Warnings: B.O/musk kink, manhandling, ALOT of teasing , dirty talk but I mean like, Guy gets FILTHY, this is the same man who canonically called his imagination fertile, he's gonna say cringe. Full Nelson position, brief headlock, creampie, Afab! Reader but gender is not specified, 'fem' nicknames given (dolly, doll, sweetheart, babe), reader is a brat, reader has hair but texture/ length/style is unspecified, hair tugging, alot of sniffing, boob fondling, abit of cock worship, ball-sucking, M! receiving oral, fingering, mirror sex - kinda, squirting, surprisingly fluffy
In my arms again
Warning: messy relationship, Guys anger issues are showing, negative masochistic tendencies, using sex as an outlet, implied star sapphire reader,AFAB readers gender is not defined, unprotected sex, praise kink, implied past abuse for reader (not by Guy), Dom/sub dynamic, sub! Guy, Both you and Guy are switches, cunnilingous, Guy is a MUNCH, minor pet play themes (collaring, referring to Guy as a dog, ONE usage of the term "dog dick", Guy calls himself a mutt), overstimulation, sadism & masochism on both parts, size difference, creampie, Dirty talk, small spit kink, reader has hair but unspecified, Fluffy smut
Lockeroom Contest
Warnings: cis male x trans male, reader is implied to be on T but has had no surgeries, reader has a T dick/large clit, mild dick shaming, dick comparing, jerking off/mutual masturbation, squirting, multiple orgasms, Guy is a sleazy pervert, gender euphoria but make it perverted, constructs being used as they shouldn't, semi thigh fucking, unexpected creampie but readers likes it, mentioned once reader has hair and it's undescriptive
Need a hand?
Warnings: Drabble, handjob, reader seems reluctant but is very into it, banter, comedic fic, just Guy being Guy, implied violet lantern/star sapphire reader, reader has hair but it's undescribed, 'fem' nicknames such as doll & sweetheart used.
Sports fan
Warning: dubcon? Guys unexpectedly forceful but reader is ok with it, cock warming, plenty of spit and drool, brief implied ball warming, messy rough blowjob, 'fem' nickname - 'dollface' , reader has hair but unspecified, gender is unspecified nor mentioned, alcohol consumption
My hero
Warning: ribbon bondage, writing on skin, no smut (sorry), marking kink, roleplay, drabble
Dirty deeds Done dirt cheap
Warnings: degrading (cock shaming from Lobo about Guy, calling you a slut and a bitch), reader is tipsy during sex, creampie, tummy bulge, mini cum inflation, 'monster fucking', AFAB but gender is not said, Cuck kink, implied open relationship so not cheating, size difference, semi manhandling, rough sex, wedgie kink, 'fem' nicknames like 'toots & sweetheart' reader is very much in love with Guy, brief Guy cameo
Hole in his hands
Warning: finger sucking, one light slap to the cheek, taunting, no sex but there is fingering, hand comparison, implied public space but closed off room
Be my G.U.Y
Warning: Sub! Guy, pegging, cock ring, dick cage, sounding, orgasm denial, butt plug, reader is a unspecified lantern, a cowardly sprinkle of horseplay - reins+ gag, lots of kisses, brief aftercare, praise kink because duh, reader is kept vague gender and description is unspecified, some spanking, sub decides punishment, construct cum, using constructs for sex
Uniform restrictions
Warning: Gender neutral Reader, nipple play and sucking, vague descriptions of readers body, unspecified gender or details about readers appearance, star sapphire! Reader, small Kyle cameo, interrupted sexy time, alot of flirting, probably has errors since I've done this at midnight and can barely keep my eyes open, constructs being used when they shouldn't
Hey mama
Warning: mommy kink, older man x younger woman, submissive! Male, dick riding, creampie, unprotected hookup sex, belly grinding, nipple play (for both), Guy getting uno reversed, reader described with big boobs and as fat, a few uses of 'mama', the briefest implied breeding kink, one cock slap
John Price:
Sugar sweet
Warning: unspecified age gap, 'bratty' reader, brief description of past, implied emotional neglect, mild/tame bits of angst, reader is kinda pathetic but we salute her, AFAB/female! Reader, suggestive content at the end, Mild NSFW at end, brief sexual fantasies (oral - male receiving) , John is pining in his own way
Rundown pt1 & Rundown pt2
Warning: dubcon/noncon themes (reader doesn't verbally agree to sex but has wanted to fuck John secretly), somno kink, dirty talk, drunk! Price, implied age gap, babysitter! Reader, Wife is named, cheating, p in v sex, no protection, John's a nasty dog, Price is sloshed and can barely hold off his orgasm
boi cant believe how good Rundown 1 and 2 waa. you just keep throwing out horny masterpiece after masterpiece.
Gotta confess, got a fic in my head that i can't get out and i can't write it myself. Poor innocent Maid!reader is working so hard in Price's mansion, bc he keeps firing maids all the time. br*eding, dubcon
Ofc he takes special interest in you, especially liking to be in the room when you are dusting the fireplace, bent over his desk, anything bent over really. He just can't help it, that backside of your is a masterpiece better than any of the expensive shit his ancestors have bougt. And poor you your panties keep disappearing.
Price realises hes gotta keep you somehow, why not with knocking you up, especially with those perfect birthing hips of yours.
id love if you could make this a reality if it inspires you :p
Sadly I'm in writers burnout hell and just, have no spark for stuff lately but thank you for sharing and thank you for the kind words!
I definitely think this is very juicy idea and I hope someone sees this post and is inspired by it and write it.
Oldman Logan is a party sniffer. He’d probably even steal one and put it in his pocket, for later when he’s gone to work. And he uses it and jerk off alone in his limo when he misses you. If you ever catch him stealing one he’d be so embarrassed and try to act like he wasn’t looking for a dirty underwear in your laundry. But he shamelessly sniffs them when he’s undressing you before sex.
This man is driving me crazyyyy
Panty Thief
Old Man Logan X F! Reader
A/N: I can't stop thinking about that spongebob episode where they did a panty raid and it was mr. krabs moms house....
Warnings: Smut, oral (f! recieving), logans a panty thief, brief tit-play, the panties stay ON during sex, logan acting like a pathetic old man, m! masturbation
"Oh fuck..."
He hissed, biting into his knuckles. He cums into your panties with a rough thrust into the air, drenching the pair with loads of his spent. His hips fall back into the seat when he squeezes out the last bit of his finish, cock falling limp. He takes a minute to catch his breath, a few beads of sweat on his forehead as he quickly glances around and makes sure no one saw.
He was parked behind an empty gas station, late at night, so not likely, but who knows. All sorts of weirdos out there.
This was probably the seventh pair of undies he's stolen at this point; usually for when he goes on the long trips for work. He looks down at the mess he's made of them, and ultimately his hand and groans.
He stole the pretty green ones this time, the pretty shade of green you see in trees during the summer. Your ass always looked good in them too, he thought it was a nice color and you had just taken them off when he was getting ready to leave so easy enough to snatch too.
Your panties were ruined for sure this time. Sometimes he can salvage them if he cleans them fast enough, but he was pent up tonight and just your scent was enough to drive him crazy and cum multiple times into the fabric. He usually just sits and smells them, gets himself drunk on your scent but a stronger need came over to spill himself all over them, picturing like it was your stomach and pussy he was painting with his cum.
He wiped himself clean as best he could before tossing the panties to the floor of the passenger side to be discarded safely in the trash later without you noticing. Zipped himself up and started the car again.
He should be seeing you in the morning, as he makes the long drive back home. Probably could have waited but you sent him some dirty texts and... He just needed some relief.
You were a joy to see again when he did come home. Wrapped him in a big hug, and smothered kisses all over his face that made him smile like an old fool. He could tell you seemed eager to be with him again the way your hands slid over his chest and your lips began to linger on his neck, but urged him instead to take a shower and get some sleep, and you'll wake him for dinner.
You always looked out for him when he refused to do it himself.
The next few days were nice, as he felt himself able to relax. With you around, you also worked, so he didn't have to quite push himself as hard to take as many jobs- he would have to take care of you, but you refused.
Then he had another job pop up- It was good money so he couldn't turn it down. You were off at work so he started packing some clothes and other necessities while he waited for you to come home.
It was when he spotted the laundry basket, when he realized he almost forgot something.
He started rummaging through the laundry. Today was laundry day so thankfully you hadn't started yet- otherwise he'd have no treasure to take with him. He tossed some clothes onto the floor, aiming to find a pair of your panties closer to the bottom of the basket- it always smelled stronger and like you in that case.
He didn't even hear you come in.
He found one, snatching the pink pair up into his hand and bringing it to his nose, taking a good whiff of it. Feeling the stir of his cock when your smell floods his senses, a borderline animalistic feeling always overruns him when he smells you- It makes him feel young again.
"What are you doing?"
He jumped, nearly dropping the panties as he curses and looks up at you with wide eyes. You were smiling, confused, but with a mischievous layer underneath your expression. You walked into the room, eyes darting down to the panties in his hand.
"I-" He starts stammering, feeling his face grow hot by the second. "I was just looking for something, wanted to pack with me. That's all."
Your hands went your hips and your tilted your head. Your eyes darted from his face, hand, the laundry where several items of clothes laid on the floor of his feet
"What are you looking for?"
He opened his mouth, floundering like a fish. His neck turned red and he look down at the laundry and your panties in hand. He should just let go of them and pick up some random shirt and save himself- but for some reason his brain just short-circuited being caught red-handed.
He didn't want to lose the panties though.
If he was much younger, he'd have no shame about it. Being old though? He feels a tad more pathetic.
"Have you been stealing my underwear? Is that why I've had several go missing?"
He opens his mouth, and then shuts it. The time for recovery has disappeared. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to dig himself out of this grave now, and he's dug himself out of a lot.
You dropped your hands from your hips, stepping close to him. You grabbed the bottom of his shirt, tugging it so he'd get closer too. Your voice takes on a low, sultry tone.
"You'd been taking them to keep you company, haven't you?" You asked, your fingers teasingly walking up his belly, to his chest until you're tracing the collar. His blush turns a deeper red and you smiled big and wide. "Really?"
Sensing you seemed to be okay with him being a total pervert. His hands went to your hips, trying to shake off the initial embarrassment.
"Can you blame me?" He mutters. "I miss you."
Your arms wrapped around his neck. "I miss you too, it's sweet." You grinned. He raised a brow.
Sweet is not the word he'd use for his perverted thieving activities, but whatever you want.
You stepped back from him, hand snatching the collar of his shirt and pulling him with you. "C'mon, lets make some memories we can both think about while you're gone."
You pulled him to the bed, falling onto your back, you helped him undress you quickly. When he reaches your panties, you stopped him.
"Leave em," You say, grabbing his hands as he started to tug them off, "And after...You can take them with you."
He let out a soft groan, shaking his head as he leans over you. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that right?"
You pecked his nose with a laugh. "Sure I am, old man,"
He grunts, kneeling onto the floor before you. You hooked your legs around his shoulders, keeping yourself perched on your elbows so you can watch him.
He pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs, his beard scratching and tickling your skin, causing a mirthful of giggles escape you. He reached your panties and pressed his nose against them, taking a deep sniff and groaning. You let out a small sigh, your hand climbing into his hair and tugging him against you.
Your panties were becoming wetter while he runs his tongue over the fabric. He buries his face into them, inhaling your scent. He brought a hand up to press over your clit through the fabric, slowly circling the sensitive bud.
"Feels good, darling?" He mutters, his thumb slipping under panties, flicking your bud before tracing your slit. His voice takes on the deep timber that let's you know he's in control now. "You want to know what I've been doing with your cute lil panties?"
His eyes looked up at you, and you nodded with a mischievous smile.
