Imagine reader has been bratty all day long. Getting on that poor, old mans nerves and making him irritated the whole day.
Now usually he would spank your butt. Ten or sometimes even thirty, just to set his girl straight and make her learn her lesson. But lately, those were not working anymore—you were too bratty for your own damn good.
So he starts spanking your pussy.
Sitting between his legs, your thighs forcefully held open by him as you lay your back against him.
„Ten spanks. And don‘t want to hear anything from that mouth of yours.“
And this worked perfectly. Your cunt aching, pulsing and beginning to swell up at his rough hand constantly slapping your cunt. Sometimes focusing on your poor clit, sometimes quickly one after another. After five, your knees would buck and whenever he lands a slap there would be a silent splash heard—your wetness.
He would just know how sensitive you are now, could be even cumming just by the spanks.
„Shh, s‘for your own good, girl. Ain‘t got the nerves anymore to keep up with your bratty attitude.“
But he would also be so proud of his sweet girl, taking all that punishment, without any words, any protests, just occasional whimpers—the ones that he loves the most.
And when the tenth spank comes in—the hardest, your legs cramp together on his hand, you poor thing almost cumming on the spot, making him chuckle.
„y‘think s‘that easy for you to cum, now? Ain‘t done with you.“
A coo leaving his lips when he reveales your pusling, red and swollen pussy again, blowing air, chuckling at the way it clenches around nothing and filling you with his cock to the brim, roughly starting to fuck into you.
„there she is, a stuffed mess. No talking back to daddy anymore, huh?“
And after he fucks you throughly, lets you cum, fills you up, he gives your forehead a kiss mumbling a small „good girl“ and cuddles you to sleep.
So much of my impression of Reed Richards as autistic in the new Fantastic Four movie comes from Pedro Pascal's delivery. The way he chooses to say these lines makes such a difference--like "I am that smart" or "Anyone can build a crib, only I can build this" could EASILY have made him read as an a-hole, but Pedro's Reed says them with a sincerity that feels very autistic to me. He's not bragging or being snide, he's just stating the truth, and there's even a lot of gentleness in it. (And, I mean, come on, his confusion about the extra screws for the crib? "They included two extra...I have no idea why." He meant that!) His argument with Ben about how "cooking is more of an art than a math or a science" and how he failed his driver's test because of "poorly placed signage" (I love him) could have felt pedantic or prideful, but he says them with this sweet, almost abashed feeling that feels very genuine and familiar.
His reactions to Sue's pregnancy and the press post-Galactus excursion also read as autistic: he is clearly feeling a lot, but he isn't sure how to express it, so with Sue it comes out as immediately moving to problem-solving ("we'll have to design tests to account for our mutated DNA--") and with the press it shows up as reassurance-seeking: even though he's at the mic, he is constantly looking over at his family as if they could tell him what he should say. They even do end up answering some questions for him, and the most he says without a very long pause is his first comment: "I'm sorry we don't have a prepared statement" (which because of its delivery also feels very autistic).
And there's also his face, which is highlighted as very expressive in contrast to his fairly monotone voice. "I finally crossed it off the list," is said very simply and without context (true autistic information-sharing lol) but when Johnny jokes with him afterwards about taking back all the bad things he's said, Reed's face is telegraphing that he doesn't know how much of it is a joke. And at the start of the film, it's joked that his face is what gives away the pregnancy. (Not to mention Ben's joke about being surprised Reed isn't in panic-induced sweats and his reply that "I had that scheduled for later"...sir. You're not dodging the allegations)
Even in his fight with Sue the entirety of what he says is just so autistic to me. "I don't dream, I don't wonder. I let all of the worst things into my head, because it's my job to think of the bad things so that we can do them to them before they do them to us!" and Sue responds, "It's not your job, it's you." And he immediately agrees. And when Sue says "Sometimes, you being you hurts me," he can only pause and say "I don't mean to..." And Sue responds, "I know." And both of them feel so honest in how they say these lines! Reed really doesn't mean to hurt her, of course he doesn't, but he also doesn't know any other way to be, and he doesn't know how to make it hurt her less, and you can feel that he's really at a loss for what to do. Thankfully he is met with understanding, but the experience of the way you are and how you function being something that can hurt other people without your intending to or being able to help it is extremely relatable to autistic people. On top of this interaction, Reed feels like his whole family's pain is his fault, because he "should have known" that the suits "were...inadequate"--self-blame which makes him even more relatable.
And then there's the heartbreaking scene with him and Franklin where he quietly tells him, "I hope you're not like me. There's something wrong with me...always has been." It wasn't just the mutated DNA that made Reed feel wrong. He says he's always felt that way. There's nothing more autistic than that.
Anyway yeah I'm used to Reed feeling like a colder, less-emotional version of Tony Stark, but Pedro Pascal really breathes new life into this character. He is anxious and particular and warm and very, very autistic.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Katoptronophilia (!) Loud and obnoxious I-Love-You-and-I-Missed-You Sex. C*m eating. Age gap. One (1) Almost-BJ. I think that’s it.
Note: For those unfamiliar with That Folgers Commercial
Word count: 8.2k
Read on AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Airplane food tasted like shit.
Some prick in a business suit spilled his coffee all over you, your luggage had nearly been lost in transit between connecting flights, and someone’s unsupervised child had tried to bite your ankle while waiting at the gate.
The weather was bad, and all of the flight crew and your boarding group were pissed—your second trip was delayed by two hours due to inclement conditions. Snow had pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows without reprieve for what felt like years, and finally, the folks in air traffic control seemed to have just thrown up their hands and said, ‘Fuck it, let them go.’ You boarded the plane freezing your ass off and stained all down the front of your t-shirt in espresso. Your Achilles tendon ached.
