirk, you leaned over to the rest of the table, informing them of the bet you had made with Haechan, leaving out a few of the more intimate details to spare their ears.

"How long do you think he'll last?" Dosie questions as she sat up in her seat to get a better view.

Mark turns in his spot, his eyes trained on Haechan as he mounts the mechanical bull. "I'll give him 10, maybe 15 seconds," he wagers, a playful grin spreading across his face.

As the mechanical bull bucked and swayed, Haechan surprised everyone by lasting longer than 15 seconds, though he was ultimately thrown off before reaching the 20-second mark, much to Yuta's amusement as he operated the machine.

"Have fun trying to beat that, babe," Haechan calls out confidently as he approaches you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Have fun watching me," you wink as you stand to your feet, accepting the challenge laid before you.

Haechan switches places with you, his gaze fixated on your swaying hips as you walk away from the table. He watches you pass the pen, heading toward the DJ's booth where Johnny stands, whispering something in his ear. You exchange a knowing smile with Haechan from across the bar, a silent understanding passing between you as you prepare to take on the challenge.

As the music changes, signaling the start of your ride, you mount the mechanical bull with ease, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Once you have your balance, you let go of the reins and let the beat of the music flow through your body, trusting your hips to follow the movements of the machine to keep you upright.

Haechan watches you intently as you effortlessly command the bull, practically hypnotizing him as your hips move in sync with the music, and you make it look like the easiest thing ever.

"Tyrant every time I ride it, every time I ride it. Make it look so good-" The lyrics of the song ring out in Haechan's ears as he's unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Haechan's throat feels dry and can feel his cock stirring in his pants, watching you. His mind races, quickly disregarding any repercussions of the bet, wanting to take you home as the desire to have him be the one you're on top of grows with each whine of your waist.

The intensity of the ride increases, and you grab onto your hat, ensuring it stays firmly in place as you continue to ride with no hands, determined to prove a point to Haechan, all the while completely unaware of the turmoil you're subjecting him to.

But as your legs began to tire, you knew it was time to gracefully dismount the bull, bouncing on the airy cushion below before being helped up by Yuta.

"And we have a new record setter!" Johnny announces, causing the bar to erupt into cheers, the crowd raising their drinks in salute.

"Hey, you have a bit of drool, just right there," Kelcee teases Haechan as he still hasn't picked up his jaw.

Returning to the table victorious, you share a triumphant smile with Haechan, "This now makes it 4-1," you declare, downing the free shot Taeyong had brought to your table.

"We're leaving now," Haechan says.

"Why?" you ask.

"Cause I almost just came in my pants," he admits.

. . .

The entry to your house was heated, as Haechan couldn't wait another second after you got the key in the door. His hands were all over you, desperate to get your clothes off as you both almost trip over your feet, kicking off your boots.

"You're so impatient, baby. What's everyone gonna think of us just leaving so abruptly?" you ask.

"I don't give a fuck," Haechan reaches for your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, "I need you now." he pants against your lips.

You circle your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. Haechan's hands on your hips travel lower, cupping your ass through your leather pants, making you groan into his mouth.

He grabs the back of your thighs, hoisting you into the air, making you yelp in surprise when you feel the ground no longer beneath your feet.

Haechan blindly navigates through your house, bringing you both to the bedroom, slightly knocking into pieces of furniture on the way there. You hop out of his arms when he nears the bed and push him down onto the mattress.

Sitting back on his hands, Haechan watches as you begin to undo the strings of your top, revealing the tops of your breasts.

You can tell he's already growing impatient, nibbling on his bottom lip and bouncing his leg, becoming more fidgety.

"Would you like to do the honors?" you drop your arms to your sides, and without missing a beat, Haechan drops to his knees in front of you. He swiftly undoes your belt, flinging somewhere in the room before making quick work of your pants, pulling the leather down your legs, allowing you to step out of them.

You softly run your fingers through Haechan's hair as he begins kissing his way up your legs. His hands snake up the sides of your legs, pulling you closer as he reaches the apex of your thigh.

"Can I?" he asks, looking up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"Go ahead, my love," you nod at him.

Haechan doesn't break eye contact as he takes the hem of your underwear between his teeth, slowly dragging them down your legs. He licks his lips, circling an arm around one of your thighs, pulling you closer to his face.