"They keep me company." He mutters, turning his head to press kisses into your inner thigh. His fingers pressed and circled your clit, causing you to let out a small whine. "After a long shift, I'm tired, sore as hell. I always keep em in my pocket."
Your hand tightened into his hair. His fingers push the panties to the side, and he softly blows some air over your clit and flicks them with his thumb. Your back arched off the bed, but he doesn't give you any relief. His thumb starts pushing against your bud, exploring your pussy as he examines, licking his lips like he was resisting the urge to bury his face into your heat.
"I go somewhere private, sometimes I stay in the car, sometimes I get a room." His voice rough, thick with arousal. He raises a brow as his thumb circles your hole, teasing in and out and feeling the way your pussy tries to clench around him. "Y'know I miss you a lot, darling, when I gotta do these work trips...I look at your pretty lil pictures you send me. Start stroking my cock."
He stops, taking a deep breath. "These cute things, make me feel like you're right there with me." He snaps the hem of the panty with his other hand. "I just sit and take in your scent and get myself off, and sometimes I wrap em around my cock and pretend I'm fucking this pretty lil cunt." He pushes his thumb completely inside you now, eliciting a sharp gasp as you tip your head back. "What do you think about that, hm? Your old man being a pervert?"
"I like it," You gasped, tugging his hair. "You should've told me sooner."
He chuckles, "My mistake, darling..."
His thumb pulled out from your clenching hole, fixing your panties to cover you completely and now gently pushing the fabric into your heat.
"Need to get these nice and wet, alright?" He murmurs as he focuses on making sure they soak up your arousal. He wants to make sure he can taste you on them when he uses them later. You've become so slippery just from him toying with you.
His cock was hard, making the crotch of his jeans tight and uncomfortable but he could barely focus on that. Not with your pussy right in front of him, becoming soaked. The fabric is sticking to your wet skin and he can see the outline and detail of your cunt through them. He's already thinking the fun he'll have with them while he's on his trip.
He leans forward, latching onto your clit through the fabric and sucking. You cried out, falling back onto the bed as your hands moved to clench the sheets, hips jerking as his tongue drew shapes into your clit, with the added stimulation of the cotton fabric rubbing against your cunt.
His hands slid up your thighs and over your belly. They found your tits, pinching your hardened nipples between his fingers and rolling them, sending a wave of warmth down into your core. His hands cupped your tits while he continued sucking on your clit, and moved his thumbs to circle around the peaked buds and finally pushing you over the edge.
He didn't stop as you came, pushing your body into over-stimulation from your tits to your pussy which had now completely soaked your panties. Your hands came to his wrists to stop him from playing with your tits more while you tried to catch your breath, your thighs still trembling from the post-coitus high you were in.
"You alright, darling?" Logan hums, hand softly patting your shaking thigh as he looks up, a youthful look in his eyes as he smirks. His hand slid over, pushing the fabric into your heat, gather every drop of your arousal, even as you whine from the touch. "We're not done yet."
nuzzling my nose into the base of a cock, letting it rest heavy on my face. the warmth of it would make my hole ache. but just sniffing would be enough for me to calm down. letting the scent of balls and the heat of a throbbing cock overwhelm me.
when there's a lack of boundaries between you and puppy hybrid! bsf (18+)
read pt ii here
the two of you are the biggest scandal around. many, if not most of the male hybrids on campus think it'd be fruitless to court you, and the females to court him, since the two of you seem to be a mated pair.
you have the scent of puppy all over your skin, while he has faint bunny teeth marks dotting his collarbones and throat, dangerously close to his mating gland. you have matching ones on the soft parts of your body; your hips, thighs... breasts... ass. in a platonic way of course.
the tall, floppy eared puppy hybrid trails after you like he's on a leash you're holding. he's so obsessed with his sweet bunny best friend, all warm skin and soft thighs covered in skimpy things like sheer tights or mini skirts with your bunny tail twitching right above your pert ass.
the only reason he can get away with touching you as much as he does is because you're so clueless and needy. instead of wondering why your little panties get damp spots in them when he licks and bites you, all you can think about is straddling his lap and bouncing on him.
you're always in his lap.
Sometimes you're just buzzing with excitement about a quiz you think you aced, and you throws yourself onto him without noticing the way his arms lock around your waist territorially. beyond being possessive, pup also has to hold you and himself still because otherwise, he might rut up into you like an animal, or sniff behind your floppy ears and hump you right there in the quad.
he thinks about it, a lot. what it would be like to frot with his pretty bunny, but he doesn’t do it because you're best friends. you just think he's sweet and affectionate in the puppies usually are, not realizing how his tail wags uncontrollably only for you and that when you're tangled up with him too long he runs to the bathroom for fifteen minutes not for a pee break but because his cock's gotten so wet and swollen that he can't last much longer without creaming all over you.
but then again, you're just as bad. you make a wet, gooey mess all over yourself whenever he grabs you by the hips when you're cuddling, and you get sooo warm and flushed all over when he pins you down in mock fights, tail wagging, tongue out, teeth grazing your skin to hold himself back from biting and breeding.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
your dorm seems to be way hotter than it needs to be. puppy's shirt is off, thrown somewhere under your desk, and his tail flicks back and forth behind him while you lay on top of him in bed, boobs squished to his face while you read your new book. your skirt's all bunched up and your thighs are bare and squishy where they press against him.
“you're so warm,” he mumbles, nose scrunching, glossy eyes blinking up at you.
“you’re the one who wanted me to sit here,” you pout in return, cheeks flushed. his hands are splayed on the outside of your thighs, rubbing over your skin back and forth. it's a tickly feeling that makes you wriggle on him a little to escape the sensation.
whenever you move on top of him, your scent spikes and it punches right into his senses. he groans and tugs you down on top of him to bury his face into your neck. “no squirming,” he pants, tongue peeking past his canines.
“why?" you tilt your head, bunny ears flopping to the side. "y'acting weird,” you say, petting his hair absently.
he mumbles something into your skin, licking once. “you smell like you’re gonna go into heat and it's making me react weird.” he growls, finally lifting his head, eyes wet and wide. he's panting. “you reek, bun. can smell y'pussy."
your thighs squeeze around his hips automatically, your whole body suddenly trembling. “don’t say that,” you whisper shyly, your voice high and scandalized, bunny tail twitching in little jerks behind you. your little nose wrinkles. “…you smell worse. i can’t even think when you smell like that.”
"stop," he yips, tail flicking frantically. “can't control it, been trying so hard not to jump you, i swear,”
“...you have..?” you ask curiously, looking down at him. he looks so genuinely desperate it’s embarrassing. he whines and gets warm in the cheeks, squeezing you against him tighter. he nods weakly.
"i have to hold back too," you mumble into his neck after a beat. you’re embarrassed to admit it because your thighs are sticky and your hips are grinding down into his lap in tiny, unconscious movements.
“you do?” he breathes. his ears twitch and flop down heavy against his head. “you hold back?”
you nod against his skin, cheeks burning. “when you pin me down or grab me like that, it makes my head go all fuzzy. i-i don’t know, mmm... just wanna… wanna rub on you or something."
the minute you admit the truth, he begins frantically nosing at your throat, nipping it, sucking, with a low, excited moans. you squeal, hips twitching up against him instinctively. “what’re you doing?”
“you said you wanted it!” he cries out, humping up into you once and nearly sobbing when the friction makes his ears twitch. “can’t help it. y'smell so, fuck, you smell so sweet, bun, wanna eat you.” his nose twitches and he’s panting again. his hands cup under your thighs, squeezing. his cock is throbbing.
"oh god," he moans, rutting into. his lips are sticky and swollen from biting them so hard. "ngh fuuuck i do this to m'pillow, bun. i think about you and i hump it,"
“pup!” you squeak, scandalized, but you don’t pull away. your hips match the slow, desperate rut of his under you, and despite there being barely any friction through your underwear, your cunt is soaked, and you can feel the outline of him right beneath your core. his cock is hot and throbbing with every grind.
“i hump it and pretend it’s you,” he gasps, squeezing your thighs tighter. his ears are flattened down, floppy against his flushed cheeks, and his whole body is shuddering beneath you. “i wrap your hoodie around it and press my face to your scent- nghh, i get it wet, just like this,” he sits up suddenly, arms wrapping tight around your waist and caging you in his lap. his forehead presses to yours. "bun... need, need, mmf-"
-is the last thing he mumbles out before he leans forward to capture his lips with yours. it's so messy and nasty. pup's tongue is huge and drooly and because he's so eager to finally finally have his lips on yours, he just ends up slobbering you because he's so excited. he bites on your lower lip, and you gasp into his in response, tugging on his hair sharp enough to make him yowl with pleasure.
he grabs yours hips and drags you down hard into his lap, mouth still locked with yours. his tongue rolls over yours when you moan again and grind back. he's panting into your mouth at the way your plump pussy grinds into his cock through your clothes. both of you are soaked, slick and pre leaking between the two of you to make squelching noises every time you rock down and he pushes up.
your mouth is glossy and swollen, coated in spit that clings in strings whenever he pulls back to breathe before diving right back in, tongue first, like a dog.
“stop,” he groans against your lips, licking into your mouth. “stop moving like that, i'm gonna- fuck! i’m gonna cum bun,"
“i know, want it s'bad,” you moan loudly, rolling your hips sloooow over his clothed cock, rubbing your folds over every single inch. his head lolls back stupidly.
“oh f-fuck,” he moans, thrusting against you again, the head of his cock sliding under the slick cotton of your panties with a disgusting wet sound. the bed creaks underneath you as he rocks, rocks, rocks into you.
pup sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder, almost on your mating gland but barely holding back just before he permanently bonds you with him. both your glands have been seeping oil since he's started, opening up eagerly and hoping to be claimed. it's taking all of him not to do it. his cock presses tight and hot against the swell of your cunt through your soaked panties, and you keen, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer overload.
“gonna -shit- cum,” he pants, tongue hanging out to kiss the reddening bite mark he just left. “bun, i’m gonna come, gonna make a mess,”
you whimper and rub harder against him, cunt soaking through your thin panties and onto his boxers, until there’s a huge dark patch under your pussy. "y-you can!" you cry, face buried in his neck. “i want it, nnghhh fuck! want you, pup!”
he lets out this helpless, whimpering moan and then he grabs you by the hips, pulling you down hard just as he jerks up. his whole body locks up as his cock pulses hot and hard under you. your thighs become so sticky with slick as you start to cum with him, little cotton tail getting wet and sticky as your mixed juices start to drip down your skin, pooling in the dips where your thighs meet your ass.
he holds you there, panting through his teeth as his cock twitches repeatedly with more of his cream splurting out each time, staining both your underwear with thick, warm loads that don’t stop.
true kryptonian! clark kent's whole body feels unreal when you're underneath him. he towers over you, broad and heavy at well over six foot, with shoulders and a chest so wide they block out your view of the room when he leans over you. his frame is thick and dense with muscle, built from something far beyond human genetics.
his thighs are huge, hard and beefy, spreading you open with just the pressure of them bracketing your hips, and his hands- one can cover both your wrists... or your throat, or your hip without effort.
and his cock... it's massive. heavy, too. when he's hard for you (which is nearly instant, almost frightening in how quickly his body reacts to you, your scent, your touch), his length is nearly matches that of your forearm, thick the whole way down to a neat patch of hair at the base. he's wide enough that your hole has to fight to open around him.
true kryptonian! clark who's genital anatomy is not even similar to a human male's. he gets hard for you - his sweet human mate with that delicious, mouthwatering scent - concerningly fast. sometimes you get a little overwhelmed by how many times he needs to fill you.
when he pushes his cock into you, you go stiff at the sheer girth of him, enough to stretch you out obscenely. you're so tight around him and your walls grip down on him each time he pulls back. the crown of his cock is broad and flared; made to lock against you once he's inside, and his shaft isn't smooth. ridges run along the length, faintly glowing under the skin and pulse erratically.
the markings on his shaft vibrate when he gets worked up. they're placed perfectly to drag against your walls and stimulate you, and when you squeeze him the whole thing lights brighter. his body reacts to yours like it has a mind of it's own. he's meant to be inside your plush hole.
and then there are the spines, tiny catches along the underside, not sharp but textured, barbed just enough that once he thrusts in deep you feel them catch when he tries to pull out. soft little tugs that keeps him buried even when he's trying to be gentle. you realize quickly he's not built to pull out until he comes inside you enough to ensure it'll take. it's biology. his species is meant to create huge batches of offspring, and even if you can't get pregnant, his cock locks inside you to make the attempt anyway.
clark's body has been evolved to hold you open and stretched around him until he's satisfied. every time he shifts, those spines press and rake softly over your inner walls, forcing your body to clench tighter around him, milking him deeper. every push has that broad flared head stretching you wide, scraping perfectly, every ridge buzzing. you swear you can feel the vibrations move in patterns to hit the most sensitive spots in you. the markings that streak up his shaft glow brighter the wetter you get, and he watches how you're sucking him in with avid fascination, eyes hazy.