And still, this felt like the greatest day of your life.
You were going home. And not just home but to Joel, who was picking you up from the airport that day. You hadn’t had any exams at the end of the week, so you’d decided to come home a half-day early and surprise him. With all of the delays, you wouldn’t be in until early that morning, but Joel was still happy to pick you up. You wouldn’t tell your dad you were back until the following evening, and in the meantime, you’d savor every second you had with Joel until you had to leave again. You didn’t want to be apart from him, but at least the separation this time around was sweeter: he was your boyfriend.
Just thinking those words made you smile.
Even sat next to a screaming baby the whole four-hour plane ride from Baltimore to Austin, you were happy.
Damn near cheerful skipping off the aircraft five hours after your original ETA, and heading to the baggage claim in a sea of pushy, disgruntled passengers.
You took the stairs instead of the escalator. You didn’t mind the extra effort with your far-too-heavy carry-on; you just wanted to take the fastest route to get to the place you’d be meeting Joel. Your sneakers sounded their light, quick thuds down the marble steps as you went, and you slung the strap of your duffel bag higher up your shoulder to get a better hold while you jogged.
You looked around, eager as ever.
Was that a pit of anxiety you felt?
Around Joel, that was never really a thing—but anticipating his presence after weeks spent apart was a whole different beast. Now your pulse pounded in your ears; your throat constricted a little bit. Where was he?
From: Joel
Just parked
Headed in now
That had been twenty minutes ago.
I’ll be over by the stairs
Except he wasn’t there.
You were at the foot of the stairs, peering anxiously around as you were jostled further out by the moving crowd, but the longer you looked, the more certain you became that Joel wasn’t there. In fact, there was no one that looked even remotely like him. It was mostly families and young people that appeared to be around your age—evidently, all colleges started break at the same time—that were standing around. You stood on your tip-toes to get a peek overtop these people, and you still couldn’t spot one single silver-flecked head that looked like his.
You pulled out your phone to text him.
From: You
Sooooo did someone kidnap you or—
You didn’t get to finish that message.
Before you could hit ‘send,’ you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You dropped your bag.
The same grin crept onto your face—you couldn’t help it.
“Excuse me, I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend…”
You pretended to tense with discomfort at the feel of someone’s body draped over your own, and then there were lips grazing your hair, stubble teasing your cheek.
“Oh, yeah? Then where is he?”
Joel turned you to face him.
Well, shit, there he is.
Both of you were beaming. Joel looked handsome but sleepy—and who could blame him at 5:21 AM, when he’d likely been at work since six the day before? You were the one to open your arms then. You lunged just in time for him to accept your embrace, and you didn’t miss the way he stumbled a bit. He also turned his face so your lips landed on his cheek, not his mouth. He blinked rapidly.
Perhaps you’d come on a little strong.
Easy now, he’s probably tired as shit.
“Sorry. Just missed you,” you mumbled into Joel’s neck.
He squeezed you tighter. He shook you back and forth.
His lips pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.
‘Don’t be sorry. I missed you more’ was all he said.
And before you knew it, you were headed home again. Rather than retreating to the house you’d grown up in, though, you went over to Joel’s cozy, ranch-style place. From all the time you’d spent there lately, and even in the years before, you knew it well. Joel kept it clean. Simple.
Cold as shit.
“52 degrees?! Have you lost your fucking mind, Miller?”
You’d pulled your parka fast about yourself as soon as you stepped in. You exhaled and saw it hang mid-air.
“It ain’t that bad. We got blankets,” Joel huffed.
He hadn’t talked much on the ride home from the airport. You didn’t blame him. You could see in his eyes and in the way he’d fixed his stare on the road all the way home that the man was exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You decided not to push him on it.
But sleeping in an igloo was where you drew the line.
You spun on your heel to face him, brows pinched.
“My nipples could cut diamonds right now.”
And you peeled back your jacket to show him, where you only wore your tight, coffee-stained tee underneath. Sure enough, two small, hardened peaks poked out through the fabric to greet Joel in the chill of his living room.
To your surprise, Joel swallowed and looked away.
He left the room shortly after that—ostensibly, to adjust the thermostat. But it was the expression he wore as he did that gave you pause. The look on his face was hard.
Guilty.
What the hell had happened in the thirty minutes since you’d gotten here to make him take on that expression?
Was it the way you smelled after six or seven hours of combined air travel, not including all the excruciating minutes spent languishing in the Boston and Baltimore airports? That stupid story you’d told him about the flight attendant whose breath smelled of rotten pimento cheese? Or was it because you’d jumped him too fast—opted for a kiss on the mouth instead of simply hugging him and attempting to curb your enthusiasm a little bit?
Your mind whirred a thousand miles a minute with this thinking—overthinking, really. You couldn’t help doing it.
In spite of the near-dizzying excitement you’d felt coming home, it was easy to slip back into old habits. Worry, uncertainty, fear of feeling more for a person than they did for you and getting too invested, it was all there. It was astounding how quickly the dread crept in. Shit.
“Shit,” you repeated aloud, kicking off your shoes.
You were standing in Joel’s room, preparing for bed. The heat had evidently kicked on, but the space was still freezing, so you peeled your clothes slowly. You set them aside, one-by-one, and folded them atop Joel’s dresser while your stomach churned. Your toes curled in your socks, and for a moment, you contemplated whether or not to wear your pyjamas to bed. Or Joel’s. Or naked.