You sensually hum, letting your head fall back as Haechan's tongue laps at your folds. His eyes flick up to your face, watching as you lose yourself and begin rocking your hips against his mouth.

"Mhm, that's it, baby," you moan.

Haechan smirks before he catches your clit between his lips, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Hyuck," you gasp, roughly tugging at his roots.

You mewl, feeling your knees becoming weak. But Haechan holding your hips helps you stay upright. He starts shifting in his place on the floor, his cock straining against his pants as he eats you out. Your eyes roll back, the warmth blooming in your lower stomach. Haechan shoves his face further between your legs, his tongue working tirelessly against your pulsing clit.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum," you tell him.

A muffled whimper can be heard from the man before you, desperate to taste all of you. Haechan's fingers reach your entrance, slowly sinking two digits into your pussy.

"Yes, yes, right there," you sigh.

Your eyes meet your boyfriend's wide, lustful ones, seeing the lower half of his face glistening with your juices in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"Cum for me, please," he breathlessly pleads. Determination crosses Haechan's face as he delves back in, his eyes closing, becoming more intoxicated off you.

You grab the collar of his shirt, getting him to stand to his full height, and crash your lips into his. You swipe your tongue along the seam of his lips, tasting yourself when you slip your tongue into his mouth.

You begin unbuttoning his shirt as he undoes the buckle of his belt, letting it clunk to the floor, before kicking off his pants along with his underwear.

With the strings of your vest untied, Haechan pushes the leather off your shoulders, finally getting you fully undressed as he pulls you down onto the bed with him, seating you in his lap.

A soft groan slips from Haechan's lips when you roll your hips into his, and you feel his cock growing more and more erect with each gyration of your hips. You trail kisses down his neck, softly sinking your teeth into his skin.

You push Haechan back onto the pillows, brushing your hair out of the way as it falls into his face.

"So," you start as you reach over to your nightstand, "Remember the part when you said if I win, we get to do whatever I want," you remind him, revealing the blindfold in your hand.

"Oh god," Haechan rolls his eyes.

"What, you said you trust me," you sit back with a pout.

"I do," Haechan sits up, hugging you closer, "I just hate the idea of not being able to see you," now he has a pout on his face, "I love nothing more than watching your face completely melt with bliss as I make you cum on my cock," his fingers dig into your skin, "But of course for you, my love, I'll do anything."

"We don't have t-"

"I want to. Just let me look at you a little longer first," Haechan tucks your hair behind your ear, admiring your features.

You press a kiss to his lips, "Alright, pretty boy," you tie the scarf behind his head, making sure not to get his hair caught in the knot. "You ready?"

"Do your worst," he says with a snarky grin, laying back with his hands behind his head.

"Okay," You lined his cock up with your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his length, "Just relax for me, babe."

"Fuck," Haechan draws out, reveling in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

"God, you fill me up so good, Hyuck," you begin to rock your hips.

His hands reach out for you but he stops himself. "Can I touch you?"

"Hmm, not yet," you say, "Just sit there and take it like a good boy," you kiss the corner of his mouth.

Haechan whimpers and bucks his hips up into yours, balling his fists to restrain himself. You flatten your feet on the bed, giving yourself more leverage. Each time you lower yourself, you feel the tip of his cock reaching the deepest parts of you.

Haechan tries to keep himself from moving too much but fails miserably, too drunk off the feeling of your warm, wet walls, hugging his length with a vice grip.

"Please—fuck—please, you feel so fucking good," he squirms beneath you, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Yeah, is this what you wanted?" you let your knees fall on either side of his waist, slowing down your movements, "Couldn't stop yourself from hoping I'd ride you as well as that mechanical bull, huh, pretty boy?"

His breath hitches in his throat, "Mhm..."

"Maybe you knew you'd lose, and knew you'd get exactly what you wanted anyway."

Haechan laughs, "It may have crossed my mind."

You pull the blindfold from over his eyes, and Haechan blinks his vision into focus, staring up at you.

"God, you got me so fucking weak," Haechan sighs, bringing a smile to your face.

"Come here," you jut your chin toward him.

Haechan sits up, wrapping his arms around and crashing his lips into yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. Haechan's lips muffle your moans, holding your hips and directing your movements.

"Fuck, I wanna cum so bad," he says.

"What makes you think you deserve to?" you tease.