Summary: the one in which you show older!Joel just how much you like the changes in him since he's truly settled in jackson after a long day.
Was this supposed to drop for valentines? Yes. Did life punt kick me for all i was worth instead so i didn't get it done? Absolutely. Im SO sorry for the delay w fics and link posts as of late! I've been burnt out both personally and creatively which is such a bummer w all the stuff i have sitting in the drafts/asks- i swear im not ignoring them! This being said, whilst im not totally confident on the quality, im pushing through and trying my best. please lmk what you guys think or even what you'd like to see in the future!🫶
Warnings?: Older!Joel worship bc yeaaah. Listen i love the thought of him a little softer and yet strong so this is hopefully somewhat tender while still being playful about it, the slllllightest hint of nipple play, handjobs, blowjobs, deepthroating, cum swallowing, technically just modified body worship lmao? Think thats it but as always feel free to correct me!
You love a lot of things about joel miller.
His strength, his resilience, his kindness, even if it often rests behind a grumpy facade. Joel cares, bone deeply and sometimes more than he wants to, but that makes him.. him.
But its not just his heart you love, or that stupidly resourceful mind. You love the look of him too. Perhaps more than you should- perhaps more than necessary. Your just.. Obsessed.
From the strands of greying hair, to the grunt he makes simply trying to get his joints to comply when moving off of the couch or the bed. The groan or muttered condemning always drawing a fond smile to your lips. Theres just something about his voice, the texan drawl he's never lost, that sparks something off in your chest. It's ridiculous, truly, how that drawl drives you wild.
Your eyes love trailing over the lines of Joels face too, in the tired moments and the fresh. Like your committing each one to memory, your brain holding a mental note of how they seem to change or form each day. You love it especially when his eyes crinkle, often from a grin or a huff when you or Ellie say something silly. Its different from the way he squints from the sun. Fonder, sweeter.
But most of all, you love the newfound swell of his belly; the comfort in which it's stemmed from. You find yourself fond of the way his shirts rise just a little at the edges when strong arms move, offering you the cheekiest peek of a happy trail. The buttons of his flannels have begun to strain just slightly too. You even love the slight red marks his belt leaves at that spot between his waist and hips after a long day- thats your favorite to kiss away.. Just like now.
You've long moved down from his lips, his cheeks, had your fun suckling and nipping at the expanse of his neck too.
His tanned skin marred with reddish purple blotches and the primal indents of your teeth. Greying hair tickles against your nose and cheeks as you lay little pecked kisses around his torso. Across the strong lines of his collar bones, the meat of his pectoral muscles, teasing over pert nipples that you know make his cock twitch in a way he'd never admit no matter how intimate you get. All the time following the peppered line of hair down the center of his belly, lavishing attention on him all the way down to the elastic band of his plaid pajamas bottoms.
Joel breathes a shuddering sigh, rendered motionless from the tender glint in your eyes, as your delicate fingers curl into the band. His voice sounds lower in your ears, like its fighting to breach his throat as it bobs with a thick swallow.
"Mm, now what're you doin?" he manages, cutting into a muted sigh as your cheek nuzzles the warmth of his belly.
The reply you offer is simple, truthful, as it presses into the soft pudge above the waist band. "Lovin on you.."
But Joel's head shakes, brows creasing as his hand reaches down to cup the back of your neck. The grip is barley there, only enough to catch your attention as he offers a little squeeze. Much akin to a parental animal offering warning to a cub.
"Y' ain't have to do all that" he protests, drawl tinted with the same kind of bashful flush his cheeks take on. His eyes wide and watchful as he fights an internal battle that reflects in the light as he stares you down.
But you're nothing if not a stubborn little thing; his firecracker.
You hum then, shrugging as you rest your chin on the curve of his belly just between the swells of tit. Your body settling in between his heavy legs. "I know.. But i want to"
Joel swallows, expression a little hazier than he can control. "Yeah, Now why's that honeybee? Should be me doin that t' you"
You catch the sheepish glint seconds before he bats it away, the smallest glimmer of insecurity hidden in there as one of his hands squeezes the scruff of your neck again. His chest rising and falling quickly beneath the indent of your chin.
Your lips press between the cleft of his chest, eyes never leaving his. "Because you look s’ good like this.. Handsome n soft n mine.."
"Yours" he gets out, breath catching. "N' soft.. huh, you like that? Really?"
Your hand slides down then, nails raking carefully down his stomach, his thighs before it meets the chub of his crotch. A filthy grin paints your lips, mischievous and yet filled with a tenderness that makes joel shudder at the contact.
"Love that.. Part from here" you murmer playfully, " kinda like him hard.."
The saliva in Joels mouth seems to dry up, blood almost certainly all having run south. "s-shit yeah" he struggles out, groaning as the heel of your palm drags the fabric of his boxers across his dick. "i know you do hon.. likes bein hard f' you too"
Breath fans his chest, a shiver shaking him beneath you. The soft pout of your lips, the tender fondness in your eyes mixing with that cheeky mischief he loves in your spirit. "S' that mean i can show him some love too?" you plead, offering his cock a squeeze as you feel the weight of him growing. "How much ive missed 'im?"
A deep chuckle tapers off into a grunt, joels hips pushing into your touch.
"Was only down the street.. "
"Mm" you hum, grinning. "still too far.."
Your hands make quick effort of tugging at his waistband, lifting up to sit on your knees as you tap him to lift his hips.
He grunts quietly as he does, the ache of a day helping further fortify Jackson's walls beginning to catch up to his body now he's somewhat at rest.
He watches you from beneath his eyelids, that plush bottom lip bitten to smother the sacrilegious grin at the sight of his cock. He's fully stiff, flushed at the head and bobbing against his stomach with little audible slaps from the weight.
"So pretty" you purr, hand stroking over a strong, hairy thigh to thumb softly at the beading pre that weeps from the tip, "fuck Joel.. Can i? Please?"
The swallow he makes is audible, hiss at the slightest contact even more so.
"He's all yours honeybee..Y' can do whatever you want"
His lips cant help but curve at the edges at the sight of your glee, heart hammering behind his ribs. It's like he's brought home your favorite animal and let you keep it.
"Yeah? Anythin?"
Your palm is soft as it finally wraps around him properly, damp from the glob of spit you let fall from those perfect lips. His hips jolting almost immediately, eye's fluttering just for a moment.
He grits the agreement out, a broken sound from the depths of his throat cutting his own words of encouragement off. "Any- christ-Anythin."
Pleasure sparks up Joel's spine at your touch, at the languid pace you stroke and the teasing squeezes when his eyes dare shut. Slick slide upon slide his mind grows hazier, stress melting away, body growing lax on the bed the longer you play with his cock like your own personal toy.
His spine nearly leaves the bed entirely when your head dips, tongue flat and wide as you lick a playful line from base to leaky tip.
"Jesus Christ hon" Joel groans, low and deliciously drawly, fists clenching tight into the sheets. A sheen of sweat has started to bead on his skin, the scent of him manly, tinted with tree bark and whisky. Mixed with the taste of him on your tongue its sinful, sending a throb between your own legs at the sheer masculinity.
Your lips wrap around the tip then, enveloping him in the spit soaked heaven of your mouth. With each bob your tongue drags along the underside, flicking teasingly as you draw him closer and closer.
The sound he lets slip when he bumps your gag reflex rough and utterly blissed out. Your hand works what you can't fit, veins throbbing against the sloppy grip of your palm, the other tucked beneath as you fondle those perpetually heavy balls.
"Awh fuck that feels s' good" he grits, pating. "F' ya keep doin that i-i ain't gonna last"
Your eyes flash with seduction as they flit up, catching the gleam of slick skin and unbridled pleasure. Bliss looks good on him, always has if you really dwell on it. In turn plump lips curve at the edges, stretched around the girth of him, motions increasing in pace. Fingers rolling and squeezing, mouth busy taking him down to the root wetly. That blunt, bulbous head occasionally continuing to bump against your gag reflex, tears beading along your lashline despite the way you continue to bob up and down.
The sound as you pop off for a moment of air is twice as filthy, lewd in every way as spit streaks your chin and cheeks. Those perfect, plump lips swollen and just a little pouty.
Joels eyes roll as you jerk him in full, long strokes, your giggle sending a rush of pure pleasure to his lower stomach. You look like an angel and a devil all in one perfect, pretty face. "Mm good.. Want it. Want you to cum f' me"
"M' gonna honeybee" he grunts, chasing the jerk of your soft hands. One of his own leaving its grip on the sheets to cup the edge of your face; tucking a few messy strands of hair away behind your ear. "Need you t'- t' look at me, show me them pretty eyes while suckin that cock"
You nuzzle against that palm for a moment, tongue teasing over the sensitive crevice of his slit as it drools out more pre, relishing in the sight of him. Handsome and thick, all soft pudge and hard lines that for once seem relaxed- blissed out.
Your lashes tickle your cheeks as you make contact, jaw opened wide and tongue dragging over the undersides throbbing vein as you swallow him down. Each breath faninng over the small smattering of wirey hair at his base, peppery and neat, thoat constricting as it bulges from the prod of him deep inside.
Joel's body shudders, abdominal muscles clenching, those full balls rising in time with his erractic pulse the closer his orgasm nears.
"ahw f-fuck yeah" he grits, mouth falling open slightly, "jus like that, jus like- "
His orgasm hits him like a freight train, chest rumbling with a groan so gutteral it makes you drip into your panties. Rope after hot, thick rope of his seed painting the inside of your throat, dribbling all the way with each stuttered jerk of worn hips.
You swallow him down eagerly though, content in the way you've given him pleasure, relaxed some of those perpetually achey muscles and eased some of those lines.
"Fuckin christ honeybee.." joel pants, twitching as you let his softening cock rest back against his belly in a spit soaked patch, eye's he didnt remember closing fluttering back open. "Really tryin t' kill an old man tonight huh? Cmere'"
Sweet as sin you giggle, leaning down a final time to kiss the squishy sensitive head of his cock, the soft middle of his belly and the center of his chest, all the way up to meet those perfectly chapped lips. "Not just any old man.. Mine"
MDNI 18+ Joel Miller fondling you on the way home from your valentines date
ㅤ♡ He looks over at you, one hand steady on the wheel, the other twitching restlessly heavy on his thigh. “Why don’t ya untie that little get-up you got on?” he says, eyes dipping to the way your top ties neatly at the back of your neck.