Did he want to have sex tonight?
He’d looked so tired, and he hadn’t touched you once since setting you down from the hug at the airport, but—
“Hey.”
A folded, fuzzy blanket landed on the dresser next to you
It was pink. It had polka dots on it, not unlike the towel you had back at college and had seen Joel wrap himself in before you’d snuck him into your communal showers.
You smiled faintly at the memory.
You looked back up at Joel.
“I figured you’d get cold whenever you came over here, so I got this. Now you can bundle up. And wear these.”
Emphasizing the last word, Joel dropped a pair of matching slippers next to the blanket. They were new. He’d bought them for you, and had remembered enough to know you liked pink, frilly things. And not freezing your fucking ass off in the middle of winter. Your smile grew.
You thanked him, and were about to turn to give him a hug, when he was off again. This time, to the bathroom.
You decided you’d dress in your own pajamas tonight. You grabbed your new blanket and slippers and then padded over to Joel’s bed at the other end of the room.
How long you waited there was anyone’s guess.
Changing out of his clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his hands or simply running the tap until the water all but ran out seemed to take Joel decades. You stayed curled on your side in his bed, rubbing your now-comfortably warmed feet under the covers and occasionally checking the time. You even scrolled for a little bit to distract your mind and keep it from worrying. He’s probably just tired.
And when, finally, he shut the bathroom door behind him and retired to bed, you could see it: Joel was exhausted.
You wanted to leave him be. Let him get some rest and pick things up in the morning, same as you always did.
Then Joel snaked a big, warm, muscly arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Against your back, you could feel it: he had on one of his long sleeve, waffle-knit shirts. You wriggled a little and shuffled your legs, and you shortly discovered he was wearing his thickest pair of pyjama pants as well. Joel almost always slept naked, or in only his boxers, so this was odd. Then again, it was dead of winter, so you couldn’t really blame him.
He pressed an innocent kiss to your temple before murmuring, ‘Night, sweet pea,’ and you couldn’t ignore what you felt, either. What you were feeling, presently, through the thick, cotton fabric of Joel’s pants was impossible to ignore—he was rock-hard against you. Joel shuffled back some, but still, the bulge was prominent.
Okay, well…maybe we don’t have to sleep just yet.
You weren’t entirely sure why you did what you did. You were pretty tired yourself. All you knew was that intimacy made you feel close to Joel—helped your brain process feelings better than speaking, sometimes—and right then, you felt needy. Lonely. With just a few gruff words and a strange look from him before, you’d grown self-conscious again, and you weren’t sure what to do with that emotion. You figured Joel’s dick in you might help.
So you turned around and climbed right on him.
You straddled Joel’s hips, a little more confident in how you maneuvered it now, after doing this dozens of times before. You and Joel enjoyed sleepy sex, whether it was first thing in the morning or right before bed, and usually, neither one of you had to talk to initiate. You simply clambered over the other person and got to work. It was a simple form of stress relief—a way to rid your brain of unwanted thoughts and get you right to sleep after doing the deed—and it didn’t take much to get either one of you off. You sighed when you felt Joel’s cock graze you through your light, satin pyjamas. You didn’t move too quickly, but you did bear down on him.
Joel’s eyes flew open.
He grabbed your hips, and he grunted through his teeth.
“Sweetheart—” he started, strained.
It encouraged you to feel him stiffen from that first motion of your lower half, so you did it again. You leaned down to kiss his neck, in just the spot he always liked, close to the jaw, and you rubbed yourself gently against his erection. His grip tightened on your hips, and the initial surprise seemed shortly to morph into desire.
Like always, Joel would probably flip you and offer to fuck in missionary. That was how you both liked to start.
You dragged your lips down the column of his neck and were about to bare your teeth to leave a quick love bite, maybe nip at the skin once or twice before moving your mouth lower on him, when Joel’s grip really constricted.
His fingers seared your skin.
A groan rumbled in his chest.
“Baby, please…” he croaked. He swallowed hard.
Was he trying to beg? That wouldn’t be a first, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. His tone was low. His voice was soft, and his fingertips were kneading hard
“I know you’re tired, so I’ll get on top,” you offered, quiet.
With barely more than a whisper and a brush of your hand against the bulge in his pants, you earned another throaty sound from Joel. He cursed under his breath.
“This…I need to…fuck.”
Words seemed to evade him, and that wasn’t surprising. When you were turned on, you also forgot how to talk.
Joel always teased you for it, so now you’d do the same.
Moving lower down his body, and pushing the covers back as you went, you kept your gaze locked on his. The house had heated considerably since you’d gotten back, and now you didn’t feel like you had to wrap up in fifteen layers just to stay tolerably warm. You flashed the man a sly little grin, told him he needed to use his words if he wanted you to put your lips to use where he wanted them, and proceeded to stray even further. Your bottom lip grazed past his navel, and your tongue darted out to lick down the strip of grey and black hairs running down his lower belly where the bottom of his shirt had ridden up a little bit. As soon as you did, Joel inhaled sharply.
“Baby,” he hissed.
He seized your hair in his fist. Surprisingly, it felt nice.
It made you want to take him in your mouth even more.
So, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants, you didn’t waste any time. You yanked at the fabric, fully prepared to suck Joel off a little before climbing on and riding him, and just when his cock was about to spring free, you felt it—his grasp pulling back.
You heard him, hoarsely:
“Wait, wait, wait!”
Your chin jerked up. Probably no more than five seconds had passed since you’d slid down his body, and each act had transpired so swiftly, without a pause or a hitch from what you could tell, that for Joel to stop you so suddenly meant something was off. Something here was wrong.