Mischief gleams in your boyfriend's eyes as he holds your waist, bringing you both closer to the edge of the bed. He grabs your ankles, directing your feet to flatten on the bed on either side of him. With the extra leverage, you're able to move more fluidly and curl your arm around Haechan's neck as you ride him.

"Oh my god, hyuck, you feel so fucking good," you whine.

"That's right, sweetheart," he takes hold of your waist, slamming his cock up into you, "Take it like it's yours," he grunts.

You cry out, throwing your head back as Haechan can't tear his eyes away from where your bodies meet, too entranced with the way your sopping heat swallows his cock.

"I feel so close," you say.

"Yeah?" he smirks. He sneaks his hand between your bodies, and a moan rips from your throat as he circles your clit with his thumb.

"Please, Hyuck, oh my god!" your fingernails dig into his shoulder, causing him to his at the temporary pain. "I want you to cum with me."

"Oh I'm right there with you, princess," his voice drops an octave, "Just focus on how good it feels. How much I fill you up over and over again. How your pretty little pussy takes me so well."

"Please, baby, m'close," you slur.

"That's it, sweetheart, yeah," Haechan's jaw clenched, feeling how tight you are right now, "Let me have it all."

Your thighs tremble, and the muscles in your lower stomach contract as you feel the knot inside you snap. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, and your vision goes black. You slump against Haechan's chest as his hips continue fucking up into you, your orgasm sending him into his own.

"Fuck," Haechan buries his cock inside you, letting his seed decorate your inner walls.

"Oh my god," was all you could say as you wrapped your arms around Haechan, trying to catch your breath.

Haechan tucks his head into the crook of your neck and rubs his hand up and down your back. Soft kisses against the side of your throat bring you out of your haze, and you lift your head to meet Haechan's eyes.

"That was…"

"Yeah, it was," you both laugh.

"Are you alright?" he asks, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs.

"Yeah, I'm just already feeling it in my legs," you tell him, hissing from the discomfort in your limbs.

You attempt to stand, almost falling to the floor if it weren't for Haechan grabbing your waist and seating you back on the bed.

"How about you stay here, and I get you cleaned up. I have a feeling you're gonna be having some difficulty getting around for the next few days," Haechan chuckles.

"It was totally worth it," you reply.

a/n: i feel like it’s been so long since i’ve put something out and im so sorry for that 😣 but i’ve missed y’all and i’ve missed writing. i can’t promise my next story will be out soon but i’ll definitely be putting some more stuff out later on in the year. i love you all and thank you for reading <33 feedback is appreciated!!

746 notes · View notes

predestinatos · 3 months

Text

we so lowkey - OP81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader (x tiny bit of charles at the beginning)

summary: "the game is called truth or dare for a reason" | 5k words. warnings underneath. MINORS DNI.

tags: smut, sort of stoner!oscar, jealous charles to drive the plot, college student reader, dirty talking.

warnings: drugs (weed), cigarettes, (consensual) unprotected sex, backshots, a lot of dirty talking, oral (male and female receiving), double orgasm.

notes: sorry for the delay, i have been on a writing slump (ignore the fact that this is 5k words long...) and trying to enjoy my last days with my bf before he leaves on erasmus!! but i hope you guys like this one. lmk your thoughts and thank u for ur patience always!

"I am not getting drunk today" you said, putting your foot down. "I can take tipsy, but not drunk" your friend laughed at your comment but nodded in agreement, both of you acknowledging the fact that you had to calm yourselves down now that exams season approached. "It's just a small get together either way" your friend replied, shrugging. your clothes scattered across your clean room, an off-putting contrast you couldn't avoid. "You know a 'small get together' usually means at least 30 people" you applied lipstick in front of your closet mirror as you observed your friend through it. "He's here" your friend whispered as you entered the living room of the dorm room heavily decorated with alcohol and LED lights. She needn't say who she was referring to, for the name sounded forbidden yet that's what made it so enticing. grabbing yourself a drink and glancing around the room, you realized it really was a rather small group. it seemed comprised of around 20 people, the girl to boy ratio very balanced. if you didn't know better, you'd say this was planned. the first sip of alcohol touched your tongue and you swallowed happily, moving slowly to the rhythm of the music along with your friend. "Will you hate me if i leave you for a second?" she asked, lips close to your ear in nervous secrecy. you merely looked at her brown doe eyes and smiled, the best answer you could give her. You were both in college for more than grades - you were there for the full experience. the regrets, the bodies, the hands, the flirting, the waking up with a headache - it was all part of this phenomenal journey that lasted around 3 years, and you'd enjoy every single one of them. so as she left to go talk to someone, you knew you'd be fine. Of course you would, because as if he was waiting, Charles approached you, all strong perfume smell and smug attitude approaching you. "Didn't know you were coming" his eyes look down at you as he remains close but without touching you, daring you to make the first move. "Me neither, or I wouldn't have come" you spat, eyes shotting up at his, expression unchanging and unaffected, almost please with the reply. cocking his head to the side he brought his hand to your chin, stroking it softly yet teasingly. "You were never good at that when it comes to me" he said, clinking his plastic cup against yours, mocking you in a frustrating yet attractive way. you we're supposed to be having fun, fucking around and getting to know how other bodies fit in your bed, yet for the entirety of this year Charles Leclerc had been the one fulfilling that duty. It frustrated you, how you were so addicted to how he felt and made you feel, how the two of you had more than chemistry, creating friction during lectures and letting it all out during the night.