ㅤ♡ You smile. You know this game. But you take your time, feeling his eyes flicker between you and the road, then back at you again. Before you can reach the knot at your nape, he reaches over, thick fingers working it loose for you. Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the feeling of them, the fabric parting and falls open over your stomach, slowly revealing your breasts in flashes of passing streetlight. Gold light, then dark, then gold again. It's all back roads here. No one’s going to see a thing.
ㅤ♡ He brings his one hand over to your chest, just gently kneading your breast closest to him first, humming in contentment at your soft little sigh.
ㅤ♡ Your legs begin to push together, hips shifting around as you search for friction in the seat. His hand cups your breasts fully now, gripping it enough to jostle in around, and you watch how his pupils dilate in the light of the next street light when he looks back at you, licking his lips.
ㅤ♡ He pinches your nipple when you get to a red light, leaning over to kiss it tenderly while his hand reaches to the other one. His tongue slowly laves at the tightening bud, making your breath catch in your throat. His eyes close as he leans in, enjoying this, and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood aftershave wafting up as your hand threads into his hair.
ㅤ♡ The light turns green and you have to remind him to drive.
ㅤ♡ He takes his hands away, sitting back up in the drivers seat, and you go to retie your shirt with a little sly smile, excited for what awaits you at home.
summary: You have a little crush on Joel Miller, who you sometimes see in the elevator of your building. You also have no idea that he's the one having loud sex in the apartment above you.
word count: 6.8k, one-shot
rating: 18+, MNDI
warnings/tags: reader is AFAB but no overt descriptions otherwise, kissing, dirty talk, smut, protected p-in-v, reader is a bit awkward and unsure, soft-dom joel vibes, this is an AU
a/n: i wanted to write something fun and rom-com like and i'm not sure if i achieved that and also not super sure how i feel about this but i'm going to share this anyways because i need to get it out of my system. enjoy <3
credit to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers!
You’ve just put your battered copy of The Book Thief on your nightstand when the rhythmic thump thump thump of your upstairs neighbour begins. Then, it’s the moans. The first time you heard it, all those weeks ago, you thought your neighbour might have been watching porn really loudly. Well actually, your first thought was that there was a crying woman. But then the soft whimpers became louder and more pronounced until you could clearly hear a woman practically yelling ‘god yes’ and ‘right there’ and ‘please please please’. And sure, sex can be nice and pleasurable but never in your twenty-eight years of existence has a man ever made you scream like that. So at first, you thought it was fake. Perhaps it was a girlfriend overcompensating. It wouldn’t be the first time. But then the second time it happened, the voice sounded different – a bit lower this time and the words were different too. Which is when you realized that your neighbour was entertaining different women and both of these women were making noises that you had only ever heard on your phone, late at night and at the lowest possible volume, when you needed something to help you take the edge off. Take your edge off, to be more precise.
All this to say, that you’re actually a pretty good neighbour. You never complain and you’re never noisy and the last two times this happened you hadn’t complained even though it had kept you up well into the night. To top it all off, you’re a sensitive sleeper. All you wanted tonight was to read your book and drink a cup of tea and put your horrible day behind you. You had started off late, coffee spilling down your wrist as you transferred it into your to-go cup. Your manager had made a snarky remark as you set your bag down in your cubicle, something about trying to get to work when everyone else does and then to top it all off, you had been stuck in traffic for an hour and a half on your way home. So really, all you wanted right now was some peace and quiet on this muggy Wednesday night. But instead you get the thump thump thump of the bed in the apartment above you and a woman moaning so loudly you think she might lose her voice from it.
“Fuck, right there,” she says and you let out a long sigh. You hear an answering grunt in return but your neighbour, whoever he is, says nothing more. You glance at the clock on your nightstand.
11:04 pm blinks back at you, red and mocking. You reach for your phone, turning up the box fan noises to as loud as it goes and reach for your book.
“Please,” you hear the woman above moan and you send your own prayer up to whoever’s listening. Please you think, let me get some sleep tonight.
You get a grand total of four and a half hours of sleep which would have been fine when you were nineteen and full of boundless energy, but nowadays anything less than seven has you feeling like a zombie. It’s why you’re sitting in front of your personal laptop right now, writing an email to your building manager, Clinton. He’s a thirty something year old man that’s frankly, pretty bad at his job but you’re desperate at this point. You’re wording it carefully, gently even. No mentions of sex or moaning or grunting. Just that the person above makes a little too much noise past ten p.m. and well into midnight and it’s happened three times now. For good measure, you add that you appreciate how people have different schedules but that you’d appreciate it if there was some consideration for late-night quietness. You sign the email off and send it before you can overthink if you’re being too uptight. You grab your work bag and coffee, on-time today since you couldn't sleep past 6:30 am. You lock your door, then jiggle the doorknob twice to make sure it really is locked before heading towards the elevator.
When the elevator doors slide open you’re greeted to the sight of Joel Miller. He’s one of the two people you know in this building and it’s only because there was one time a few months ago where your kitchen sink began acting possessed and the building manager didn’t care enough to send someone in immediately, although your floors were wet. Joel had overheard your desperate pleas to Clinton, who had nodded and told you that the part he needed to fix it would take another day to arrive, and had stepped in to help you himself. You had watched as he knelt down in your kitchen, wrench in hand, and fixed the issue in approximately fifteen minutes. You had also watched as his biceps strained against his Henley, feeling something warm flutter low in your belly. And ever since you’ve nursed a tiny, little neighbourly crush on him. You know he lives on the floor below you in unit 1024 and that both his daughters are away at college, two things he had mentioned in passing as he had fixed your sink. Other than that, you only ever see him in the lobby when you’re getting mail or in the elevators sometimes, where you make polite small talk and try not to blush.
“Mornin’,” he says, in his low, Texan drawl. He looks bright and awake, kind of the opposite of how you feel. His hair, peppered with grey, is pushed back away from his forehead, and it looks wet. He probably just got out of the shower. His beard is neat against his tan skin and his eyes are warm as he looks at you.
“Hi,” you say, smiling before you can stop yourself. “How are you doing?”
You see him smile back, a dimple appearing on his face. You resist the urge to fix your hair, wondering if you look as tired as you feel.
“I’m good,” he says. “And yourself?”
That’s the thing about Joel. He doesn’t talk all that much but he’s never rude. Just to the point. You don’t mind. You think you talk enough for the both of you.
“Tired,” you say, honestly. “Didn’t sleep too well.”
“Why’s that?” Joel asks, and you’re unsure if he’s just being polite or if he’s actually curious.
“The person above me was just noisy,” you say. And maybe it’s the lack of sleep that seems to have made the filter between your brain and mouth disappear but for some reason, you continue explaining. “Like the noisiest sex ever. And it was fine the first time but it’s happened thrice now. It’s like they have no consideration for the people around them. I don’t even know how two people could be that noisy.”
Suddenly, it’s like your brain catches up to what you’re saying. When you glance at Joel, his ears are red and he looks vaguely uncomfortable. Shit. Here you go again, talking way too much to someone you barely know. A hot someone too. And you probably sound like a prude. You suppose in the grand scheme of things, your neighbour having loud sex three times isn’t insane but still. It’s the principle of it. The lack of consideration for the people around them.
“Shit,” you say out loud, feeling your face flush. “Sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m running on five hours of sleep and two cups of coffee. You can just ignore me.”
Before he can respond, the elevator doors slide open and you both come face to face with Clinton.
“Oh perfect,” he says, clapping his hands together. Your brows furrow in confusion and when you look at Joel, he seems just as lost.“I got your email,” Clinton continues, looking at you. “And I was just about to go talk to Joel about it.”
If you were confused before, you’re absolutely puzzled now.
“Why would you talk to Joel about it?” you ask. Your palms are suddenly sweating.
“Well he’s your upstairs neighbour, of course,” Clinton says and you feel the blood leave your face. This cannot be happening.
“No he’s not,” you say, trying to sound calm. “He lives in unit 1024.”
“No, he lives in unit 1204,” Clinton says, still completely oblivious to the awkward shift in the air. “Tell her Joel.”
Joel’s looking between you and Clinton like he’d rather do anything but that. He runs a large hand through his dark hair, before he nods. The apples of his cheeks are red now too.
“Er – yes,” Joel says, voice low. “I do live in 1204.”
Clinton nods, still smiling. You, on the other hand, are praying to whatever god might exist for the ground to swallow you up right about now. You think about all the times you’ve seen him in the elevator, how he’s never gotten out on the tenth floor and always stayed on even after you got off on the eleventh floor. You hadn’t really thought about it, never having reason to.
“Joel, little miss over here had a noise complaint. I know you both are friendly so instead of filing an official complaint against you, I’ll just give you a warning and we can consider it settled, yeah? I know you’re a good man so you’ll be more careful.” Clinton says, with his big fucking mouth. Joel nods, shuffling out of the elevator. You follow him, clenching your fists.
“Of course,” Joel says, still looking embarrassed. He looks at you then and you can’t even try to mask the mortification on your face. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll be more considerate.”
He uses the exact same word you had used when describing your loud neighbour not two minutes ago.
“Of course!” you say, voice about ten pitches higher than how you normally talk. You clear your throat. “I mean, yeah. Of course. It’s totally okay. I mean, I didn’t know it was you or else I wouldn’t have, you know…” you say, voice trailing off.
Joel nods, still looking uncomfortable.
“Alls well that ends well,” Clinton says, still completely oblivious.
Yeah. Sure.
You spend the next two days thinking of what happened with Joel. More specifically, how you had told him the loud sex he was having was inconsiderate and too frequent. The mortification of it hasn’t seemed to have dampened. You haven’t seen him since and you know it’s your mind playing tricks on you but you think he might be avoiding you. You usually cross paths in the garage when you’re getting back from work, taking the elevator up together and making small talk but that hasn’t been the case for the last two days. You also haven’t heard so much as a footfall from upstairs. Maybe he moved out. You hope not. You spend the next twenty three minutes sitting on your couch thinking of casual ways you could break the tension with Joel. Maybe you’ll run into him again and you could joke about it and it’ll all be water under the bridge. And then you can go back to staring at his biceps and looking at his hands without feeling guilty.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at your door. You get up slowly, feeling sluggish and anguished from your embarrassment. It was more so that it was Joel, who you had embarrassed yourself in front of. Strong, mysterious Joel Miller who fixed your sink and has nice hands and always holds the door open for you. You pause your lamenting to smooth your frizzed out hair down before you open your front door. It’s probably Clinton, letting you know they’re going to be testing the fire alarms at 7 am on Monday morning which is Clinton’s preferred time to do anything related to building maintenance. When you swing the door open, you have about half a second to school your face into a neutral expression. Joel stands before you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. His hair is messy against his forehead and he looks tired, dark eyes tracking your face.
“Joel,” you say. “Hey.”
Suddenly, your ability to make conversation seems to have disappeared.
“Evenin’,” he greets, and his voice makes you feel warm all over. “May I come in?”
He’s so polite, always polite, really. It must be those southern manners. You nod, moving aside. You shut the door behind him, immediately turning towards him. He looks only slightly uncomfortable, which you’ll take as a positive.
“Listen,” he says, looking right at you. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I didn’t know you could, uh, hear me. And I shoulda been more thoughtful.”
Your eyes widen, and you shake your head immediately.
“No!” you say, only slightly too loud. “I should apologize. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I didn’t know you lived upstairs. Or else I never would have said all that stuff about the noise...” You lower your voice as your sentence tapers off. You can feel your ears burn and you can see Joel’s ears are a deep red too. But still, he shakes his head.
“Nah,” he says, voice drawling. “I shoulda known better. I know these walls are paper thin, I guess I just didn’t realize. I haven’t dated in a while, haven’t brought anyone home in years until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” He clears his throat, looking away. You don’t mean to snort but your brain is already frazzled. Joel looks back at you, raising a dark brow.