“We can’t do this,” Joel blurted out at once.
You let go of his waistband. You tried to talk.
“What’s wro—”
“I— I need to tell you something. Now. I’m sorry.”
At the same time, Joel seemed to be asking you to get up. You didn’t hesitate to do exactly that, shuffling back.
Your stomach plummeted inside you as you feared you might’ve done something wrong, or crossed some line.
That, on top of everything else that night, and feeling like Joel might be having second thoughts about your relationship already, was enough to make your eyes sting. There weren’t tears, but that wasn’t far off.
How had you fucked this up so monumentally, so quick?
You chewed the inside of your lip. You blinked furiously.
“I-I-I’m sorry, Joel. I thought you wanted me to—”
“No, I’m sorry. We just can’t do this right now.”
His gaze was serious. Wide. Your heart sank.
You couldn’t help the words that followed.
“Did— did I just do something wrong?”
“No, baby, you didn’t do anythin—”
“You’re having second thoughts?”
Your pulse leapt and sped up.
“No, no, not at all. I’m jus—”
“Because you can tell me.”
“That’s not what I was—”
“If you want to break up—”
“What? That ain’t what I said.”
“So what is it? What’s going on?”
Your worst thoughts were winning.
You were jumping to conclusions again.
There wasn’t time to be rational or sedate.
“Joel Miller, if you’re gonna dump me right now—”
“Sweetheart, there’s a chance I might be your uncle.”
“What?!”
In fairness to you, his admission sounded fucking insane.
Joel could’ve handled this situation in a thousand different ways, and of course, he’d done it horribly.
The timing? Terrible. Treading close to atrocious.
The execution? Piss-poor. Actually, the worst.
You’d been a second away from wrapping your lips around his dick, and he chose that moment to tell you that you might possibly be his long-lost niece? Really?
The look on your face as you shuffled back didn’t surprise him at all. It did make Joel want to vomit a bit.
“Listen, I can explain…” he started, speaking slowly.
He lifted his hands in a conciliatory sort of gesture, then reached for you, but when you pushed back further in the bed, he dropped both. Your eyes went wide in horror.
“What do you mean you’re my fucking uncle, Joel?!”
His widened, too. You might’ve misheard him.
“No, no, I’m not. I’m probably not, I just—”
“Probably?! What is ‘probably’?!”
You’d all but screeched that.
You were standing from the bed. Looking down at it, as if to say, ‘What did I just do? What have we been doing?’ and your face gave way to a grimace. You winced like you’d just witnessed a car wreck firsthand, and again, Joel couldn’t blame you for that. He needed to fix this.
He’d meant to handle this himself. He’d called Tommy at least sixty times that night, when your dad had casually dropped the bomb that Tommy might have slept with his ex-wife and knocked her up over twenty years back, making him your biological father and Joel your uncle.
It was a stretch.
As far as Joel knew, Tommy had never been involved with your mom, much less around the time you’d been born. It was such a wild, far-fetched idea that he and your dad were almost positive that this wasn’t the case.
There was no way.
But if there was…
Joel hadn’t planned on taking any chances until he was certain. He also hadn’t wanted to cause any unneeded trauma by freaking you out and having you go into a panic, like you were right now. He’d intended to play it cool until he could get ahold of his baby brother—if he ever would pick up his fucking phone—and he’d meant to get the truth out of Tommy before doing anything else. Before you got home. Then you’d changed your flight to come back a half-day earlier, and even with all the delays you’d had, Joel still wasn’t able to get in touch with his brother before then. It was late. He’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to spill this big, terrible news that might turn out not to be news at all, while also revealing your dad’s secret that he might not be your father. It was a clusterfuck. It sucked.
Joel had only found this out hours ago, and already, it felt like the world as he and you knew it was going to shit
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lay a finger on you until he was absolutely sure that you weren’t his niece. He hadn’t wanted to fuck up your psyche, as well as the heart of your relationship with your maybe-not-biological-father, by sharing this news. So he’d tried to compromise. Sleep side-by-side and pretend to be too tired to do anything, so he could buy more time before he spoke with Tommy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then you’d wrecked his plans by straddling his dick and proceeding to try and suck it, and Joel had been left with no choice.
He blurted it out before he could try and stop himself.
“Tommy might’ve— might’ve fucked your mom.”
It was graceless. Just like everything else.
Your eyes went even wider.
“What?” you breathed.
He kept going.
“There’s…your dad was tellin’ me, there’s a slight chance your mom and Tommy were messin’ around back in the day, about a year before you were born, and…and he isn’t completely sure—there were a few other guys, but he doesn’t know—and he told me. He told me this tonight, when we went out for drinks. And then you came back earlier than I was expecting, and…well, I’ve been tryin’ to get ahold of Tommy, but he ain’t pickin’ up. I wanted—”
“Get your keys,” you cut in suddenly.
Now it was his turn to be confused.
“Wait, what?”
Joel stared, and he saw you were already on your phone. Toggling something on the screen. Frowning down at it.
“Where are we—” Joel tried again.
You snapped your fingers, like you’d found something. Then you looked up at him, briefly, before striding out the bedroom door. You walked quickly; Joel followed.
He wasn’t sure where you were going or what you planned on doing, but he opted to dress while he walked. He threw on his jacket and kicked on his boots, then went fishing for his keys—they were lying in a hodgepodge of shit on the counter, as always—and just as he reached out to grab them, you seized them first.
You were already headed for the car port. You didn’t look behind you, and wouldn’t so much as turn your head when he called out after you. You marched to his car.