You weren’t exclusive, nor did you discuss feelings – something the both of you appreciated, since this back and forth between you two was pleasurable enough and it had absolutely zero strings attached. Breathing in deeply, you decided to simply strike him back the way you two enjoyed “what can I say, I’m a good actress.”

He exhaled through his nose with a smile that recognized your humor and your momentary win, a ‘touché’ leaving his lips in perfect French, attractive enough to make you take another sip of your drink in order to focus on something else.

Minutes pass with the music blasting and you and Charles going back and forth between dancing and teasing each other, your mutual attraction clear to everyone around. Yet, after a while, the volume lowered as someone announce “truth or dare! Everyone gather in a circle on the floor please!”

Everyone complied – easily so, given the fact that there weren’t that many people in the room, making it extra personal and giving everyone a chance to talk and meet each other, something you didn’t particularly do. After around 2 minutes, everyone sat enthusiastically, talking to each other with slightly lightheaded giddiness that only came after the right amount of drinks. To your left sat your best friend, side eyeing you disapprovingly at the person to your right – Charles. “Way to meet new people” she said, ironically. Pretending to be mad wasn’t her forte, as she laughed slightly at your predictableness and you shrugged, “c’est la vie!” “And now you’re speak French?”

The host – a beautiful girl with the most amazing curly hair and prettiest eyes you’d ever seen, sat down and clapped her hands, an “alright!” coming out of her exhale. “We will spin this bottle twice: first chooses truth or dare, second gives the truth or dare. Be interesting, please!” she explained, causing everyone to laugh excitedly.

The bottle spun, landing on a boy who you were sure had had a thing for your friend for the longest time. “Dare” he decided as the bottle spun once again, landing on Charles. “I dare you to text ‘I miss you’ to the 6th person in your contacts” he said smuggishly. Everyone ‘oooh’ed as the boy grabbed his phone and searched for said contact. “Fuck-“ he exhaled, frustrated, “it’s my ex.” Charles merely laughed as he said “those are the rules!” nonchalantly placing a hand on your upper thigh without even a glance. Before you could ask, the boy’s voice exclaimed “done!” as he showcased his screen to everyone in a circle, the hand on your thigh disappearing as fast as it arrived.

A couple of rounds went by, you asking one person about their shittiest sexual experience and more drinks being poured as people kissed each other after being dared to, when, around the 9th time, the bottle landed on the dark brown eyed boy you and your friend always found adorable. His name was Oscar, and he usually kept to himself, coming to these get togethers and hanging out with his own friends shyly, occasionally smoking but never getting too drunk or too high. “Truth” he said, his voice deep and sweet like a caress, contrasting with the way he fidgeted nervously in his seat. For the second time, the bottle landed on Charles, who rubbed is hand in a mockingly villainous way. “Oscar… Who in this circle have you had fantasies about?”

Oscar instantaneously blushes, hand running through his hair nervously with a shy smile across his face, revealing an adorable set of teeth that made you smile as well. “Fuck’s sake…” he exhaled softly, before downing his drink quickly in order to provide him with some confidence to reply. “I’m gonna regret this” he repeats, everyone jokingly complaining about the suspense he was creating. “I’m sorry in advance, Charles” he exclaims, before his arm lifts towards you and your eyes cross. Still bushing but with a darker expression, almost as if reviewing some thoughts he had, his gaze pierced yours making you feel as if he could show you his own thoughts. Everyone ‘oooo’ed once again, clapping and drinking, despite Charles’ body tensing slightly as he said “sorry for what?”