“I just,” you start before pausing. “You’re telling me you didn’t realize how loud the women were?”
Your voice is soft, if not a bit incredulous. You’re not judging him, you just can’t understand how he didn’t know. You can count on one hand the number of times a guy has made you actually moan, and even then it’s never been that loud.
Joel looks sheepish now, a flush on his cheeks. His eyes are darker and he shrugs, broad shoulders moving slowly.
“Guess not,” he says and you laugh, not unkindly. You watch his mouth twitch, a small smile appearing. If someone had told you three days ago that you and Joel Miller would be having an indirect conversation about his sex life, you would have called them crazy.
“Must be nice,” you say, still smiling.
Joel’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
That, you most definitely did not mean to say out loud. You can feel blood rush to your face.
“Oh, um, just that, you know,” you stammer before stopping all together. Joel’s still watching you, eyes moving over your face. You can’t deal with his eye contact so you look away, looking down at your hands. Joel clears his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to overstep. S’none of my business.”
Whatever tension that had broken earlier is back, thicker than ever. It lands heavily in the air and you take a deep breath.
“It’s okay,” you say, hoping to make things less charged. “I just meant that most guys don’t really, you know. Women are usually faking it if they’re that loud. Just from my experience. Not that I’m saying your dates were. I mean, they sounded different from each other but just as loud so.”
It’s probably the most awkward thing you’ve ever said to anyone and that’s saying something. You’re pretty sure Joel is never going to talk to you again after this and you’ll make your peace with it. You can settle for ogling his broad back when you see him in the lobby and nothing more. You watch as Joel frowns, his dark brows furrowing once more.
“I should head out,” he says and you school your face to mask your disappointment. You nod, moving to open the door.
“Thanks for stopping by,” you say. “And sorry for like, the word vomit,” you add for better measure. It makes Joel’s mouth twitch, a glimpse of a smile. You watch as he steps past your door and you commit the site of his broad shoulders stretching in your doorway to your memory.
He turns around then, catching your gaze.
“For the record, you shouldn’t be fakin’ it. You deserve more,” he says, looking right at you. Your breath leaves you in a whoosh and before you can say anything in response, he speaks once more. “Goodnight sweetheart.”
And then he’s gone, heading towards the stairwell.
You spend the next three days thinking about Joel. How he had called you sweetheart. How he had told you that you deserved more. You’re not sure if he was flirting. Or maybe it was just southern hospitality. Either way, you had spent that night with your hand down your underwear, replaying his words and thinking of his broad shoulders. Even now, as you adjust the grocery bags in your hands and wait for the elevator, you think of how he had looked at you. His eyes had been dark, assessing. But you don’t know why. Sure you made small talk with him whenever you saw him, making quips about the weather or the way the elevator always sounded like it was about to crash when it went down from the lobby to the garage. But does that mean he’s interested or is it your crush clouding your judgement? Either way, it’s not like it matters much. You haven’t seen him since that night and maybe it’s for the better. You’ve thought about him way too much and you need to get a grip. When the elevators slide open, you get in, glad that they’re empty for once. You left work later than usual today, your manager demanding you get a report done. You had then had to go pick up groceries because your fridge had exactly one can of cherry cola and expired cheese. The dullness of your evening had helped distract you at least, from your thoughts of Joel Miller.
Your bag slips off your shoulder just as the elevator makes the ominous noise it does every time it moves between the garage and the lobby. As if your thoughts about him had summoned him somehow, Joel appears when the doors slide open. You brace yourself for the uncomfortableness, accepting it for what it is.
“Hi Joel,” you say.
“Evenin’,” he says. You feel his gaze trace over you. “How was your day?”
You shrug. “Tiring. Boring. All of the above.”
He smiles, dimple twinkling on his cheek. “That so? Nothin’ good about it?”
“I got groceries,” you say, gesturing to your full hands. One of the plastic bags twists around your wrist, cutting off the blood flow. “How was your day?” you ask because you’ve never much liked talking about yourself. Your days are too mundane anyways.
“Tirin’. Borin’,” he says, echoing you. “Seems like we got that in common.” He takes a step towards you and your heart flutters. You watch as his large hand reaches for your wrist, and you stand there and watch as he adjusts the bag before gently taking it and the other one also being held in your left hand from you. “Let me help you with this.”
“Oh,” you say, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank you, Joel. But you don’t have to.”
He shrugs just as the elevators stop at your floor. He follows you out and you walk to your apartment in silence. Your mind is racing. Joel’s always been kind but this feels more, somehow. There’s something thick in the air. In for a penny, you think, and then you speak.
“Joel?” you say and he looks at you, raising a brow. “What did you mean when you said that I deserved better?”
“Exactly that,” he says. “A woman like you deserves to be treated good. Shouldn’t be fakin’ it for any man, sweetheart.”
There he goes again. Calling you sweetheart. You feel a flurry of emotions in your chest and you twist one of your rings around your finger. A nervous habit you can’t seem to shake. Joel watches the movement. It’s like his eyes are always tracking you, tracing you, following you. You’re starting to wonder if your crush is as one-sided as you thought it was.
“Right,” you say. “That’s kind of you.”
He hums and then bids you a good evening. You watch the broad expanse of his back as he walks away.
You’ve never been able to leave well enough alone. When you were eleven you had desperately wanted a new bicycle but your mother had disagreed, saying the one you had was perfectly fine. Which it was, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted the bicycle with the pink handles and streamers down the side with the aquamarine finish, not a hand-me down from one of your older cousins. So you had started a lemonade stand in the middle of the winter, frigid January air not deterring you from standing outside on the weekends between eight a.m. and eleven a.m. Your mother had tried to get you to come back in, exasperated and worried about you catching a cold but you had been adamant. She had knitted you a new beanie and scarf instead, forcing you to wear them each time you ventured out. Sales had been painfully slow but eventually, by the summer of that year, you had saved enough to buy yourself the bicycle. All this to say, when you want to do something you can’t let the feeling pass. You have to do it. You have to know you at least tried. Which is how you find yourself knocking on Joel’s door later that evening, clock almost striking ten p.m. When it opens, you’re met with a softer version of Joel, one you’ve never seen. His hair looks soft, curling around his temple and the nape of his neck. He’s wearing a soft looking t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants.
“Were you offering?” are the first words out of your mouth, far less suave and much more accusatory than you intended. You would be embarrassed but you’ve met your quota for that feeling this week and it feels like all your thoughts have been consumed by Joel Miller. You watch Joel’s brows furrow and resist the urge to reach out and smooth out the wrinkle between them. You also realize you’ve asked him a pretty vague question.
“Before,” you start, suddenly losing your steam. You swallow, and his eyes track the movement of your throat. “When you said I deserved better. Were you offering?”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“I was,” Joel finally says, voice smooth and warm. It reminds you of a perfect summer day, when the warm rays of the sun fall against your skin, warming you from the inside. “I was offerin’. Don’t mean to overstep and never mean to make you uncomfortable.”
You shake your head quickly. “You’re not,” you say. “I, um, I want that too.”
Whatever this is, a one night stand most likely, you’ll take it. You’ve wanted Joel from afar for far too long and you’ll take what you can get. You’re suddenly grateful for your tendency to talk too much because at least it lead you to this.
He lets out a breath and your eyes trace the broadness of his shoulders under the soft cotton of his shirt.
“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, far too quickly. “Need you to say it, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you say. “I’m sure, Joel.”
He nods. He steps closer to you, so that you have to look up a bit to meet his dark gaze.
“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, voice warm and low. You hum, nodding. You run your tongue over your bottom lip and he tracks the movement, eyes becoming even darker. He cups the side of your face, running a thumb across your cheekbone before angling your head. Your eyes flutter shut and then you feel his mouth against yours, warm and plush. You open your mouth almost immediately, and he groans, so low you wouldn’t be able to hear it if you weren’t focussing on his every action. He moves one large hand to your waist, pulling you right against him. You can feel the heat of him against your body, the press of his stomach against your own. His tongue moves against yours, so hot you feel your whole body flush. When he pulls back you moan in protest, chasing his mouth and he huffs a laugh. His breath is warm against your face.
“Darlin’ we’re still in the corridor,” he says. Your blood is humming beneath your skin. You’ve never been super confident. You’re not the one to instigate things even if you are insistent. In situations like this, you’re usually shy. But Joel seems to drive you insane.
“Then take me to bed,” you say. “Please, Joel.”
His grip on your waist tightens and you relish in the press of his fingertips. You hope he leaves a mark. He tugs you into his house, shutting the door and then pressing you to it. He presses his mouth to you once more, immediately probing and you open for him like a blooming flower. The kissing is frantic, every point of your body pressed to his. You can feel where he’s hard against your stomach, the heat of it leaking even through his sweatpants. You start squirming against him, hitching your hips in a rhythm that makes you feel like you might come right here and now. You’ve never been this close before, not with a man. Joel’s hands move down to your hips, helping you move and you moan against his mouth. He sucks your tongue and your hips move faster, chasing relief. Just when you think you might actually finish, he pulls away, pressing your hips against the door and away from where he’s hot and hard. You look at him, dazed.
“You asked me to take you to bed,” he murmurs. His voice is low and warm, smooth like golden honey. So are his eyes, which watch you so carefully. “So I’m going to take you to bed, darlin’.”
He moves you around and you’re like a puppet, letting him. He maneuvers you in front of him with his hands on your waist and then leads you down the corridor. If you were less close to orgasm, you’d probably look around, wanting to understand your handsome, mysterious, sex god of a neighbour. But all you can think about right now is feeling Joel around you and inside of you. And it seems like he has a one track mind too with the way he walks behind you, so close that he’s pressed up against your back, pressing hot kisses to your neck. It makes you shiver.
His room is neat and cozy, all dark greens and wooden furniture. His bed is made and seeing it makes a wave of nerves rush through you. You stop, turning around to face him, still so close that you can count the eyelashes that frame his dark eyes and see the scar across his nose so clearly, the skin there pinker than the rest of his tan face.
“Joel,” you say, voice soft. “I don’t really do this often. Like, um, one night stands I guess.”
Something flickers across his face, too fast for you to recognize. But then, his eyes soften and he cups your face, running his calloused thumb across the highest point of your cheekbone.
“We can do whatever you want,” he says, voice just as soft as yours. “If you wanna stop right now, that’s completely fine with me darlin’.”
You shake your head, twisting your fingers in his soft t-shirt. “I don’t want to stop. I just don’t want you to be, uh, disappointed.” You look away from his gaze, down at your feet. You think of the other women who have been over, and wonder if you’ll measure up. Whether you’ll make the right noises or move the right way.
Before you can spiral too far, Joel lifts your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes.
“You’re perfect,” he says and it feels too intimate for what this is. A one night stand. Still, you feel something loosen in your chest and your face flushes.
You swallow and Joel tracks the movement of your throat with his eyes. “Joel,” you say. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” Joel says and your mouth twitches, unable to hold back your smile. “There we go,” he says and then he’s kissing you again. You feel the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed and then Joel is laying you softly on his bed.
“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging at your shirt. You nod and help him, raising your arms. Goosebumps break out across your skin and you can feel your nipples hard against your bra. It’s one of your nicer ones, a bralette that’s a deep green. Joel runs a thumb across the material, and you arch into his touch. When he brushes your nipple, your eyes flutter close. His thumb runs down your sternum, past your belly button and lingers at the edge of your sleep pants. You open your eyes and meet his molten gaze. He raises a dark brow and you nod. Slowly, he tugs your pants off, leaving you in just your underwear.
“Oh baby,” Joel says, looking at you. “You’re so wet.”