“Where are we goin’? You gonna talk to me, honey?”
Joel tried sounding soft. You weren’t having it.
You jumped in and barely gave him the chance to get his seatbelt fastened before you threw the thing in reverse.
You were backing the Bronco out in a blink. Your grip tightened on the wheel, and that was when he saw it.
First, a frown.
Then, your gaze cutting over to his across the center console. It was brief, but a look did more than enough.
“I have Tommy’s location. We’re gonna go beat his ass.”
Life was great for Tommy Miller.
Like, really great.
He had a lady he was half-certain was the love of his life sprawled out in his bed, the sheets they got to share were warm, and the world outside was quiet. At 6 AM, out in the sticks as they were, it usually stayed like this.
Cool. Calm. Serene.
He should buy a house of his own out here one day.
The place they were staying at used to be his granddad’s. Joel had already done a bang up job at fixing it himself, and Tommy wanted to help. He also knew it would make a nice retreat for him and Maria whenever they wanted to get out of the city themselves. She liked it here, which meant that Tommy loved it. He loved her.
Stupid as it sounded, he was now beginning to understand some of Joel’s fixation with you.
If his brother felt even a fraction of what he felt for Maria, Tommy could easily see why Joel would risk his whole friendship with your father to be with you. He got it.
What he couldn’t totally comprehend was why you two wouldn’t come clean already. All this lying and sneaking around behind your daddy’s back must have been awful for you both. It would suck telling him at first, to be sure, but your father wasn’t that intolerant that he couldn’t be convinced to warm up to the idea eventually. You’d be graduating in a few months—you could come back here, not have to treat each other like some big, ugly secret, and then live like he and Maria did, every day. That was what Tommy had wanted for his big brother, anyway.
These thoughts and at least a dozen more were all swirling through his mind after the break of dawn that day, when he was half-asleep and barely more conscious than not. He stretched out in bed, smiling to himself.
He was about to turn and drape an arm over Maria’s side when a sound at the front door stopped him. It was loud.
Someone was knocking.
Banging.
Striking their fist on the wood so hard it sounded like they might’ve been apt to knock the whole thing down.
For a moment, Tommy considered grabbing his pistol. Then he shrugged off the thought, not wanting to freak Maria out by brandishing a firearm at this hour, and instead bounded quickly to the door to see what the fuck this person wanted before their knocking woke her up.
He swung the front door open, nostrils flared.
And there you were, looking just as enraged.
“You motherfucker!” you hissed at him.
Before he could stop you, you were storming inside. He could see Joel behind you, looking almost as overcome as he was, but he didn’t have time to talk to his brother.
Tommy didn’t have time to breathe, as you knocked the wind out of him by pushing past him, your steps forceful.
Your eyes were wide with indignation and ire.
Disbelief and…something like disgust?
“Did you fuck my mom?!” you spat.
What the— what? What?
When he was too stunned to speak—from both drowsiness and the initial shock—you stepped in again. You didn’t touch him, but you got in his face. Very close.
“Answer the fucking question, Miller. Did you?!”
“Sweetheart—” Joel started behind you.
Tommy could hear that his voice was tight. Their eyes flitted up to meet each other, briefly, and at the same time, the door to the bedroom opened. Well, great.
“Did you fuck my mother or not, Tommy?!”
Perfect timing. Tommy swallowed hard.
For some reason, his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Evidently, you interpreted this pause as an admission, or something, because your face morphed into one of pure horror, and one of your hands rose to cover your mouth.
“Oh god, you did!” you shrieked. Words high and shrill. “You fucked her, then let me have sex with my uncle!”
Oh, fuck.
What the fuck?
What the everliving fuck?
At last, he found words: “No! No, I never—”
Tommy couldn’t imagine what Maria must be thinking.
You turned on your heel, and, hand still hovering over your mouth, you turned to Joel. You looked like you were about to be sick, as did he. Your breaths shortly faltered.
“We are so fucked!” you said to him. In shock.
Joel seemed as if he wanted to comfort you, but in truth, the man looked just as queasy, and you appeared to be in no state to want to be touched. You spun back around.
Somehow, Tommy was able to conjure up more words. Whether they’d actually make sense was anyone’s guess.
“I— I never had sex with your mom, kid. Never,” he said.
Decent enough.
But you didn’t believe him.
“My dad said you did,” you bit back. “He said that you and—and some other guys were hooking up with my mom right around the time she got pregnant with me, and he thinks you might be my dad, which would be insanely, insanely bad, since I’ve been fucking your brother for the last three months, and you knew that!”
Each word hit with all the force of an eighteen-wheeler.
Again, Tommy was too stunned to talk for a moment.
“Just…just come clean if you did. We need to know.”
That was Joel. His face was screwed up in a wince, like he didn’t really want to know any of this, but it was necessary. He needed to know if his brother was truly stupid enough to have sex with a woman and not mention the fact that her daughter might be Joel’s niece.
Tommy stared back, blinking, before recovering again.
This time, he knew he had to keep his shit together.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria.
Keep. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together.
“I never…in my life, ever slept with Amy, Joel. I swear,” he said, slowly. Then, turning to you. “I was—what, like…twenty-two when you were born? I didn’t even lose my virginity ‘til I was twenty-four. I never had sex with her.”
“But her dad said—” Joel started.
“Her dad thought I was a slut back then, I know. I wasn’t, but I liked pretending I was. It was easier to act like that than tell the guys I was a virgin, alright? It was stupid.”
He felt stupid.