Oscar merely shrugged, “for anything”, an apologetic smile showing up, one you couldn’t ignore.

The game lasted only a few more rounds until the small crowd distracted themselves with each other, getting up to get more drinks and not returning due to slightly drunk forgetfulness. However, even that small amount of time was enough to feel the palpable tension whenever Oscar’s eyes crossed yours, a quick glance away and joke throwing making you almost believe like you had imagined everything. His nonchalant persona combined with the knowledge that he had thought of you in other contexts drew you in, the same way your instant shyness and inability to look away only intensified his desires.

The boy next to you, however, was tenser than you had ever seen him, despite his great attempts at hiding it. Even before you could confront him about it, Charles’ excused himself, claiming that he had an exam first thing in the morning. Eyebrows furrowed, you knew that wasn’t true, but he merely kissed your cheek goodbye and closed the door behind you.

You were frustrated. In more ways than one, your body still very much coherent to take things lightly and carefree. Your leg shook up and down nervously as your best friend sat next to you in a couch, talking to an attractive girl she had her eyes on for a while. Tapping her shoulder lightly, you motioned the ‘gonna smoke’ sign with your hands, to which she smiled in recognition.

Opening the closest window to the balcony that oversaw the city, cold air hitting your lungs, you let your back hit the wall and let out a much needed breath. Grabbing a cigarette, you placed it between your lips as you searched for your lighter, the closeness of the relief imminent in your veins. The technicolor lights shone bright, cars moving like fireflies dancing to the rhythm of the song.

It was white noise that calmed you, the muffled sound of the music restarting in the house as you took more drags of your cigarette. You were so immersed in the sheer act, as if it was a meditation technique, that you barely noticed the light brown haired boy opening and closing the window, placing himself next to you, with a respectable distance between your bodies.

“Have some light?” he asked, and you jumped at the sound of his voice, the realization he was there. You nodded and handed him your lighter, and he thanked you as he lit up a perfectly wrapped blunt. “Sorry, by the way” he exhaled, along with the smoke that got out of his mouth, eyes roaming through the landscape in front.

“No problem, I get startled easily” you replied, admiring his side profile. His features were both hard and soft, eyes shining brightly in such a relaxed expression it mesmerized you, the way he let out a soft chuckle at your response. “I’m not apologizing for that,” he started, filling his lungs once again. “I’m apologizing for earlier.”

This time, he turned his head towards you, and you noticed his flushed cheeks, slight embarrassment still showing even as his body and mind relaxed. “For saying you fantasize about me or for saying sorry to Charles?” you asked, daringly. It had offended you, hurt you, even, that he had apologized to Charles as if the guy owned you, as if that answer needed to pass some sort of approval from him before becoming valid.

Oscar merely shrugged, “both, I suppose.” His eyes seemed a bit sleepier already as they rather shamelessly roamed your body, followed by his head resting against the wall as he looked up. You felt the tension, electrifying both your bodies already, shivers invading your body – maybe from the cold, maybe from the sheer presence of his indifferent frame.

“Was it true?” the question hung the air for a few seconds after it left your lips, your cigarette now almost over. “Depends on if you want it to be true or not,” a dazed giggle mixed between his words.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t” you crossed your arms in front of your chest after putting out your cigarette in the ashtray next to the balcony. His gaze turned to yours, lowering towards your chest before moving back to your eyes. “The game is called truth or dare for a reason” he answered, leaning sideways against the wall so he could look at you fully.

You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm, though you couldn’t deny how attracted you were to how he played out this nonchalant persona, the indifference contrasting with his words making your body burn.

“And that,” he started, the hand holding the blunt pointing towards you, in a upwards and downwards movement. “That’s exactly why I have them.” Confusion invaded your mind as you failed to understand what his words meant, although his brown eyes remained on you as if revisiting every thought he ever had. “What?”

“You’re a tease without even realizing it,” he started, closing the distance between you a bit more, eyes glued to your lips as if fighting the urge to kiss you. “Describe them for me” you whispered, using your closeness to your advantage.