Your stomach clenches and before you can think of what to say he’s running a finger against where you need him the most. His finger brushes against your clit and your hips buck into the touch and he tsks.
“Do you need it?” he asks and when you don’t answer he moves his finger away. You let out a sound of protest opening your eyes. He’s looking at you expectantly. “You need to say it, darlin’.”
“I need it, Joel,” you say, voice breathy. He smiles and then he’s pushing the gusset of your underwear aside, touching you directly. You’re so wet that it smears against your thighs. Joel runs his pointer finger from your clit downwards and you feel like you might melt into the bed. His touch is featherlight and you need more.
“Joel,” you say. “Please.”
He pulls his hand away again and you’re about to protest when you see him tug at the back of his shirt and then suddenly he’s shirtless. He’s even broader now with no fabric hiding him from you, his body muscular in a way that you know comes from years of manual labour and not just going to the gym. His arms are thick with muscle, a juxtaposition to his softer belly. Then he’s kneeling, pushing your legs apart so they rest on his broad shoulders. He presses his nose against you, and inhales and you buck into his face. If it weren’t for his big hand against your hip bone, you probably would have broken his nose with how much you move. He pulls your underwear aside and then he’s licking into you. It’s perfect. You’ve never experienced anything like this before and you don’t think you ever will again. His nose presses against your clit as he devours you, moving his tongue inside you in a way that has you squirming and seeing stars. Your hand moves down to grip his soft hair and he groans against you, licking into you more deeply. Then, he curls two fingers into you, the squelch of him breaching you sounding so loud to your ears. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t on the verge of coming. Joel sits up, watching you as he curls his fingers inside of you.
“My messy girl,” he says as he scissors his fingers, and you see the wetness of yourself drip down his wrist. The possession of what he says makes you even wetter. He curls his fingers, once, twice and then something in you snaps and you’re writhing against his hand as his mouth latches onto your clit. You’re not sure how long you’re out for but when you open your eyes, he’s above you, watching you with dark eyes.
“Okay, darlin’?” he asks and you take a shuddering breath.
“Yeah,” you say, voice husky. He hums. “So good.”
“Yeah?” he asks and you nod, gripping the arm he’s using to brace himself above you. You feel empty, suddenly ravenous to have all of him inside of you. You want to feel his chest pressed against yours, his mouth against your own and you want him inside of you now.
“Joel,” you say. “Please. I need you.” You tug at his arm and he smiles, something too soft for what you’re both about to do. You like the crinkles by his eyes, the way there’s grey in his beard. You reach up, running a hand against his jaw and he follows the movement with his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm.
“Okay baby, I got you,” he says. He kneels on the bed, and spreads your thighs so you’re open for him again. At some point he must have taken his pants off because you see him now, in all of his glory and he’s big. No actually, he’s huge. Your mouth opens, eyes widening and when you look back up at him he smiles, running a thumb against your plush mouth.
“We’ll make it fit,” he says. “I’ll go real slow, okay? Stretch her out real good.”
“Okay,” you say, eyes wide. His thumb is still against your mouth and you brush your tongue against the rough pad of it, tasting the salt. Joel watches, eyes dark. You take it into your mouth, sucking and he closes his eyes, a shudder running through him. It makes you feel good knowing he’s similarly affected – that it isn’t just you losing your mind. He taps his dick against you, where you’re wet and glistening, and then runs it against your folds. Your hips shift, chasing the movement and then he notches himself against where you’re open and waiting.
When he pushes the head of him into you, both your breaths hitch.
“Joel,” you moan when he presses himself another inch forward.
“I know baby, I know,” he says, voice placating as if he isn’t splitting you in half. “There we go, biiig stretch,” he adds as he pushes himself further in and you feel dizzy with pleasure, reaching a place so deep inside of you, your eyes roll back. He’s slow with it, giving you time to adjust.
“Okay?” he asks when he’s all the way in and you nod.
“So good,” you say, sounding far away. “So good, Joel. Please move. Please, I need it.”
His eyes darken and he groans, pulling back before pushing in again.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re perfect for me. It’s like you were made for me.”
“I am,” you moan, lost in pleasure. “All yours.”
“Yeah, baby?” he asks, his hips moving faster. “That’s right. You’re mine. Thought about this all the time. When I’d see you in the hallways or in the elevator. Wanted to take you home, take care of you and make you feel good. Fuck baby.”
You’re not fully registering his words, but you know it must be the sex talking. And now you get why those women before you had screamed the way they did, why you could hear them through your walls. He moves a hand down to your clit, circling a thumb around it and you flutter around him. Wetness clings to your lashes and runs down your cheeks and Joel leans down, chasing the salty tears with his tongue, so hot against your skin that you can feel yourself unraveling.
“All of you tastes perfect, sweetheart,” he rumbles, biting lightly at your jaw.
“Joel,” you wail and he grunts, almost animalistic. “Please.” You’re not sure what you’re begging him for but he seems to understand. He moves over your clit faster and you feel the tightness in you snap. You clench around him, arching as he moves his hand to press down against the lower part of your stomach. You can feel him there, inside of you. You must say it out loud because Joel groans.
“Yeah, you can, can’t you? Can feel me right here,” he says, pressing down harder and you moan as you come, a gush of wetness coating you both. Joel follows right behind you, pressing you down into the bed as he comes inside of you, hot even through the condom. It might be minutes or hours later when he shifts, pulling out and you make a noise at the loss. He pulls back and you open your eyes. You take a deep breath, legs still shaking and wrapped around his waist.
“Wow,” you say, voice hoarse. Joel’s face lights up as he lets out a laugh. You watch him stand up, his broad back facing you as he walks towards the bathroom. He’s in there for long enough that doubt starts creeping into you. You should probably get up and find your clothes. You know what this was and you’re not going to make it weird by lingering, no matter how badly you want to press yourself into Joel and fall asleep. Just as you stand up, reaching around you for your underwear, Joel comes back.
“What are you doing?” he asks and you feel reprimanded.
“Um,” you say. “I was just looking for my clothes.”
Joel shakes his head, coming to stand right in front of you. He has a washcloth in his hand.
“Sweetheart,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”
It’s so tender that something cracks open in your chest. You feel a swell of emotion and look away, swallowing. Joel leads you back so that you’re lying against the headboard. He parts your legs gently, so unlike the intense movements from before. You let him, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He’s gentle as he wipes between your legs, even pressing a soft kiss to the crease of your thigh. You’re not sure what to do, what this is. He moves, gently pulling your underwear up your legs and you shift your hips to let him fix the waistband against your stomach.
“I can feel you thinkin’,” he says, voice soft.
“I don’t want to impose,” you say. “You don’t have to do this.”
Joel shakes his head. “You’re not makin’ me do anythin’.” His accent sounds stronger now, the low drawl of it reminding you of hot days and lemonade. You blink fast, swallowing back a surge of emotion.
“I meant what I said before,” Joel says. “When we were…when I was in you. I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, every time I saw you really. But I thought I thought you only saw me as an old man before the, uh, noise debacle. I was going to ask you out actually, when I saw you tomorrow. But then you came to me tonight and fuck sweetheart, I’m not strong enough to say no to you. Not when you’re at my door lookin’ at me with those big eyes of yours.”
You take in the information, feeling something lighten inside of you. You bite the inside of your cheek.
“I like you too,” you finally say. “A lot. I just didn’t know if you felt the same and I…” you trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Joel moves so he’s standing between your legs. He cups your face, leaning down to kiss you gently. Your heart flutters and he pulls back. He kisses your forehead then, inhaling and then he pulls back. You pull him down and it takes a bit to get you both comfortable, but then you’re resting against him, head pillowed against his firm chest. You look up, pressing a kiss to his chin and he smiles.
“I’m goin’ to take you out to breakfast tomorrow,” Joel says and maybe you take too long to answer because he clears his throat. “Uh, I mean if you’d like that.” he adds and you laugh.
“I’d like that, Joel,” you say and you can feel him relax against you.
“And then I’d like to take you out to dinner. Multiple dinners,” he says and you hum.
“And then you’ll bring me back here,” you say.
“If you’d like that sweetheart,” he says and you push yourself closer to him.
“I’d like that a lot,” you say and he presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.
Valentines day is coming up and ghost...doesn't really know what to do?
He only realized he was expected to do something when he overheard recruits complaining about their birds back home and all their 'silly needs'. 'My lad kicked me outta the house 'cause I didn't want to go to his stupid restaurant–' one of the soldiers huffs, and that gets ghosts attention.
Ghost doesn't want to be kicked out of the house, or worse, asked to sleep on the couch. So he does some research, namely googling 'how do people celebrate valentine's' on his government provided cell.
Turns out...it's pretty simple?
He takes leave the day of valentines, sleeps in with you all morning because you always whine when he gets up for work. Finally, when you decide you're satisfied, you both make breakfast together. You insist on giving him a gift, a new hoodie and the gummies he refuses to admit he loves.
"It's okay if you didn't get me anything," you try to assure, knowing how ghost can be "i know work has kept you busy, and– what are those."
In his hands, ghost holds up innocuous black bags, the ones you get from fancy stores with embossed logos on the front. He holds them out for you, expression pinched in mild anxiety "clothes. For our reservation."
"...Reservation?" You ask, shocked.
The clothes are perfect on you, designer silk that you've had pulled up on a tab to stare at longingly for months now. Underneath, a pair of lacy underwear ghost turned bright red at, insisting it matched the clothes and definitely wasn't because he wanted to rip it off you later–
"Mmh– simon–" you laugh, trying and failing to stop ghost from crowding you in the entrance hall to your apartment. You can still taste the dessert on his teeth, the best meal you've had all year, with your favourite person ever.
"C'mon, lovie" ghost huffs, licking your pulse as it jumps with each touch "you got your meal, I want mine."
God, is he starving. Ghost spends hours between your legs, thoroughly working you over. He keeps an arm slung over your torso, and the other holding your hand, his face drenched with your previous orgasms.
"Ah! Fuck– yes, simon–! Ahhh–!!" You moan as he sinks down again, his own rumble of approval carrying you through another. Ghost has always loved oral, but tonight it seems all he's set on. Your underwear pressed between his cock and the mattress, more than content to get off like that unless you say otherwise.
Yeah, ghost thinks as your shin locks behind his head, this valentines shit is easy.
Summary: You’re in the middle of a rant, and Joel Miller couldn’t care less. He’s calm, dismissive, and entirely too confident for a man who should probably be listening. But then he does something bold enough to stop you mid‑sentence—and suddenly the argument turns into a different kind of standoff. One you’re not sure you’re ready to lose—and he can see every crack forming.
Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, slight fluff, sleazy!joel, fuck buddies, fat!joel, riding, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, JOEL CALLS YOUR PUSSY HONEYPOT, daddy kink just once, Joel talks shit most of the time, orgasm control (?), one (1) spank, nipple play, biting also once, male masturbation, no outbreak
A/N: Guys, I can’t believe how beloved sleazy!Joel has become… 🤭 I hadn’t planned on it, but I ended up writing a little continuation to ‘Strawberry Creampie.’ It’s not as filthy as the first one, but it definitely has its own dirty energy and Joel’s nonstop, ridiculous yapping. Enjoy, pookies!! <3333
“Joel, this is disgusting. It’s stiff. It’s literally stiff with gasoline and whatever the hell you spilled on it. And you left it on my couch. My couch.”
The van feels like it’s melting. Heat clings to your skin, the air thick and heavy, carrying the usual mix of gasoline and old leather. (And cigarettes, though you’ve long since gotten used to those.) Under all of it, your nose still catches Joel’s cheap aftershave—the one he splashes on like holy water.
In your mouth, a lollipop.