Even more so in front of Maria, who now not only had to hear this whole insane incest debate but also learned he hadn’t gotten laid until his mid-twenties. It shouldn’t matter—it didn’t matter, and he didn’t regret his choice in the slightest—but still, he felt a pang in his chest.
And more to the point, why the hell would your dad even insinuate that he might’ve slept with Amy? He knew damn well they’d never gotten together. They were friends, sure, but that’s all they ever were, or appeared.
None of it made any sense.
Clearly, the news was still settling in between you, Joel, Maria, and even himself. Silence stretched on for some seconds, and Tommy released a sigh to himself. His heart rate gradually slowed, and he looked to Maria.
And where he’d expected to find her distraught, if not disgusted or a little humiliated on his behalf, he saw a smile. It was faint, but it was there. From the opposite side of the living room, in the dim glow of the morning sun’s first rays, he could see it. She was smiling at him.
Your family’s kind of insane.
I still love you, by the way.
Maria didn’t need to speak to him in words, but he felt it. He couldn’t help but grin weakly back at her, wanting to walk over to her and give her a big, bear hug in apology.
Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t get that chance, as you jumped him in the next instant with a hug of your own.
You squeezed tight and exhaled shakily into his chest.
“Shit. Tommy, I am so sorry. I’m sorry,” you said.
His grin stretched bigger in spite of himself.
In spite of this whole ridiculous, messy situation, he smiled and hugged you back. You were like a little sister to him, thankfully not a daughter, and Tommy forgave folks easily. Over the top of your head, he glanced at his girlfriend again, and he mouthed a soft apology himself.
I’m so sorry, Maria.
Also, I love you more.
“It’s all good, kid.” Out of habit, and feeling the same protective instinct he’d always felt for you, he kissed the crown of your head. He rubbed your back as you hugged. “If I thought somebody was dumb enough not to tell me I might be fuckin’ my uncle, I’d also try to kick their ass.”
You laughed. You shook your head a little against him.
“You’re too big. I could never actually do it,” you said.
“I might,” Joel rejoined from someplace behind you.
That threat had no teeth. His brother was simply heaving a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch, likely thinking to himself that he was so fucking glad this conversation hadn’t steered where he feared it might. Briefly, Tommy caught his gaze, then squeezed you in his arms a little bit tighter. He angled your bodies to Joel.
“Even if he ain’t your uncle, are you sure you wanna be stuck with this loser, honey? He’s an ass, as you can see.”
He was talking to you, but his focus was on Joel. Smug.
The man on the sofa just rolled his eyes. He reached out to snag the waistband of your shorts and tug you back, while Tommy kept that wry, knowing smirk on his lips.
He let go, and you gladly dropped over into Joel’s lap.
“Too late. We’re dating,” his brother hummed back.
Dating?
Well, shit.
Tommy stared harder, only this time his look was one of surprise—and muted satisfaction. He glanced at Maria, who was yawning and preparing to draw back into the bedroom, it looked like. Then he remembered how early it was. His brother looked just as drained laying out on the couch, and if he’d had to guess, you and Joel would be retiring to the guest bedroom to crash at any minute.
He would have to keep this quick.
“Goin’ steady, huh?” he pressed.
“Don’t start.” Joel raised a hand, yawning himself.
You were all too tired for this shit. Tommy couldn’t resist. Like the bonehead little brother he was, he had to say it. He’d been waiting too long to see Joel in a relationship.
He was already retreating to the bedroom, to Maria, and he didn’t intend on dragging this out, but the opportunity was also too tempting to ignore.
“And y’all didn’t ask for my permission?” he called over his shoulder. Taunting. “A father has a right to know!”
Joel lifted one big, callused middle finger from the sofa. You smiled and waved and gave your best impression of a person much sweeter than you normally were, saying:
“Sorry, Dad, Uncle Joel’s dick was too good to resist!”
Eeeeeewwwwwww.
Tommy made a face as he left.
“I’m going back to bed. Y’all are sick.”
And on some level, he meant it. He was also grinning ear-to-ear as he shut the bedroom door behind him and turned to Maria, who was sliding under the covers.
“Your life is a Folgers commercial,” she chuckled.
“Pretty much,” he murmured as he joined her.
Then, without thinking twice about it, he reached for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. He nudged it over his girlfriend’s way, as if offering for her to take it, and when Maria cocked a brow, Tommy pointed to the door. He could already hear you and Joel going upstairs.
“You’ll need this. Use it to cover your ears,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“Because if I know anything about those two, they’re about to have some of the most disgustingly loud sex.”
You and Joel were having the most disgustingly loud sex.
It always was, though, wasn’t it?
The concern wasn’t one that often crossed your mind when getting drilled from behind by Joel Miller, but today, with his brother—who was not your biological father—and his girlfriend in the room directly below the one where you and Joel were fucking, you did consider it.
Were you being too noisy? Could they hear you now?
Was Joel pounding too hard, and should you have maybe put a pillow between the metal bed frame and the wall?
There was no time to fix the latter. You were in too deep. Joel was in too deep himself, digging through your guts with every quick, merciless thrust of his hips against you. His grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed down. He wanted your upper half damn near parallel with the bed, while your ass was up and pointed just where he could fuck your wet and needy cunt. He drove in hard.
Every push of his cock through your body, sawing back and forth, again and again with increasing vigor, could’ve supplied noise enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The dizzying squelch, the persistent, wet smack of his groin against your ass, the tiny strings of your shared arousal and sweat stretching far and then colliding all over again with each new thrust, all blew your cover.
If you’d had any desire to keep your sex noises private, your body and his were doing a terrible fucking job of it.