“How about I show you?” he whispered back, breath hot against your ear as his index finger ran along the exposed skin of your neck. Though you tensed, feeling your entire body respond to his suggestion, mouth watering, you wanted to play a bit more.

“What about ‘sorry, Charles’?” you mouthed, irony laced all over your smirk as you looked up at him lustfully. Oscar’s gaze scans the inside of the apartment quickly, more figuratively than literally, before turning back to you. “I don’t see him here now, do you?”

His index finger brushed your chin, forcing your gaze towards yours once more. “If I were him I would’ve made sure you only craved me.”

“How?” your voice was hoarse and breathy, your thighs slowly clenching at the need for touch. “Let’s just say my name would be the only thing you’d be able to utter.”

Your eyebrows raised and your breath got stuck in your throat as his lips brushed against you. You felt almost embarrassed at the effect his words and demeanor had on you, requiring little to no touch to get a reaction out of your entire body. This was not the Oscar Piastri you knew from a couple of shared classes, who sat at the back and always left first, who remained in his own zone at parties, interacting with a couple of closest friends. The fact that he was showing a more daring, direct and sexual attitude towards you felt like a compliment, exclusivity being silently attributed to you.

“Didn’t take you for such a fuckboy” you commented, almost as if making sure that this wasn’t actual his usual move, something everybody knew but didn’t talk about, a party trick he commonly used. He chuckled slightly, so close to you that you could see his throat bobbing up and down in though and feel his scent – some very light perfume that faded slightly due to the smell of the joint he was now finishing. “And I’m not,” he smiled, “I just know what I want. And I’ve been wanting you for so fucking long…” he trailed off, his eyes scanning every inch of you with lust, dropping to your lips for a few seconds longer than anywhere else, before returning to your eyes.

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours, ravenous and hungry for you. Your hands were on his soft hair, tugging it ever so slightly as his tongue teased yours and his breathing increased. Gripping your waist, Oscar pinned you against the balcony wall, the people on the other side of it disappearing from both of your minds as soon as you touched. His kissed matched him so well – so careless yet not aggressive nor bad, just confident and slow paced, as if possessing all the time in the world to enjoy every part of you. You couldn’t help but moan at the novelty of it, how different he was, how his touch left your body burning with freezing need for more.

His lips curved into a smile upon hearing you, an aroused gleefulness displayed in between kisses, fueling an ever growing necessity inside both of you. One of his hands rose to your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek sweetly, that touch so opposite from his grip that claimed you as his for a moment.

As soon as that moment came, it went away, his face distancing from yours, one of his hands attempting to fix the mess you had made of his hair. “I need you so bad right now” he whispered, cursing to himself at the loss of composure he ensured he had built. You merely stared at his disheveled look, frustrated desire written across his body as his brown eyes seemed to darken as time went by. You did not dare to speak, afraid no words would come out, brain foggy from sharing the absolute same wish as his: to continue what you started, to finish it completely.

“My dorm room is literally right above this one” he said after a few seconds, steading his breath in order to seem calmer, more relaxed and casual about the clear tension between you. You knew what he meant and knew he wouldn’t be elaborating any further. Knew he would simply go to his room and wait, watching tv as if you showing up – or not – wouldn’t influence much of his night. Like whatever was happening wasn’t happening, like he didn’t just say he needed you.

You replied with a nod as he opened the door and climbed inside, knowing that when you entered that kitchen he wouldn’t be there anymore. You waited a few more minutes, smoking another cigarette as you considered your options, tried to clear your head and think rationally, yet it was hard as every part of your body ached for more of him, your legs weak just from the kiss you shared on the balcony. Finishig your smoke, you climbed inside the kitchen, where people remained unaware of what happened outside, as if you belonged to two different channels that now intertwined.

You searched for your best friend, wanting to let her know where you were going, reassuring that she needn’t worry but that you’d be just one floor above in case she needed something. Finding her was harder than you thought, minutes passing with you growing more nervous at the prospect of Oscar having given up on you, thinking you had done the same with him. Had he more options? Was he this open with every woman he found attractive? These thoughts clouded your mind as your eyes crossed with your best friend’s and she ran towards you. Tipsy, but not drunk. Good. You both filled each other in on what you had missed during the short time you weren’t next to each other, promising to be close if any of you were in need. Her good luck wink gave you all the approval you needed to leave that dorm room and head towards the upper floor.