He bought it for you while grabbing his cigarettes at the gas station, leaning over the display with that lazy, sleazy grin and saying, “C’mon, hon. Grab a color. You always look real cute when you’re workin’ on one of these.” Then, lower, just for you: “Get the biggest one they got, sweetheart. You always handle it just fine.”
And now, Joel is slouched in front of you, on the built‑in bench with sweat all over him. His shirt was tossed somewhere behind him, leaving the broad, heavy spread of his stomach bare to the thick summer air. Sweat beaded along the crease where his belly met his ribs, sliding down in slow, shining trails.
He’s got a cigarette tucked behind his ear, another unlit one rolling between his fingers, and a beer sweating on the table besides him. He looks like he’s been here for hours, like he’s slowly melting into that furniture.
His eyes aren’t even on the shirt you’re holding in front of him. Instead, he sighs dramatically, like you’re the one inconveniencing him.
“Sweetheart, you’re talkin’ like I marched into your place with a whole god damn laundry basket and dumped it on your bed. It’s one shirt. One. And it ain’t even that bad. Smells like a hard day’s work, that’s all.” He shrugs.
You stop pacing just to stare at him.
“It smells like a gas station bathroom.”
“You’ve ever been in a gas station bathroom, baby?” He chuckles hazy. “‘Cause if you had, you’d be thankin’ me for bringin’ somethin’ in your house that smells better than that.”
You groan, rolling your eyes and toss the shirt at him. It lands across his stomach and he doesn’t even flinch. Just lets it sit there like a napkin he’s too lazy to move.
“And another thing,” you say, pointing at him. “Stop leaving your cigarettes in my apartment. They’re everywhere. On the counter. On the floor. In my plants. One was in my plants, Joel.”
He snorts. “They ain’t lit. They’re fine.”
You push the lollipop off to the side, letting it sit deep in the hollow of your cheek. Joel’s eyes flick to the way it bulges your cheek out, the stick tapping against your lip every time you speak.
“They’re dirty,” you snap. “They’re gross. And you leave them everywhere like some kind of—”
“Like some kinda man who ain’t got a trash can in his van,” he interrupts, gesturing around the cramped space. “Look at this place. You see a trash can? ’Cause I sure as hell don’t.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s a damn good one.”
You throw your hands up. “You’re impossible.”
Joel leans back even further, belly rounding, thighs spread, looking like he’s settling in for a real long, and real comfortable argument. (His favourite thing to do).
“Impossible? Sweetheart, I’m a delight. You just dramatic as hell. You get all worked up over nothin’. A shirt here, a cigarette there—“
“And my leftovers,” you cut in sharply. “Don’t forget those.”
Joel pauses, squints, then nods slowly as he remembers shoving your leftovers into his mouth all at once the night before.
“Oh yeah. Those were good.” He licks his lips.
“They were mine.”
“They were sittin’ in my line of sight,” he counters. “And you know how I get when I’m hungry. You can’t just leave food around me like some kinda test. That’s entrapment.”
You stare at him, jaw dropped. “Entrapment?”
“Damn right. You left ’em right there on the counter, all innocent‑lookin’, like they weren’t beggin’ me to eat ’em. What was I supposed to do? Walk away? I ain’t no saint.”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. How one person can lack even an ounce of responsibility or respect is beyond you. It feels like talking to a child who hasn’t learned the basics of common sense yet.
So, you pace again, muttering under your breath, waving your hands, ranting about boundaries and hygiene and how he’s slowly turning your apartment into a landfill, because apparently turning his own van wasn’t enough and he has to turn your—
“Keep goin’, baby. I like when you get all fired up. You start walkin’ around, talkin’ fast, wavin’ your arms…gets you all worked up.” His voice drops into that long, lazy drawl he uses when he wants to get under your skin.
You whip around. “Don’t.”
He grins wider.
“You never take anything seriously. Ever. Not the mess, not the cigarettes, not my space, not the fact that you treat my apartment like a damn storage unit—”
Joel exhales a long, dramatic sigh, head tipping back against the wall.
“And you know what? I’m done. I’m done letting you walk in, eat my food, leave your crap everywhere, and act like it’s all just—just—”
Joel lifts a hand, palm out, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “You’re wound up tighter than a damn banjo string. C’mon now. You know I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I just get comfortable. ’Cause you make it real easy to get comfortable.”
You stop pacing just long enough to glare at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so comfortable. Maybe we shouldn’t even be hooking up at my place anymore. Maybe you should just stay in your van and keep all your trash to yourself.”
You don’t even realize what you’ve just said until it’s out. It hangs in the air, heavy and sharp, your mouth gaping open. Joel also goes still for half a second—just long enough for you to notice—then he huffs a laugh, low and amused.
“There she goes,” he mutters. “Sayin’ things she don’t mean just ’cause she’s mad.”
You spin back towards him.
“Don’t—” you start, throwing your hands up. “Don’t do that thing where you act like you know everything. I’m not mad, I’m just— I’m just tired of you acting like you can do whatever you want in my house.”
So, you start pacing again, words spilling faster than you can even organize them.
“And you never listen, Joel. Ever. You just sit there with that face, like you’re above it all, like nothing I say matters, and I swear it drives me insane—”
The lollipop shifts in your mouth, knocking against your teeth. You pause mid‑sentence, annoyed at the sudden sweetness hitting your tongue again. You pull it to the other cheek with a sharp click.
“—and this stupid thing keeps getting in the way,” you mutter, waving the stick vaguely before you shove it back between your lips
“And—“
Your eye catches on something tiny.
Tiny and wet.
Sitting just below Joels belly. His hand is wrapped around it, covering the pulsing veins you know all too well, while it keeps releasing generously amount of white fluid from the tip.
Joel was jerking off. Without you noticing, he pulled the waistband of his down away—and then (somehow) sneakily pulled his cock out.
His posture shifts, his breathing grows heavier, his eyes darkening—fixated on you with a hunger that makes your stomach flip. His hard cock is free, tip smudging against the underside of his belly, leaving small, sticky droplets of pre-cum on his skin.
Fucking bold.
“What are you—are you fucking serious right now?” Your eyes look at him up and down.
He doesn’t even look guilty. Heck, not even surprised.
Because what else do you expect from a man who uses pussy as his fleshlight and laps around your folds like it’s his last meal on earth?
He tilts his head, eyes slowly dragging over your tank top, your chest, the lollipop you’re still absentmindedly chewing on.
“What?” he drawls, voice thick. “You’re walkin’ around in that tiny little shirt, no bra, nipples all perked up, suckin’ on that damn lollipop like you don’t know what you’re doin’. I’m only human, baby.”
“Joel,” you start. “You’re such a—”
“A pervert?” he offers, grinning. “Yeah, sweetheart. You knew that when you let me in.”
You’re too stunned to speak.
He keeps moving up and down lazily, while his eyes are half‑lidded and fixed on you with that slow, filthy amusement he always has when he knows he’s getting to you.
He doesn’t even pretend to care. He never does.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice thick and lazy. “Finish your little rant.”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost aches, but you keep talking anyway.
Or at least, you try to. Because with Joel, it’s always a power play. He watches you fight for your composure like it’s for his entertainment, taking in every twitch of irritation as if it’s something he needs for to stay alive. He lives for this—your stubborn attempts not to react, and the way you inevitably do.
Your words start to trip over each other the moment you hear his low groan. Not because you’re giving up, but because you know exactly where this goes. You’ve been down this road with him before. You know the slope, the heat, the way your body starts to anticipate him before your mind catches up.
He is still jerking off, slowly.
“You’re—you’re just so disgusting,” you say, but it comes out more frustrated than anything else. “You can’t just—Joel, seriously, I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Ain’t stoppin’ you,” he murmurs. “Keep talkin’.”
You look away, trying to pace again, trying to hold onto the thread of your irritation, but the heat in the van is crawling under your skin, and the only thing you start to hear is Joel’s breathing picking up. You try to not look at him—him and his leaking cock, rock hard, pulsing with each—
“Oh, you done?” he interrupts your thoughts.
You don’t answer. Because you can’t. He has you wrapped around his finger.
“…Thought so.”
You exhale, long and shaky, more frustrated with yourself than with him.
Then he says it.
“C’mere then.”
You stand there for a moment, jaw tight, fingers flexing at your sides, trying to pretend you’re still deciding.
And you can’t believe that Joel’s hunger—his shamelessness, his filth, all that god damned sleaze he wears like a second skin—always has an effect on you.
But let’s face it: you wouldn’t be in his van if you didn’t have the same messed‑up, dirty, feral thoughts running through your head just like he does.
“Sit.”
And that’s what does it for you.
The way he says it like he knows exactly that you’re going to.
You don’t even realize you’re moving until you’re already stepping towards him, tugging your pants down as you go. Your panties slipping with them, pooling at your feet by the time you reach him.
You lower yourself, holding into his shoulders while Joel grips the tip of his cock, lazily playing with your folds, nudging against your clit, and then—slowly inching his way into your cunt. You sink down on him, breath hitching as you feel your walls being stretched around him.
“Slow…slow…don’t let your attitude hurt my honeypot.” He murmurs, looking down.
You stop halfway to give him a scoff.
As you start to sink slowly again, cunt swallowing the last bits of his pulsing cock, you hear his voice again: “There she is,” smug. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
He chuckles when you drop onto his lap, hard enough to make his belly move.
You shoot him a glare, shifting on his lap, trying to get used to the burning stretch. “Shut up,” you mutter—which only makes his smirk deepen.
“All bark, no bite.”
Joel’s eyes stay on you as he leans back, arms folding behind his neck while he settles comfortably on the bench. The smug look on his face tells you this was his plan all along—getting you on his lap just to watch you crumble for him.
But you’re not backing down. You know exactly how to make him crumble too.
You breathe out, hands stabilising on his shoulders as you lift yourself up and sink down again. You swallow, already feeling his tip nudging against that spongy spot inside you.
You can see Joel’s jaw tighten, like he’s fighting not to break that smug smirk on his face—but you know him. He’s crumbling inside.
“Mhmm, always thinking with your cunt, that’s how I know her.” He nods. “Thought you were gonna keep up that little tantrum all day. But nah, you see cock and balls and your mind goes blank.”
You lift, and settle down again. Harder this time.
“And you always use your cock and balls to get you out of every single argument and confrontation,” You rock your hips. “But yea, i’m the one that thinks with her cunt.”
Joel bites back a groan when your hips start to get used to a rhythm, riding him in a steady, controlled pace.
“You’re cute as hell, baby. Look at you, all worked up and pretendin’ you’re still mad.” He drawls lazily. “Go on, keep talkin’ your little talk—I’m lovin’ every second of it.”
You can hear it in his voice—the way he holds himself back from not gripping your hips, from not letting out a sound, from not pushing you against the table and fucking you until you forget your own name.
You smirk, lifting yourself up and sinking around him again, repeating the process, fueled by a sharp, reckless need to prove you’re not the one breaking first.
“Oh, now she’s hopping.” He smirks, fingers suddenly sliding up to curl under the hem of your shirt. He starts to tug it higher—and you smack his hand away like he’s lost his damn mind.
Joel’s eyebrow furrow.
“Lemme see my girls.” He mutters. “C’mon now…don’t leave me hangin’. I’m starvin’ over here.”
“I know. That’s the fun part.” You nod, smug.
“Hm. She thinks she’s real funny today.” He taps your thigh, amused. “Go on then. Let’s see how long this pussy can keep that up.”
He leans in, quieter. “Cause I already can feel her fluttering.”
You swallow, but continue to move your hips.
His chest starts to rise in heavy, uneven breaths, sweat glistening along his stomach as he tries to keep his hands where he put them—laced behind his head, knuckles white with restraint, trying, oh so hard, to ignore your cunt clenching down on him.