You might as well have painted it on a billboard by now:
‘WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE FUCKING!’
‘WE’RE NOT RELATED, BY THE WAY!!’
Perhaps that was why Joel was so earnest now—having just found out that this had all been a false alarm and you could fuck as much as desired, well…it did things to him.
It did things to you, too.
It made it hard to keep quiet or even try to curb the frenzy when Joel sheathed himself fully inside, held it, then leaned over your prone body to press his hand to the back of your head. He tilted your chin toward him as best he could in this position. He dug even deeper, and you felt him in your fucking lungs. You let out a whimper
“Joel—”
“Look at me, darlin’,” Joel said, gruff. “You’re close, hm?”
You were.
You nodded your head against his firm hold.
Your eyes tried meeting his from where your face was pressed against the mattress and Joel was hovering directly above, but the effort was fruitless. Your gaze couldn’t stay on his like he’d wanted. Joel grunted.
He pulled you up. He tugged you back into a semi-kneeling position, so that your back was flush with his chest and your bodies still connected. His lips pressed a quick, calming kiss to your neck before he moved again.
Before you knew it, you were off the bed and standing—more a function of Joel holding you up than any strength in your legs. You were propped against a pretty wooden dresser with a mirror attached to the back. In your shared reflection, you met Joel’s gaze, and he grinned at you. He wasted no time pushing back inside and watching your face contort with the pressure and the stretch of his girth. Your jaw went slack; you clenched around him.
And you could feel in the responding groan from Joel that he was just as close. You’d been at it for less than five minutes, but the ardor and the relief and the fact that it had been weeks since you’d gotten to do this together was enough to send you both spiraling fast. Joel reached for your hip in one hand and held your throat in the other. He went on at a relentless pace.
With every snap of his hips, your knees hit the dresser drawers. It didn’t hurt. Joel angled your body so he wasn’t pushing you too hard into the surface of the furniture, but he did make you feel it. He lowered his head closer to yours so that your faces were side-by-side in the mirror, and you felt his stubble graze your cheek.
“Y’know, I meant what I said. Last time,” Joel murmured.
What?
As close as you both were now, how could the man even string words together, much less bring up old memories?
You steeled yourself in place, barely holding his gaze.
“Wh— Huh?” You sounded dumb as shit. “What?”
Joel’s teeth grazed the soft, tender skin from your jaw to your chin while he continued to work himself in and out. He slowed his thrusts to a much calmer, gentler rhythm.
He kissed your cheek just as he plunged in, balls deep.
You let out a whine so desperate, pitchy, and shrill at that, you almost didn’t hear it when he spoke again:
“I told you that I was ready.” Another gentle withdrawal. “To tell your dad.” A thrust back in. “Whenever you were.”
Shit.
So that was what this was about.
You felt good. You felt like you were ready, too.
But the prospect of telling your father the truth about you and Joel was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. Imagining what he might say—or do—to the man you loved made you want to keep this hidden away for as long as you possibly could. It was selfish, you knew it. Still, it was scary to think of all the things that would change as soon as you made this known to your dad.
From what you could tell, though, Joel wasn’t feeling quite the same level of concern. He fucked you slow and deep. He let his hand slide from your throat to your legs.
Between them, he found your clit easily and pressed in.
He rubbed circles while he dragged his cock in and out at the most maddening pace, and with every thrust, you could feel him hit that sensitive place, again and again.
You shuddered in his arms. You braced your hands against the dresser below, not wanting to collapse.
Sensing you were right at the brink of ecstasy, and likely wanting something to fill the lull you’d left, Joel went on.
“You— you want that, too, don’t you?”
There was patent need in that tone.
The slightest tinge of insecurity.
You didn’t want Joel to think for even a moment that you were having second thoughts, so you fought back the worry in your own mind, and you nodded your head.
“Y-Yeah, Joel. I want it,” you whispered. “I’m just scared.”
Hell, that admission might as well have been written on your face, because your expression said it all. You were teetering on release and fucking terrified of this coming to an end. The eyes that held his were a bit glossier now. Joel saw that and seemed to ease off, pressing his lips back to your skin as he rocked his hips back and forth.
“I am, too,” he confessed. His breath hitched, and the circles on your clit grew a little sloppier. He was close. “We— we can wait. I just wanna…take you places, hon.”
You knew what he meant by that. Going out without having to check over your shoulder every ten minutes, wondering if this was the time you got caught. Not needing to worry so much. Again, you nodded, and you felt Joel’s cock twitch inside you. Your walls ached, and the knot in your stomach was tightening every second.
You were about to speak up, when Joel cut back in.
“I love you. I…I don’t care how long this takes us.”
“I love you, Joel.”
You couldn’t manage much more than that. Already the tides of pleasure were rising too high, and your chest was flooded with a heady feeling. You were about to give in, still holding Joel’s gaze in the mirror, and from behind you, you could see his demeanor harden with purpose.
On hearing you say those words, you loved him, plans involving his old friend and the worst the man might think when you two came clean with the truth were lost to the ether, it seemed. He set it all aside, at least momentarily, as he worked on drawing your pleasure out and also getting himself there in time. He held your hip tighter and drew his quick, messy circles through your folds in just the way you liked, and he kissed you gently. He fucked you gently. He made every last word and touch and brush of his cock inside you feel as tender as you’d ever felt it before. You came undone in seconds.
‘I love you’ was almost like a refrain between you both.
Joel shortly followed. He groaned against your neck as the pleasure fluttered and pulsed—muttered something about wanting to spill inside, but you both knew better. He withdrew just in time to paint the insides of your thighs, then your ass, then the small of your back.