The floor vibrated with the music underneath – Oscar wasn’t lying when he said it his room was right above – every beat pulsating with energy that matched your own beating heart. Your nervous hands knocked on the door, your mind too aware of your stance, wondering what would be considered normal in a situation like this. But all those thoughts evaporated your mind as the door opened and you were greeted with the mesmerizing view of the boy you had just made out with.

His hair was slightly damp, indicating that he had taken a shower, or was in the middle of one, as you noticed some droplets running across his smooth skin and a towel lazily wrapped around his hips. You felt hypnotized by his slight smirk and unpreoccupied appearance as he step aside to let you in. “Was starting to think you wouldn’t come” he commented as he pointed towards the sofa in the middle of the apartment, sitting casually next to you. “Hence the look” he continued, giggling slightly.

You were too aware of how naked he was and how little he seemed to care about it. He kept a comfortable distance between you, as if allowing you to stand up and leave were you to change your mind. But that wasn’t even an option to you as his eyes landed on your lips, lingering in there before he gently shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. “God, you have me wrapped around your finger” his tone was half joke, half truth, as if he couldn’t believe it himself, how you seemed to so effortlessly produce such an effect on him.

“Well, I was promised something” you shrugged teasingly, your confidence growing as you realized how much he craved you, how this was something he actually wanted for a while. With your comment, his eyes shot back to you, and his body quickly followed, hovering above yours, droplets of water falling delicately on your face as he looked down at you, hands placed on each side of your head. You couldn’t help but bite your lip hungrily, crossing your legs tightly trying to relieve some of the need you were feeling.

Oscar’s eyes remained on your face as he stopped your legs with his own. “No” he whispered with assertion. “You want me to show you want I imagine doing to you, then you’ll have to play your part and look pretty while at it.”

You were shocked at his words and actions and how they affected you, making it so the only thing you could do in response was nod. Your eyes wanted to wander to where the towel threatened to unwrap himself, but Oscar’s soft finger lifted your chin towards him. “Eyes on me” despite it being a command, his voice indicated anything but that. It was calm and reassuring, confident but not cocky.

His thumb grazed across your lower lip, fondling it gently before opening your mouth subtly. He inserted his index and middle finger inside your mouth, pushing smoothly against your tongue. You took it upon yourself to wrap your lips around them, sucking on them, your tongue playing with his skin as you maintained eye contact. “Fuck” he cursed, muscles trembling from trying to keep his position and composure.

After some seconds, he removed his fingers from your mouth, replacing them with his own lips, hungrily possessing you. As he did this, causing your brain to go lightheaded and register little to nothing at all apart from his touch and tongue caressing you, his hand slid down your exposed stomach to the inside of your jeans. Your arms were around his neck, trying to pull him closer despite the impossibility of it – but you needed more. More of him, of his touch and of his body on yours.

His finger caressed your clit softly, satisfying your needs in part, but simultaneously leaving you more frustrated. You couldn’t help but whimper, trying to grind against his teasing hand, hips moving almost instinctively, which caused a sensuous chuckle to leaving his lips. “You sound even better than what I imagined,” his finger dipped lowered towards your entrance, teasing it, playing with your own desperate hunger. “And you’re wetter, too.”

You moaned at his words, and despair invaded your brain, your hands rushing to unbutton your pants and giving Oscar all the liberty of movement, a silent plea for the feeling of him inside you. Your walls clenched around nothing when he pulled your top up, revealing your exposed breasts. His eyes lingered on them as he tasted you, placing his fingers in his mouth while his other hand removed the towel from around his waist.

Finally, you thought, throwing your own jeans on the floor, red lace panties covering little to nothing of the lower half of your body.

His erection sprang free as he dropped the towel as well, the tip glistening with pre cum, its entire length throbbing. His hand wrapped around it as he took the entire sight of you in, eyelids revealing a drunken thrill as his breath became more irregular.

“I thought about this so many fucking times” he started, not with longing but with a primal urge to have you, a matter-of-fact tone in his voice that caused your whole body to erupt in need. “Come here”

Oscar positioned himself on his knees at the edge of the couch, continuously stoking himself as you moved towards him on all fours, not daring to look away from the sheer sight of him. Pulling your hair, he directed your face towards his erection, pressing it against your lips. You opened your mouth and enveloped him slowly, savoring the salty taste of him as your tongue explored his length. Each one of your caresses made him groan and sigh in pleasure, your head bobbing up and down underneath him.