The long‑forgotten lollipop taps against your teeth as you smirk down at him, suddenly aware you can use it to tease. You pull it from your mouth, a thin strand of sweetness stretching before it snaps, and you drag the candy across his lips with deliberate slowness.
He exhales sharply, eyes narrowing up at you.
“You’re real funny,” he mutters, but he still parts his lips, letting you press the candy to his mouth.
His jaw works once, slow, like he’s tasting more than just sugar—eyes still locked into yours.
And while he sucks on the candy, another idea to break him sparks in your mind.
You lean in and bite into his neck, teeth sinking into skin—hard enough to leave a mark, sharp enough to make him jolt and make his cock switch.
The lollipop slips from his mouth, clattering onto the table as he lets out a rough sound he clearly didn’t mean to make. And you know, you got him this time.
“Hey,” you say, “I wasn’t done with that.”
“Ya know, most folks apologize after takin’ a chunk outta someone’s neck,” he says, clearly annoyed. “Not you. No, you’re sittin’ here mournin’ a piece of fuckin’ sugar.”
“You liked it. You groaned.” You say it quietly, a smile on your lips as you trace the grey stubbles along his neck.
“I like a lot of things, hon,” he murmurs, slowly melting at your lips against his neck. “What more I like is this pussy wrapped around me. Heck, ain’t even close yet. Keep goin’.”
Joel lands a sharp spank on your right ass cheek, forcing a sound from you that cuts straight through the calm front you were trying to hold. A moan.
He chuckles.
“There she goes,” he mutters. “Knew you’d crack.”
You set your jaw, brows pulling together as you start to pick up your pace, going up and down his cock with a sharper, more deliberate movement. You’re done playing around—and he can tell.
“That’s it, ride all that anger out.” He says but you see that the sudden intensity knocks a rough breath out of him, his head tipping back, hands twitching like he’s fighting the urge to grab you.
And then you slowly start to feel it—your slick dribbling down the sides of his cock, walls fluttering and spasming; every roll of your hips giving away a squelching sound and Joel can feel you holding back.
Your lips form into a straight line, eyebrows still pinched and your cunt can’t do nothing but soak into his lap, your body completely betraying you.
“Let me help you out, pretty girl. Looks like you’re startin’ to lose it.” He murmurs, before you feel the pad of his thumb going through your messy folds and then touching your aching, little clit, sitting just between the mess—switching.
You release a whine, stopping your movements on his length to take a deep breath so you don’t come on the spot. He doesn’t stop, his thumb keeps rubbing lazily over your nub, determined to make you more sensitive.
You try and swat at his hand again, stubborn as ever, but he just shakes his head with that slow, lazy little smirk that always gets under your skin.
“Nuh‑uh,” he drawls, voice low and maddeningly calm. “You wanted a challenge, didn’t you?”
You grit the words out through clenched teeth, “Fuck you.”
He just chuckles—like he’s been expecting that exact crack in your voice.
“Oh, I know,” he coos, eyes half‑lidded, savoring the moment you finally slipped.
His thumb on your clit speeds up, massaging tight, little circles around the nub and pushing that dry, cracked texture of his digit into your flesh, over and over again.
Your breath stumbles, trying to keep moving your hips.
And before you even expect it, Joel tugs at the hem of your shirt, flipping it upwards and releasing your tits to him. His hand immediately lashes onto one of your nipples; already sensitive and pebbled as he pinches the little nub between his fingers.
That, unfortunately, does it for you.
Your hips stutter, you stop your rhythm while your hands hold onto his chest, breathing through the stimulation and trying so hard not to come.
Joel smirks. His thumb slowing down, fingers leaving your nipple to slowly caress down your sides.
“Knew you’d burn yourself out tryin’ to beat me. You always do. Come on now…breathe. I got you. You did real good, pretty girl.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Let me take it from here.”
Your whole body goes slack, the last of your stubbornness draining out of you as his hand cups your cheek. You try to glare at him, you really do, but the warmth in his voice makes your breath hitch instead. “Don’t…” you mumble, cheeks hot, “don’t talk to me like that.” There’s no real bite behind it. You’re melting, and he knows it.
“Mm‑hmm…that’s what I thought,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your lips. “All that stubbornness and look at you now.”
His voice drops, warm and maddeningly sure of himself. “Breathin’ all shaky, tryin’ so hard to pretend you’ve still got some fire left.”
He tilts your chin up gently, eyes soft but smug.
“You don’t. Not with me. And that’s alright, baby. I got you.”
Something in you just…folds. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right, and you hate even more how gentle he sounds when he says it.
You feel your resistance slip, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to hold onto.
And you can’t ignore the tight coil in your stomach, pulled so taut it feels ready to snap. Your gummy walls clinging around his cock for dear life, while your clit throbs in anticipation.
You need him.
“Buckle up now, honeygirl… let me show you how this is really done.”
With that, Joel’s grip settles on your hips—solid—fingers digging into your flesh as he starts to pound into you, hard and rough. Your body moves on top of him, tits moving up and down, head lulling from side to side. You try to stabilise yourself on his shoulders, sudden moans and whines leaving your lips.
“Easy now…that’s it. Let me hear you.” He murmurs through gritted teeth. “Don’t hold back on me, darlin’. I want every sound you’ve been tryin’ to swallow.”
His hips snap harder from underneath, swollen cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot in you, making your head spin and shaky sounds slip past your lips. You tip your head back and catch Joel’s dark eyes on you, focused and intent, studying every little detail of your face.
“Joel—please,” you don’t know what you’re pleading for.
Joels hands grip you even rougher, knuckles white as he leans forward until the top of his head settles against your chest, his hair brushing your skin as he exhales roughly.
“I know,” He rasps against your skin. “Cunt is soft as warm honey now, baby. I can feel you letting go.”
He eases his head away from your chest, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek with surprising gentleness.
“Turning into butter in my hands, huh? Aren’t you, sugar?”
He pulls you in, brushing a gentle kiss against your lips like he’s trying to settle you.
“My sweet girl.”
That steals the breath right out of you. For a second you freeze, thrown off by the sudden softness—then everything in you loosens, warmth flooding through your chest as the words sink in.
Joel feels it; your walls clenching on him, flooding his lap with the same wetness he loves to lap on whenever he eats you out.
“Daddy’s honeypot is sucking me in so nicely.”
“Don’t call it honeypot…” you whine.
He lifts an eyebrow, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh, I’m callin’ it that,” he says, like it’s already settled. “Cause that’s what it is. Daddy’s honeypot.”
You moan out, louder than before and your head falls on his shoulder. His thrusts speed up once again, Joel pressing himself deeper, tighter as if he already knows that you’re on the verge of coming.
“Mmm… there it is. Sweet, messy thing,” he says. “I can feel you tremblin’. Come for me, sweetheart. I got you.”
You gasp, hiccuping his name as you nuzzle into him closer, sudden waves of your orgasm rushing through you. Your belly tightens, your body locks in and your fingertips curl into his skin.
Joels hip stutter, thrusts followed by squelching sounds of your come and while you try to ride your high out, you feel Joels cock throbbing rapidly—finally spurting his warm release into you.
“There we fuckin’ go…” he groans out. “This pussy is heaven.”
His thrusts slow down, grip softening on your hips as you breathe through the last waves of your release, nuzzling into his neck and placing a few kisses here and there.
Joel sinks back, dragging in a sharp breath, then another, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself.
“I’ll be damned… we’re sweatin’ like whores in a church.”
You huff out a tired laugh against his neck, your forehead nudging into the warm skin there. Joel tilts his head just enough to brush his jaw against your hair, a small, worn‑out sound rumbling in his chest.
After a moment, he reaches blindly towards the table besides you, fingers closing around a cigarette pack. He shakes one out, sticks it between his lips, and lights it with a low groan.
He takes a long drag, exhales slow, then mutters around the smoke, “Lord…my damn back’s gonna kill me tomorrow. Ain’t twenty anymore, that’s for damn sure.”
Then, you start to push herself up, moving sluggishly, like your body hasn’t quite remembered how to work yet. But Joel has other plans. Before his cock is even halfway out your cunt, he pulls you back in, making you sink down around his softening cock again.
You gasp, eyebrows pinching, looking at his unbothered face.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not ‘til I say so.” He murmurs besides the cigarette.
You tries to push at his shoulder, but it’s weak, more symbolic than anything. “You’re such a pain.”
And then you nuzzle right back into his neck. Your breathing evens out almost instantly, soft and steady, your whole body going slack as sleep pulls you under.
Joel shifts the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, glancing down at you with a tired huff.
“Figures,” he murmurs around the smoke, voice low and rough.
He leans back against the couch, sunlight catching in the curl of smoke drifting past his face, and just watches you sleep—peaceful, quiet, completely gone—wishing he could have this forever.
Want more of Sleazy!joel? Here are The Sleaze Files!
This is not really proofread so please ignore the mistakes yall🫣 anyways…i’m planning a little special valentines day fic for our @/coffeguitar babies hehe <333
“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”
sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.
——————-
the headache you wake with is devastating.
biblically so.
and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.
and fuck, suffering you are.
you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.
practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.
wait - practically? no. you did.
you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.
“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”
fuck sakes.
you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.
and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.
“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.
his dog tags.
you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.
a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.
you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.
spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.
it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?
fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.
and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.
finally, you knock.
it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.
you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.
you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”
he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.
you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.
you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”
his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.
“did i?” he doesn’t move.
you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.
“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”
he still doesn’t take them.
“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”
your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”
he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”
you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.
“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.
“i-“
you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.
simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.
you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”
“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”
and there it is. here it comes.
“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”
“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.
you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.
when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”
your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.
“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”
“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”
oh god.
“shame?”
“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”
“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“
he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”
“walk me-“
earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”
“you don’t-you don’t have to-“
he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.
“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”
you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.
part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.
“look, simon-“
he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”
you blink, holding your breath.
“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”
fucking hell.
“yes.” you exhale.
“what was it.”
your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.
“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”
“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”
your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.
“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.
and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
he doesn’t buy it.
“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”
christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.
this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.
“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”
“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”
you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”
“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”
“simon-“
he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”
it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.
clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.
“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”
it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.
“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”
his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.
his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—
“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”
your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.
“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”
your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“
“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”
you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.
“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”
“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”
something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.
“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”
his mouth is barely a breath from yours.
“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”
he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.
“fuckin hell.”
and then he’s kissing you.
no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.
“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.
you blink, dazed. “i-what?”
his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.
“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”
“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“
that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.
“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”
you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.
“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”
you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”
he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.
you fucking moan at the sight.
and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.
he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.
“oh, fuck-“
he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”
his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.
“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”
you’re panting now. shaking.
“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“
“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”
you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.
“tell me.”
“no-n-never like this—”
he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”
your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.
“simon-“ you whinge.
he cuts you off. “look at me.”
you do. barely.
“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”
you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.
it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.
“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”
you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.
“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”
you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.
when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.
“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”
you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.
the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“
he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”
you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.
you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.
“y’remember what else y’said last night?”
you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.
“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”
you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.
“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”
and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.
“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.
“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”
he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.
“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“
“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”
he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.
“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”
“fuck simon-“
“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”
it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.
it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.
he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.
“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”
he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.
you shriek, squirming with no where to go.
“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”
your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.
“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”
“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“
you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.
“mhm. messy little thing.”
he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.
“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”
you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.
“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”
“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“
“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”
you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.
“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”
another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“
“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”
a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—
“fuck—fuck.”
he lets go.
he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.
and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.
he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.
“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”
I haven't finished this so I'm also reblogging to read this later but HOLY FUCK JUST THE FIRST HALF IS THE MOST EROTIC THING I'VE EVER READ. I WSS GIGGLING , SMILING AND SCRUNCHING UP LIKE IT WAS ACTUALLY ME - HOO