There was so much. While relishing your own moment of bliss, you couldn’t help but savor the warmth and weight of Joel’s spend coating your skin. It made it feel that much more raw, and primal, and from the look Joel had lowered between your bodies to take in that wet, sticky mess, you could tell he was thinking the same as you.
You weren’t surprised, and didn’t flinch, when he pushed two fingers in your mouth. He still had you up against the dresser, eyes locked on your own reflection, so you saw what he’d wanted you to see. You licked and sucked the cum off his fingers until they were completely clean. A reflexive whine reverberated down those fingers after you’d swallowed, and Joel’s first instinct was to smile.
“You did so good for me, sweet pea,” he praised.
His hand strayed down your front, mapping the skin mindlessly and with that same, sweet grin on his lips. You preened beneath his touch and didn’t want it to end.
Eventually, it had to. You were both drenched in cum and sweat, and as cold as it happened to be outdoors, your activities had managed to kick the heat up more than a few degrees. Joel’s chest and shoulders were glistening.
“Shower?” you murmured, turning around to face him.
Joel hummed in agreement.
He swept his thumb between your thighs one last time before teasing the tip at your lips. You suckled it softly, if not with a drowsy and contented little smile to match his
You showered. You toweled off. You threw on his shirt, Joel slid on his boxers, and you both crawled into bed. Anything beyond snuggling in and sleeping wasn’t high on the list of priorities, as you assumed it was for Tommy and Maria, so you were surprised to hear a noise right after you closed your eyes. It was a knock on the door.
It was Tommy’s. You could tell.
Sensing the same, Joel called out:
“We’re sleepin’, man, c’mon. Go on now.”
You were certain Tommy and Maria could’ve said the same when the two of you had been engaged in your cacophonous fuckfest just fifteen minutes prior, so you stayed quiet. You squeezed Joel’s arm around your waist.
The knocking continued.
This time, it was accompanied by Tommy’s voice.
“Are y’all decent?”
In other words: not naked and going to traumatize him. You were both semi-clothed and under the covers anyway, so you yelled back that, yes, you were.
Tommy walked in. He had his phone to his ear.
Then he held the thing up, where you could dimly make out that the call was on mute, but what alarmed you even more was the contact name on the screen.
Joel leapt into a sitting position just as quickly as you.
You both froze; Tommy gestured as if to say, ‘Relax.’
“Wh— why is my dad calling you?!” you demanded.
You had no idea how the man was staying so calm. This was a bad thing, right? Beside you, Joel seemed to be thinking the same, because he twisted his head toward the window. He craned his neck, as if checking to see if your father might not be parked outside the front door. Your body tensed glancing back at Tommy—he was still holding the phone like it was a prize, or something—and when you saw him smirk a bit, you shot him a wary look.
“What?! What does he want?” you pressed again.
Instead of answering immediately, Tommy moved his thumb over to the ‘unmute’ button, and his grin grew.
“I dunno, why don’t you ask him yourself?” he said.
At the same time, and before Tommy could press that button, you and Joel both shouted at once: “DON’T!”
It almost would’ve been comical if it wasn’t also bone-chillingly horrifying. What the hell was his problem?
As if to press that last question, Joel stood from the bed and stalked over to his brother. Tommy ambled back, still taunting, and held the phone up closer to his face. Right when Joel lunged for it, the nimbler Miller jumped back. Joel blew out a breath and gritted for Tommy to grow the fuck up, would ya? Tommy just smirked and continued the song-and-dance for the cellular device. It didn’t take much for the two to get into a full-blown battle for the thing, and before you knew it, Joel had his brother snagged in a headlock, Tommy was laughing his ass off and telling him the chokehold’s illegal, asshole, and you were a second away from intervening. Fuck this noise.
“Tommy, you’re bein’ a—” you started, sharp.
“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Joel finished for you.
He’d almost wrestled the phone out of Tommy’s grip, when his brother turned and surprised you both again—he threw the phone your way. You shrieked out loud.
Force of habit.
You narrowly caught the phone in your hands.
And, having nearly dropped it at first, your fingers seized at the screen to secure their grasp. Of course, your thumb tapped right on the key you’d been trying to avoid
“Shit,” you cursed reflexively.
“Sweetheart?”
The phone was on speaker.
Across the room, Joel froze in place, and the color drained from him completely. You, too, were stock-still.
“D-Dad?” you stammered.
You half-expected him to shout—‘What on earth are you doin’ home early? And with Tommy?’—and you winced. For a second, you thought your friend might’ve snitched, and you shot him a look, but then your dad was back.
“Hey! Glad Tommy got ahold of ya. He said you caught an early flight back to surprise me. Y’all at the airport?”
You swallowed.
You must’ve said yes, because your father went on.
“Good, good. Keep your bags packed, alright?”
“Why?” You hoped he didn’t hear you falter.
Time was moving too fast. Your heart was no doubt drilling holes in your ribcage by now. Blood rushed and swirled and deafened your ears to all that was going on, but dimly, you could see Joel’s expression across the room. It was pensive, while his brother’s stayed amused.
Tommy knew something you didn’t.
Before you could begin to wonder what that was, your dad’s voice across the line shortly supplied the answer.
It was laid-back, easy, and uncharacteristically excited.
You hadn’t thought you’d ever heard him so eager about anything in his life, but there he went, telling you at once:
“I’m down in Galveston—I want y’all to come too, ASAP!”
titsay
izzy806
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
kianamaiart
kaledo-art
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