The sight of you was beautifully overwhelming to him, especially as you started grinding your hips against nothing at all. “Fuck, if I knew you wanted it this bad I would… I would’ve done this earlier” he struggled to say, mesmerized at how your eyes looked up at him, ecstasy-filled.

You moaned against his cock, vibrations traveling throughout his body as he jerked his hips up, deeper into you, more than what you thought possible. You teared up with the suddenness of it, though it made you dizzy with pleasure.

That pleasure was short-ended as his hand pulled your hair softly, an indication for you to stop. As he removed himself from inside your mouth, a string of saliva connected you both, your lips now swollen and red, shiny with spit.

Oscar lowered himself in order to kiss you while laying you on the sofa once again, his mouth leaving wet marks all over your body until it reached the area underneath your bellybutton. He blew softly on your skin, and goosebumps invaded your body as he pulled your underwear down and off of you, hands now placed around your thighs, opening them with fervor. Before you could register the coldness hitting your now exposed skin, his face buried in between your legs, licking you softly as his damp hair touched the skin on your thighs.

The warmth of his mouth contrasted with his still-wet hair, your mind clouded by wanting to wrap your legs around him and the instinct to pull away from the cold. He grinned against your wet pussy before sucking your clit, your hands flying towards his hair, pushing him against you.

“So needy…” he whispered, readjusting himself so he could bury two fingers into you and keep his attention on your clit, devouring you. His tongue sent your body into frenzied shivers, his name escaping your lips incoherently. His fingers intensified their pace, sliding in and out of you and curling inside you. “Fuck, you taste so good” he mumbled, “and my name sounds so good when you whimper it” he now looked at you intently, analyzing your pleasure with so much attention it almost made you blush – were your cheeks not red due to the heat of the desire. It was all so much, so much you couldn’t focus on it all, your body erupting into an orgasm, walls pulsating around his fingers, his gaze adoring your body and all of its movements.

Your chest rose and fell almost as fast as your heart beat, and you giggled, actually giggled, from how lightheaded you felt. “I need to see and hear that again” he stared, more than asked you, although he remained in place, only his hand slowly pulling out from inside you, covered in your juices. He wasted no time in wrapping it around his own erection, now even more visibly hungry for something – someone. You.

“Please” he pleaded, suddenly looking so greedy, so needy and desperate. For some reason, this reignited the desire within you, and although your body was still recovering from the intoxicating orgasm, you were ready to do it all again.

“Do I keep going in your fantasy?” you asked, voice hoarse and breathy. His eyes widened slightly, the pace of his movement as he worked himself up increased as he nodded. “Then why are you asking me?” you told him, the fact that you consented implicit in your tone, your legs spreading apart for him to gawk at.

He barely needed two seconds before positioning himself between your legs once again, the tip of his cock rubbing against your entrance. “You’re soaking” he tried saying, stumbling across some vowels due to his own excitement. “I don’t know if I can last much” he slowly entered you, savoring as every inch buried deeper inside you, “you drive me fucking crazy.”

Your eyes rolled the back of your head at how he filled you up, at his praise as he did so, at how good he sounded when incoherence and pleasure laced his words. His hips moved, at first in a slow, consistent, pace, which quickly changed after some seconds, along with his breathing.

His eyebrows furrowed as your nails dug into his back, the sudden pain feeling so thrilling when mixed with the pleasure of being inside you. “Turn around” he said, pulling himself out of you for less than a second, giving you only time to lay on your stomach with your ass in the air.

That position allowed for him to go even deeper inside you, to hear you scream in pleasure as your own hand touched your clit in desperate need for more release. “You like that?” he asked in between breaths, knowing he could barely hold it any longer.

You tried saying the word ‘yes’ but even that failed you, your vision cloudy and your head foggy as you felt him close to release. His moans increased in loudness and intensity, your name being one of the few coherent things he could say before pulling himself out of you and orgasming, his cum spread across your back.

You couldn’t do anything but succumb to your own pleasure erratically, the simultaneous nature of your orgasms driving you into your own craziness.

Your body collapsed on the couch as his pressed tightly against you, both of you trying to gather your thoughts. Lying on his back, his head now looking at the ceiling, Oscar turned to you softly. “Want to sleep over?”

Your plan was not going to work.

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